We left him in deep and painful thought, with the newspaper in his hands.  His reveries were interrupted by the entrance of Alexander Wilmot, who resided with him, being now twenty-two years of age, and having just finished his college education.  Alexander Wilmot was a tall, handsome young man, very powerful in frame, and very partial to all athletic exercises; he was the best rower and the best cricketer at Oxford, very fond of horses and hunting, and an excellent shot; in character and disposition he was generous and amiable, frank in his manner, and obliging to his inferiors.  Every one liked Alexander Wilmot, and he certainly deserved to be liked, for he never injured or spoke ill of any body.  Perhaps his most prominent fault was obstinacy; but this was more shown in an obstinate courage and perseverance to conquer what appeared almost impossible, and at the greatest risk to himself; he was of that disposition that he would hardly get out of the way of a mad bull if it crossed his path, but risk his life probably, and to no purpose; but there is no perfection in this world, and it was still less to be expected in a young man of only twenty-two years of age.

“Well, uncle, I’ve conquered him,” said Alexander, as he came into the room, very much heated with exercise.

“Conquered whom, my boy?” replied Sir Charles.

“The colt; I’ve backed him, and he is now as gentle as a lamb; but he fought hard for two hours at least.”

“Why should you run such risk, Alexander, when the horsebreaker would have broke him just as well?”

“But not so soon, uncle.”

“I did not know that you were in such want of a horse as to require such hurry; I thought you had plenty in the stable.”

“So I have, uncle, thanks to you, more than I can use; but I like the pleasure—­the excitement.”

“There you state the truth, my dear Alexander; when you have lived as long as I have, you will find more pleasure in quiet and repose,” replied Sir Charles, with a heavy sigh.

“Something has disturbed you, my dear uncle,” said Alexander, going up to Sir Charles and taking his hand; “what is it, sir?”

“You are right, Alexander; something has unsettled me, has called up painful feelings and reminiscences; it is that paragraph in the newspaper.”

Alexander was now as subdued almost as his uncle; he took a chair and quietly read the paragraph.

“Do you think there is any foundation for this, my dear sir?” said he, after he had read it.

[Illustration:  The newspaper paragraph.]

“It is impossible to say, my dear boy; it may be so, it has often been asserted before.  The French traveler Le Vaillant states that he received the same information, but was prevented from ascertaining the truth; other travelers have subsequently given similar accounts.  You may easily credit the painful anxiety which is raised in my mind when I read such a statement as this.  I think I see my poor Elizabeth, the wife or slave to some wild savage; her children, merciful Heaven! my grandchildren, growing up as the brutes of the field, in ignorance and idolatry.  It is torture, my dear Alexander—­absolute torture, and requires long prayer and meditation to restore my mind to its usual tone, and to enable me to bow to the dispensations of the Divine will.”