Thus matters continued for two years. Elsie was now a grown young woman, and her school was regularly established. Hers was a happy and contented time

“Never feeling of unrest
Broke the pleasant dream she dreamed.
Only made to be her nest
All that lovely valley seemed,
No desire of soaring higher
Stirred or flattered in her breast.”

Even had she desired to move, the presence of Mrs. McAravey would have rendered it impossible. Though much softened and improved, the old woman had scarcely become an agreeable companion. The hard, Covenanting leaven had moulded her from childhood, and though of late years she had been touched by a gentler spirit, it was impossible that habits of a lifetime should be entirely eradicated. She suffered much pain, borne for the most part uncomplainingly, and was now nearly helpless. Elsie was not the sort of person to think herself a martyr. Indeed, it never occurred to her that, in thus watching and consoling the declining years of this poor, decrepid old body, she was even performing a noble, and at times fatiguing and painful, duty. She took it all as a matter of course. It came to her in the order of Providence, and formed an element and feature in the state of life to which it had pleased God to call her, and in which she had resolved by the Divine blessing to do her duty.

Thus matters might long have held their quiet course had it not been for Jim. As it has been said, he was very different in disposition from Elsie. Restless, eager, and full of curiosity, he could not understand her placid yet cheerful nature. He knew not the secret of her inner life, and of the way in which that life animated and directed the outer. The young man saw less and less of Tor Glen, having now obtained a good situation in a flax store at Ballymena.

Some little time previous Elsie and Jim had both been confirmed; and since that event the Rev. Cooper Smith and George Hendrick had had several consultations with regard to them. They were very unwilling to disturb the minds of the young people, nor had they anything definite to impart; yet it did not seem right to keep them in ignorance of what was known or suspected as to their parentage. Jim, moreover, had displayed a good deal of curiosity on the subject, and had questioned Hendrick as to the meaning of the reports that had come to his ever open ears about old McAravey’s knowledge of the drowned woman.

At length it was resolved that Elsie and Jim should be invited to the rectory on a Saturday afternoon, and the whole matter fully explained. All being assembled on the day named, the rector briefly repeated what McAravey had said on his death-bed, as it had been told to him by Hendrick. It appeared that before the old man’s death the locket had been brought out from its place of concealment, and, in presence of the priest, handed over to Hendrick, who had next day brought it to the rector. Upon investigation the locket had been found to contain the portrait of a man, and also a small folded piece of paper. The face was intelligent and powerful, but by no means pleasing. The eyes were eager and piercing, the lines about the mouth firm and deep-cut; the features in general somewhat coarse, and plainly those of a man in the lower walks of life, and one accustomed to hard toil both of mind and body. The paper had proved to be the pawn ticket of a watch pledged in Belfast for the sum of one pound, the name upon it being Henderson. Mr. Smith had redeemed the watch, which now lay before him with the locket on the table.

“You see, Elsie,” he said, turning to the girl, whose eyes were full of tears, “we have but slight evidence to show either that this is your father’s portrait, or that the poor creature who came to so untimely an end was your mother. It is curious that the name on the ticket is Henderson, while McAravey said the person who brought you and Jim to him was called Davison or Davis, or something like that. Of course it is quite possible the poor creature did not like to give her right name at a pawn office. What do you think?”

“I have always felt as if she was my mother,” said Elsie; “and I should be glad if it turned out so. It seems very probable.”

“I’m sure this rough-looking fellow is no father of mine,” cried Jim, who had been sadly disappointed at the unromantic character of the revelation; “but I’ll find out the secret of this matter yet. Meantime, I suppose, sir, the watch is mine. Elsie may take the locket.”

“Don’t you think you are somewhat precipitate, Jim?” said the rector, smiling. “This is just one of the points Mr. Hendrick and I have been considering. Of course it is just possible that some day the poor drowned woman may be identified, and turn out to have no connection with you at all. But I am inclined to think she was your mother, and that that accounts for her coming to Tor Bay. We have thought it only right, therefore, that you and Elsie should have the locket and watch, for the present at least. As for the division, you must arrange that between you.”

“I think I ought to have the watch, as I said, sir, and Elsie the locket.”

“Well, perhaps that is the most suitable division,” said the rector, coldly; “but I don’t think you are quite consistent in claiming the watch so eagerly, and at the same time scorning the miniature, since, in all probability, if the watch belonged to your mother, the likeness is that of your father.”

“As such I at least shall be glad to keep it,” said Elsie.

Jim was somewhat crestfallen at the rectors rebuke, but merely added, with some pomposity

“Now that I have been informed of the circumstances, I shall probably, by the aid of this watch, be able to unravel the mystery of my parentage.”

He meant it merely as a piece of brag to cover his retreat, and as such the rector and Hendrick took it, receiving his words with a quiet smile.

“I consider that Mr. Smith has acted very wrongly in keeping these things from us so long,” commenced the young man, as he and Elsie walked home together after ac early dinner at the rectory.

“O Jim! how can you say so? Mr. Smith could have had no motive but consideration for our feelings.”

“I say nothing against his motives, only that I think he acted wrongly. Valuable time has been lost; but clergymen are never good men of business, and Scripture-readers are like them, I suppose.”

“Jim, I don’t like to hear you speak like that; it’s ungrateful. And what you mean by valuable time I can’t conceive.”

“I dare say you don’t understand the value of time, leading the sort of life you do in a place where nobody ever knows the hour,” said the youth, superciliously, as he glanced at his newly-acquired treasure; “but of course I mean time has been lost in investigating our family history.”

“I’m quite content to be as I am,” said Elsie. “If the history was known, it would probably be neither important nor interesting. I don’t see how the watch will help you, Jim; and you know you won’t have the likeness.”

And she looked into the lads face with her merry brown eyes. But Jim was on his high horse, and merely replied

“I cannot say what I shall do all at once, but the matter shall be looked into at an early date.”

Elsie smiled, as the rector and Scripture-reader had done not visibly, indeed, as they had, yet Jim somehow felt he was being laughed at, which made him angry.

“He is a smart lad that, but I don’t like him,” said the rector, as he and Hendrick watched Elsie and Jim going down the avenue. “He wants to be a fine gentleman, and is ashamed of his father’s portrait an ill-looking fellow enough, it must be admitted.”

“Aye, I didn’t like that,” said Hendrick; “but he is a steady boy, and may do well when the conceit has been taken out of him a wee bit.”

“If only a ‘wee bit’ is taken, there will be what the people call a good little wee lock left. But I sincerely hope, for his own sake, that his pride will be taken out of him. He is insufferable.”