“So, Cousin Harry, where am I to begin my congratulations!  I did you and unwitting service when I sent your daughter to search among those musty old parchments.  I knew my father believed in the existence of some such document, but I thought all those hoards in Delavie House were devoid of all legal importance, and had been sifted again and again.  Besides, I always meant to settle that old house upon you.”

“I have always heard so, cousin,” he answered.

“But it was such a mere trifle,” she added, “that it never seemed worth while to set the lawyers to work about that alone, so I waited for other work to be in hand.”

“There is a homely Scottish proverb, my Lady, which declares that the scrapings of the muckle pot are worth the wee pot fu’.  A mere trifle to you is affluence to us.”

“I am sincerely rejoiced at it, Harry” (no doubt she thought she was), “you will keep up the old name, while my scrupulous lord and master gives up my poor patrimony to the extortionate creditors for years to come.  It is well that the young lovers have other prospects.  So Harry, you see after all, I kept my word, and your daughter is provided for,” she continued with an arch smile.  “Pretty creature, I find my son bears me more malice than she does for the robbery that was perpetrated on her.  It was too tempting, Harry.  Nature will repair her loss, but at out time of life we must beg, borrow, or steal.”

“That was the least matter,” said the Major gravely.

“This is the reason why I wished to see you,” said my Lady, laying her white hand on his, “I wanted to explain.”

“Cousin, cousin, had not you better leave it alone?” said Major Delavie.  “You know you can always talk a poor man out of his senses at the moment.”

“Yet listen, Harry, and understand my troubles.  Here I was pledged, absolutely pledged, to give my son to Lady Aresfield’s daughter.  I do not know whether she may not yet sue me for breach of contract, though Wayland has repaid her the loans she advanced me; and on the other hand, in spite of all my precautions, Mar had obtained a sight of your poor daughter, and I knew him well enough to be aware that to put her entirely and secretly out of his reach was the only chance preserving her from his pursuit.  I had excellent accounts of the worthy man to whom I meant her to be consigned, and I knew that when she wrote to you as a West Indian queen you would be able to forgive your poor cousin.  I see what you would say, but sending her to you was impossible, since I had to secure her both from Amyas and from Mar.  It would only have involved you in perplexities innumerable, and might have led even to bloodshed!  I may not have acted wisely, but weak women in difficulties know not which path to choose.”

“There is always the straight one,” said he.