Said the advocate: “My dear Laird, this is a sad affair; but are you convinced that this young fellow is the rightful owner?”
“He is, as sure as yonder sun is shining.”
“And so am I convinced,” said the advocate. “Then there must be no lawsuit?”
“No, none.”
“That is right. At your age a long and troublesome lawsuit would kill you.”
“Then, my dear Duncan,” said Laird McLeod, “look out for a pretty cottage for me at once.”
“I will do everything for you, and I know of the very place you want—a charming small villa on the beautiful Rubislaw Road. Choose the things you want. Have a sale and get rid of the others. Keep up your heart, and all will yet be well. But we must act expeditiously.”
And so they did. And in a fortnight’s time all was settled, and the little villa furnished.
Till the day of the sale Francis Robertson was a guest at the Hall.
Now I must state a somewhat curious, but not altogether rare, occurrence. The young man, who really might be rash, but was not bad-hearted, sought audience of the Laird on the very day before the sale.