“Yon?  Ay.  Yon will be, Ben Lone.  It will be twenty miles awa’, gin it be a furlong.  Our young laird had a braw hunting lodge there, where in the season he was wont to spend weeks thegither wi’ his kinsman, Johnnie Scott, for the young laird was unco’ fond of deer stalking, and sic like sport.  I dinna ken wha owns the lodge now, or whether it went wi’ the lave of the estate,” said Dame Girzie, with a deep sigh.

“It is growing quite chilly up here,” said Salome, shivering, and drawing her little red shawl more closely around her slight frame.  “I think we will go down now, Mrs. Ross.  And if you will be so good as to come to me after tea, this evening, I shall like to hear the story of this sorrowful family wreck,” she added, as she turned to leave the place.

That evening, as the heiress sat in the small drawing room appropriated to her own use, the housekeeper rapped and was admitted.

And after seating herself at the bidding of her young mistress, Girzie Ross opened her mouth and told the true story of the fall of Lone, as I have already told to my readers.

“And this devoted son actually sacrificed all the prospects of his whole future life, in order to give peace and prosperity to his father’s declining days,” murmured Salome, with her eyes full of tears and her usually pale cheeks, flushed with emotion.

“He did, young leddy, like the noble soul, he was,” said Dame Girzie.

“I never heard of such an act of renunciation in my life,” murmured Salome.

“And the pity of it was, young leddy, that it was a’ in vain,” said the housekeeper.

“Yes, I know.  Where is he now?” inquired the young girl, in a subdued voice.

“I dinna ken, leddy.  Naebody kens,” answered Girzie Ross, with a deep sigh, which was unconsciously echoed by the listener.

Then Dame Ross not to trespass on her young mistress’s indulgence, arose and respectfully took her leave.

Salome fell into a deep reverie.  From that hour she had something else to think about, beside the convent and the vail.

The portrait haunted her imagination, the story filled her heart and employed her thoughts.  That night she dreamed of the self-exiled heir, a beautiful, vague, delightful dream, that she tried in vain to recall on the next morning.

In the course of the day she made several attempts to ask Mrs. Girzie Ross a simple question.  And she wondered at her own hesitation to do it.  At length she asked it: 

“Mrs. Ross, is that portrait in the tower very much like Lord Arondelle?”

“Like him, young leddy?  Why, it is his verra sel’!  And only not sae bonny because it canna move, or smile, or speak.  Ye should see him alive to ken him weel,” said the housekeeper, heartily.

That afternoon Salome went up alone to the top of the tower, and spent a dreamy, delicious hour in sitting at the feet of the portrait and gazing upon the face.