Next he went to his friend Sinclair, and opened his budget of news to him.  Sinclair had been in America, and he might have chanced to have heard something of some one who had had a doubtful baby found dead on the bed just before its mother sailed.  If this had been a sensation novel, Mr. Sinclair would have been sure to have known all about it, and have turned out to be the father or the uncle of his friend—­he was of the age to be either; but as this is not a sensation novel, he could not throw any light on the dark subject, and could only give his sympathy, and offer to take any amount of trouble on Francis’s behalf.  His only advice was that he should advertise in the States’ leading papers, if he really wanted to know, for some one who emigrated in May 18-, in one of the three ships which had sailed about that time, who had lost a child in convulsions that might not have been her own; requiring some particulars about the age and the house at which the death was believed to have taken place.

“It is a thousand to one against your getting an answer,” said Mr. Sinclair.  “But what makes you so anxious to prove this?  It can do no good.”

“Only this, that if Jane Melville can be proved not to be my cousin, I can marry her and keep Cross Hall and my seat in Parliament.  If it cannot be proved, then I must give up everything, and go to Melbourne and ask if she will have me without a penny.”

“Oh, is that it?” said Sinclair.  “I am the more bound to do all I can to help you.  We cannot spare you from the House, nor from the country.  But, after all, Hogarth, one woman is as good as another, and your career should not be lightly sacrificed.”

“One woman as good as another!” exclaimed Francis.

“Not exactly so; but there are many women as good as Miss Melville.  I grant that she is a fine woman, and one of excellent principles and understanding; but not just the sort of person one could go into heroics about.  I do not say that as a companion and friend her place could be filled up to you by such women as Miss Crichton or any of the Jardine girls, or even by Eliza Rennie.  But Mary Forrester—­what do you think of Mary Forrester?  You should not let such a girl leave the country.  She is handsomer, younger, and every bit as good as Miss Melville.”

“She is a very fine girl, no doubt, but do not speak of her in the same breath with Jane Melville.  I owe so much to Jane:  if it had not been for her, I would never have been so valuable even to you.”

“Well, then, let us see what is to be done to suit your wishes.  Shall I go with you to MacFarlane’s?”

“I will be very glad indeed of your company,” said Francis.

Mr. MacFarlane was very much surprised at the strange business which had brought Hogarth from his parliamentary duties to consult him upon.  He read carefully the document which Alice had forwarded, and listened to Francis’s account of the inquiries he had made so unsuccessfully, before he ventured on giving any opinion.