"Yes, the only one."
Paul's hopes were dashed to the ground again. Still, the man must have had some reason for coming North; no one would come all the way from England to make inquiries unless something of importance lay at the back of it.
"What kind of questions did he ask?" continued the young man.
"It is a good many years since," replied the woman, "and I am afraid I did not encourage him much. But as far as I can call to mind now, he asked how long since she had left, and whether anything had happened to her."
"And did you tell him"—and Paul's voice was almost hoarse as he spoke—"did you tell him of—of what you call her disgrace?"
"No," replied the woman harshly. "I am not one of that kind. Donald Lindsay's name is a good one, and I'm proud of it myself. Besides, I thought she was dead, and so—well, I said nothing."
"And that is all you can tell me?"
"That is all."
From the little farmstead Paul went to "Highlands," but his visit seemed in vain. The people who occupied the house had lived there for some twelve years, and they had bought it from an agent as a summer residence. They had heard that the previous owner lived in Edinburgh, but they were not sure. They only knew he was in the habit of letting the house during the summer months.
"Did you know the Grahams?" Paul asked.