“Chiefly financial.  It seems that the elder brother is the actual tenant of Redbank, and Lachlan is little better than a farm-servant at present.  It would be scarcely possible for the poor chap to support a wife and three of a ready-made family on the wages of a mere plowman—­except, of course, in the style of a common laborer, and he is far above that.  The best way out of the difficulty would be for Christian to manage the house at Redbank, instead of a paid housekeeper; but the old brother is bitter against Catholics, and more opposed to young children in the house.  Hence these tears!  Don’t you think there are rather respectable obstacles to be overcome?”

“Quite.  So what did you suggest?”

“Cameron himself suggested what I think a reasonable solution:  to try for some situation as farm bailiff or manager.  He is thoroughly up to it all, for he has been practically managing things at Redbank for the last year or two, and has plenty of experience in farm work.”

“He ought to be able to find something of the sort.  Could the factor at Taskerton do anything for him, do you think?  Christian has already lost a husband in the service of the estate, and it would be but restitution to provide her with another.”

“The idea struck me, too, though not in precisely the same terms,” said Val with an amused laugh.  “I am thinking of writing to him about the matter.”

“You are really satisfied with the man, then?”

“Decidedly so!  He struck me as being a very decent sort of fellow.  He has a straight-forward, pleasant manner with him, and is altogether superior to an ordinary crofter.  It would be a good match for Christian.  Poor soul!  She deserves a better lot than she enjoys at present.”

“What’s his age, do you suppose?”

“Forty-six.  Quite a lad, for these parts!”

“Things look all right, certainly,” was my summing up.

Val wrote to the factor, but the result was not over-promising.  He knew of nothing suitable at present.  But he would keep the case in mind, and write at once should he hear of anything available.

Both Val and I were keen on getting the matter settled, and often talked it over together, discussing ways and means.  But the weeks slipped by, and we found ourselves no nearer to a solution of the difficulty.  We little dreamed of the quarter from which it was eventually to come!

One day as we sat at breakfast Elsie brought in a telegram for Val.  It was a somewhat unusual occurrence; for we were a good way from the office, and, porterage being expensive, we had carefully instructed our ordinary correspondents that we preferred the humbler post-card, as a rule.  When a telegram did arrive, therefore, it generally presaged something of unusual importance.  I saw Val’s face change as he read it.  He passed it over to me as he rose to write a reply.  This is what I saw: