1 files changed, 7530 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/old/14494.txt b/old/14494.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ee586cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/14494.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,7530 @@
+Project Gutenberg's Scottish sketches, by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Scottish sketches
+
+Author: Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr
+
+Release Date: December 28, 2004 [EBook #14494]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCOTTISH SKETCHES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Ted Garvin, Amy and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SHORT STORY
+
+Scottish Sketches
+
+By
+AMELIA E. BARR
+
+
+New York
+Dodd, Mead and Company
+1898
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1883,
+BY
+AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CRAWFORD'S SAIR STRAIT           7
+
+JAMES BLACKIE'S REVENGE        101
+
+FACING HIS ENEMY               163
+
+ANDREW CARGILL'S CONFESSION    241
+
+ONE WRONG STEP                 267
+
+LILE DAVIE                     309
+
+
+
+
+Crawford's Sair Strait.
+
+
+
+
+CRAWFORD'S SAIR STRAIT.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Alexander Crawford sat reading a book which he studied frequently with
+a profound interest. Not the Bible: that volume had indeed its place
+of honor in the room, but the book Crawford read was a smaller one; it
+was stoutly bound and secured by a brass lock, and it was all in
+manuscript. It was his private ledger, and it contained his bank
+account. Its contents seemed to give him much solid satisfaction; and
+when at last he locked the volume and replaced it in his secretary, it
+was with that careful respect which he considered due to the
+representative of so many thousand pounds.
+
+He was in a placid mood, and strangely inclined to retrospection.
+Thoughtfully fingering the key which locked up the record of his
+wealth, he walked to the window and looked out. It was a dreary
+prospect of brown moor and gray sea, but Crawford loved it. The bare
+land and the barren mountains was the country of the Crawfords. He had
+a fixed idea that it always had been theirs, and whenever he told
+himself--as he did this night--that so many acres of old Scotland were
+actually his own, he was aggressively a Scotchman.
+
+"It is a bonnie bit o' land," he murmured, "and I hae done as my
+father Laird Archibald told me. If we should meet in another warld
+I'll be able to gie a good account o' Crawford and Traquare. It is
+thirty years to-night since he gave me the ring off his finger, and
+said, 'Alexander, I am going the way o' all flesh; be a good man, and
+_grip tight_.' I hae done as he bid me; there is L80,000 in the
+Bank o' Scotland, and every mortgage lifted. I am vera weel pleased
+wi' mysel' to-night. I hae been a good holder o' Crawford and
+Traquare."
+
+His self-complacent reflections were cut short by the entrance of his
+daughter. She stood beside him, and laid her hand upon his arm with a
+caressing gesture. No other living creature durst have taken that
+liberty with him; but to Crawford his daughter Helen was a being apart
+from common humanity. She was small, but very lovely, with something
+almost Puritanical in her dainty, precise dress and carefully snooded
+golden hair.
+
+"Father!"
+
+"Helen, my bird."
+
+"Colin is coming home. I have just had a letter from him. He has taken
+high honors in Glasgow. We'll both be proud of Colin, father."
+
+"What has he done?"
+
+"He has written a prize poem in Latin and Greek, and he is second in
+mathematics."
+
+"Latin and Greek! Poor ghostlike languages that hae put off flesh and
+blood lang syne. Poetry! Warse than nonsense! David and Solomon hae
+gien us such sacred poetry as is good and necessary; and for sinfu'
+love verses and such vanities, if Scotland must hae them, Robert Burns
+is mair than enough. As to mathematics, there's naething against them.
+A study that is founded on figures is to be depended upon; it has nae
+flights and fancies. You ken what you are doing wi' figures. When is
+this clever fellow to be here?"
+
+"He is coming by the afternoon packet to-morrow. We must send the
+carriage to meet it, for Colin is bringing a stranger with him. I came
+to ask you if I must have the best guest-room made ready."
+
+"Wha for?"
+
+"He is an English gentleman, from London, father."
+
+"And you would put an Englishman in the room where the twa last
+Stuarts slept? I'll not hear tell o' it. I'm not the man to lift a
+quarrel my fathers dropped, but I'll hae no English body in Prince
+Charlie's room. Mind that, noo! What is the man's name?"
+
+"Mr. George Selwyn."
+
+"George Selwyn! There's nae Scotch Selwyns that I ken o'. He'll be
+Saxon altogether. Put him in the East room."
+
+Crawford was not pleased at his son bringing any visitor. In the first
+place, he had important plans to discuss and carry out, and he was
+impatient of further delay. In the second, he was intensely jealous of
+Helen. Every young man was a probable suitor, and he had quite decided
+that Farquharson of Blair was the proper husband for her. Crawford and
+Blair had stood shoulder to shoulder in every national quarrel, and a
+marriage would put the two estates almost in a ring fence.
+
+But he went the next day to meet the young men. He had not seen his
+son for three years, and the lad was an object very near and dear to
+his heart. He loved him tenderly as his son, he respected him highly
+as the future heir of Crawford and Traquare. The Crawfords were a very
+handsome race; he was anxious that this, their thirteenth
+representative, should be worthy, even physically, of his ancestors.
+He drew a long sigh of gratification as young Colin, with open hands,
+came up to him. The future laird was a noble-looking fellow, a dark,
+swarthy Highlandman, with glowing eyes, and a frame which promised in
+a few years to fill up splendidly.
+
+His companion was singularly unlike him. Old Crawford had judged
+rightly. He was a pure Saxon, and showed it in his clear, fresh
+complexion, pale brown hair, and clear, wide-open blue eyes. But there
+was something about this young man which struck a deeper and wider
+sympathy than race--he had a heart beating for all humanity. Crawford
+looked at him physically only, and he decided at once, "There is no
+fear of Helen." He told himself that young Farquharson was six inches
+taller and every way a far "prettier man." Helen was not of this
+opinion. No hero is so fascinating to a woman as the man mentally and
+spiritually above her, and whom she must love from a distance; and if
+Crawford could have known how dangerous were those walks over the
+springy heather and through the still pine woods, Mr. Selwyn would
+have taken them far more frequently alone than he did.
+
+But Crawford had other things to employ his attention at that time,
+and indeed the young English clergyman was far beyond his mental and
+spiritual horizon; he could not judge him fairly. So these young
+people walked and rode and sailed together, and Selwyn talked like an
+apostle of the wrongs that were to be righted and the poor perishing
+souls that were to be redeemed. The spiritual warfare in which he was
+enlisted had taken possession of him, and he spoke with the martial
+enthusiasm of a young soldier buckling on his armor.
+
+Helen and Colin listened in glowing silence, Helen showing her
+sympathy by her flushing cheeks and wet eyes, and Colin by the
+impatient way in which he struck down with his stick the thistles by
+the path side, as if they were the demons of sin and ignorance and
+dirt Selwyn was warring against. But after three weeks of this
+intercourse Crawford became sensible of some change in the atmosphere
+of his home. When Selwyn first arrived, and Crawford learned that he
+was a clergyman in orders, he had, out of respect to the office,
+delegated to him the conduct of family worship. Gradually Selwyn had
+begun to illustrate the gospel text with short, earnest remarks, which
+were a revelation of Bible truth to the thoughtful men and women who
+heard them.
+
+The laird's "exercises" had often been slipped away from, excuses had
+been frequent, absentees usual; but they came to listen to Selwyn with
+an eagerness which irritated him. In our day, the gospel of Christ has
+brought forth its last beautiful blossom--the gospel of humanity. Free
+schools, free Bibles, Tract and City Missions, Hospitals and Clothing
+Societies, loving helps of all kinds are a part of every church
+organization. But in the time of which I am writing they were unknown
+in country parishes, they struggled even in great cities for a feeble
+life.
+
+The laird and his servants heard some startling truths, and the laird
+began to rebel against them. A religion of intellectual faith, and
+which had certain well-recognized claims on his pocket, he was willing
+to support, and to defend, if need were; but he considered one which
+made him on every hand his brother's keeper a dangerously democratic
+theology.
+
+"I'll hae no socialism in my religion, any more than I'll hae it in my
+politics, Colin," he said angrily. "And if yon Mr. Selwyn belongs to
+what they call the Church o' England, I'm mair set up than ever wi'
+the Kirk o' Scotland! God bless her!"
+
+They were sitting in the room sacred to business and to the memory of
+the late Laird Archibald. Colin was accustomed to receive his father's
+opinions in silence, and he made no answer to this remark. This time,
+however, the laird was not satisfied with the presumed assent of
+silence; he asked sharply, "What say ye to that, son Colin?"
+
+"I say God bless the Kirk of Scotland, father, and I say it the more
+heartily because I would like to have a place among those who serve
+her."
+
+"What are ye saying now?"
+
+"That I should like to be a minister. I suppose you have no
+objections."
+
+"I hae vera great objections. I'll no hear tell o' such a thing.
+Ministers canna mak money, and they canna save it. If you should mak
+it, that would be an offence to your congregation; if ye should save
+it, they would say ye ought to hae gien it to the poor. There will be
+nae Dominie Crawford o' my kin, Colin. Will naething but looking down
+on the warld from a pulpit sarve you?"
+
+"I like art, father. I can paint a little, and I love music."
+
+"Art! Painting! Music! Is the lad gane daft? God has gien to some men
+wisdom and understanding, to ithers the art o' playing on the fiddle
+and painting pictures. There shall be no painting, fiddling Crawford
+among my kin, Colin."
+
+The young fellow bit his lip, and his eyes flashed dangerously beneath
+their dropped lids. But he said calmly enough,
+
+"What is your own idea, father? I am twenty-two, I ought to be doing a
+man's work of some kind."
+
+"Just sae. That is warld-like talk. Now I'll speak wi' you anent a
+grand plan I hae had for a long time." With these words he rose, and
+took from his secretary a piece of parchment containing the plan of
+the estate. "Sit down, son Colin, and I'll show you your inheritance."
+Then he went carefully over every acre of moor and wood, of moss and
+water, growing enthusiastic as he pointed out how many sheep could be
+grazed on the hills, what shooting and fishing privileges were worth,
+etc. "And the best is to come, my lad. There is coal on the estate,
+and I am going to open it up, for I hae the ready siller to do it."
+
+Colin sat silent; his cold, dissenting air irritated the excited laird
+very much.
+
+"What hae ye got to say to a' this, Colin?" he asked proudly, "for
+you'll hae the management o' everything with me. Why, my dear son, if
+a' goes weel--and it's sure to--we'll be rich enough in a few years to
+put in our claim for the old Earldom o' Crawford, and you may tak your
+seat in the House o' Peers yet. The old chevalier promised us a
+Dukedom," he said sadly, "but I'm feared that will be aboon our
+thumb--"
+
+"Father, what are you going to do with the clansmen? Do you think
+Highlandmen who have lived on the mountains are going to dig coal? Do
+you imagine that these men, who, until a generation or two ago, never
+handled anything but a claymore, and who even now scorn to do aught
+but stalk deer or spear salmon, will take a shovel and a pickaxe and
+labor as coal-miners? There is not a Crawford among them who would do
+it. I would despise him if he did."
+
+"There is a glimmer o' good sense in what you say, Colin. I dinna
+intend any Crawford to work in my coal mine. Little use they would be
+there. I'll send to Glasgow for some Irish bodies."
+
+"And then you will have more fighting than working on the place; and
+you'll have to build a Roman-catholic chapel, and have a Roman priest
+in Crawford, and you ken whether the Crawfords will thole _that_ or
+not."
+
+"As to the fighting, I'll gie them no chance. I'm going to send the
+Crawfords to Canada. I hae thought it all out. The sheilings will do
+for the others; the land I want for sheep grazing. They are doing
+naething for themsel's, and they are just a burden to me. It will be
+better for them to gang to Canada. I'll pay their passage, and I'll
+gie them a few pounds each to start them. You must stand by me in this
+matter, for they'll hae to go sooner or later."
+
+"That is a thing I cannot do, father. There is not a Laird of Crawford
+that was not nursed on some clanswoman's breast. We are all kin. Do
+you think I would like to see Rory and Jean Crawford packed off to
+Canada? And there is young Hector, my foster-brother! And old Ailsa,
+your own foster-sister! Every Crawford has a right to a bite and a sup
+from the Crawford land."
+
+"That is a' bygane nonsense. Your great-grandfather, if he wanted
+cattle or meal, could just take the clan and go and harry some
+Southern body out o' them. That is beyond our power, and it's an unca
+charge to hae every Crawford looking to you when hunting and fishing
+fails. They'll do fine in Canada. There is grand hunting, and if they
+want fighting, doubtless there will be Indians. They will hae to go,
+and you will hae to stand by me in this matter."
+
+"It is against my conscience, sir. I had also plans about these poor,
+half-civilized, loving kinsmen of ours. You should hear Selwyn talk of
+what we might do with them. There is land enough to give all who want
+it a few acres, and the rest could be set up with boats and nets as
+fishers. They would like that."
+
+"Nae doubt. But I don't like it, and I wont hae it. Mr. Selwyn may hae
+a big parish in London, but the Crawfords arena in his congregation. I
+am king and bishop within my ain estate, Colin." Then he rose in a
+decided passion and locked up again the precious parchment, and Colin
+understood that, for the present, the subject was dismissed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+At the very time this conversation was in progress, one strangely
+dissimilar was being carried on between George Selwyn and Helen
+Crawford. They were sitting in the sweet, old-fashioned garden and
+Selwyn had been talking of the work so dear to his heart, but a
+silence had fallen between them. Then softly and almost hesitatingly
+Helen said "Mr. Selwyn, I cannot help in this grand evangel, except
+with money and prayers. May I offer you L300? It is entirely my own,
+and it lies useless in my desk. Will you take it?"
+
+"I have no power to refuse it. 'You give it to God, durst I say no?'
+But as I do not return at once, you had better send it in a check to
+our treasurer." Then he gave her the necessary business directions,
+and was writing the address of the treasurer when the laird stopped in
+front of them.
+
+"Helen, you are needed in the house," he said abruptly; and then
+turning to Selwyn, he asked him to take a walk up the hill. The young
+man complied. He was quite unconscious of the anger in the tone of the
+request. For a few yards neither spoke; then the laird, with an
+irritable glance at his placid companion, said, "Mr. Selwyn,
+fore-speaking saves after-speaking. Helen Crawford is bespoke for
+young Farquharson of Blair, and if you have any hopes o' wiving in my
+house--"
+
+"Crawford, thank you for your warning, but I have no thoughts of
+marrying any one. Helen Crawford is a pearl among women; but even if I
+wanted a wife, she is unfit for my helpmate. When I took my curacy in
+the East End of London I counted the cost. Not for the fairest of the
+daughters of men would I desert my first love--the Christ-work to
+which I have solemnly dedicated my life."
+
+His voice fell almost to a whisper, but the outward, upward glance of
+the inspired eyes completely disconcerted the aggressive old
+chieftain. His supposed enemy, in some intangible way, had escaped
+him, and he felt keenly his own mistake. He was glad to see Colin
+coming; it gave him an opportunity of escaping honorably from a
+conversation which had been very humiliating to him. He had a habit
+when annoyed of seeking the sea-beach. The chafing, complaining waves
+suited his fretful mood, and leaving the young men, he turned to the
+sea, taking the hillside with such mighty strides that Selwyn watched
+him with admiration and astonishment.
+
+"Four miles of that walking will bring him home in the most amiable of
+moods," said Colin. And perhaps it would, if he had been left to the
+sole companionship of nature. But when he was half way home he met
+Dominie Tallisker, a man of as lofty a spirit as any Crawford who ever
+lived. The two men were close friends, though they seldom met without
+disagreeing on some point.
+
+"Weel met, dominie! Are you going to the Keep?"
+
+"Just so, I am for an hour's talk wi' that fine young English
+clergyman you hae staying wi' you."
+
+"Tallisker, let me tell you, man, you hae been seen o'er much wi' him
+lately. Why, dominie! he is an Episcopal, and an Arminian o' the vera
+warst kind."
+
+"Hout, laird! Arminianism isna a contagious disease. I'll no mair tak
+Arminianism from the Rev. George Selwyn than I'll tak Toryism fra
+Laird Alexander Crawford. My theology and my politics are far beyond
+inoculation. Let me tell you that, laird."
+
+"Hae ye gotten an argument up wi' him, Tallisker? I would like weel to
+hear ye twa at it."
+
+"Na, na; he isna one o' them that argues. He maks downright
+assertions; every one o' them hits a body's conscience like a
+sledge-hammer. He said that to me as we walked the moor last night
+that didna let me sleep a wink."
+
+"He is a vera disagreeable young man. What could he say to you? You
+have aye done your duty."
+
+"I thought sae once, Crawford. I taught the bairns their catechism; I
+looked weel to the spiritual life o' young and old; I had aye a word
+in season for all. But maybe this I ought to hae done, and not left
+the other undone."
+
+"You are talking foolishness, Tallisker, and that's a thing no usual
+wi' you."
+
+"No oftener wi' me nor other folk. But, laird, I feel there must be a
+change. I hae gotten my orders, and I am going to obey them. You may
+be certain o' that."
+
+"I didna think I would ever see Dominie Tallisker taking orders from a
+disciple o' Arminius--and an Englishman forbye!"
+
+"I'll tak my orders, Crawford, from any messenger the Lord chooses to
+send them by. And I'll do this messenger justice; he laid down no law
+to me, he only spak o' the duty laid on his own conscience; but my
+conscience said 'Amen' to his--that's about it. There has been a
+breath o' the Holy Ghost through the Church o' England lately, and the
+dry bones o' its ceremonials are being clothed upon wi' a new and
+wonderfu' life."
+
+"Humff!" said the laird with a scornful laugh as he kicked a pebble
+out of his way.
+
+"There is a great outpouring at Oxford among the young men, and though
+I dinna agree wi' them in a' things, I can see that they hae gotten a
+revelation."
+
+"Ou, ay, the young ken a' things. It is aye young men that are for
+turning the warld upside down. Naething is good enough for them."
+
+The dominie took no notice of the petulant interruption. "Laird," he
+said excitedly, "it is like a fresh Epiphany, what this young Mr.
+Selwyn says--the hungry are fed, the naked clothed, the prisoners
+comforted, the puir wee, ragged, ignorant bairns gathered into homes
+and schools, and it is the gospel wi' bread and meat and shelter and
+schooling in its hand. That was Christ's ain way, you'll admit that.
+And while he was talking, my heart burned, and I bethought me of a
+night-school for the little herd laddies and lasses. They could study
+their lessons on the hillside all day, and I'll gather them for an
+hour at night, and gie them a basin o' porridge and milk after their
+lessons. And we ought not to send the orphan weans o' the kirk to the
+warkhouse; we ought to hae a hame for them, and our sick ought to be
+better looked to. There is many another good thing to do, but we'll
+begin wi' these, and the rest will follow."
+
+The laird had listened thus far in speechless indignation. He now
+stood still, and said,
+
+"I'll hae you to understand, Dominie Tallisker, that I am laird o'
+Crawford and Traquare, and I'll hae nae such pliskies played in either
+o' my clachans."
+
+"If you are laird, I am dominie. You ken me weel enough to be sure if
+this thing is a matter o' conscience to me, neither king nor kaiser
+can stop me. I'd snap my fingers in King George's face if he bid me
+'stay,' when my conscience said 'go,'" and the dominie accompanied the
+threat with that sharp, resonant fillip of the fingers that is a
+Scotchman's natural expression of intense excitement of any kind.
+
+"King George!" cried the laird, in an ungovernable temper, "there is
+the whole trouble. If we had only a Charles Stuart on the throne there
+would be nane o' this Whiggery."
+
+"There would be in its place masses, and popish priests, and a few
+private torture-chambers, and whiles a Presbyterian heretic or twa
+burned at the Grass-market. Whiggery is a grand thing when it keeps
+the Scarlet Woman on her ain seven hills. Scotland's hills and braes
+can do weel, weel without her."
+
+This speech gave the laird time to think. It would never do to quarrel
+with Tallisker. If he should set himself positively against his scheme
+of sending his clan to Canada it would be almost a hopeless one; and
+then he loved and respected his friend. His tall, powerful frame and
+his dark, handsome face, all aglow with a passionate conviction of
+right, and an invincible determination to do it, commanded his
+thorough admiration. He clasped his hands behind his back and said
+calmly,
+
+"Tallisker, you'll be sorry enough for your temper erelong. You hae
+gien way mair than I did. Ye ken how you feel about it."
+
+"I feel ashamed o' mysel', laird. You'll no lay the blame o' it to my
+office, but to Dugald Tallisker his ain sel'. There's a deal o'
+Dugald Tallisker in me yet, laird; and whiles he is o'er much for
+Dominie Tallisker."
+
+They were at the gate by this time, and Crawford held out his hand and
+said,
+
+"Come in, dominie."
+
+"No; I'll go hame, laird, and gie mysel' a talking to. Tell Mr. Selwyn
+I want to see him."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Alas, how often do Christ's words, "I come not to bring peace, but a
+sword," prove true. George Selwyn went away, but the seed he had
+dropped in this far-off corner of Scotland did not bring forth
+altogether the peaceable fruits of righteousness. In fact, as we have
+seen, it had scarcely begun to germinate before the laird and the
+dominie felt it to be a root of bitterness between them. For if
+Crawford knew anything he knew that Tallisker would never relinquish
+his new work, and perhaps if he yielded to any reasonable object
+Tallisker would stand by him in his project.
+
+He did not force the emigration plan upon his notice. The summer was
+far advanced; it would be unjustifiable to send the clan to Canada at
+the beginning of winter. And, as it happened, the subject was opened
+with the dominie in a very favorable manner. They were returning from
+the moors one day and met a party of six men. They were evidently
+greatly depressed, but they lifted their bonnets readily to the chief.
+There was a hopeless, unhappy look about them that was very painful.
+
+"You have been unsuccessful on the hills, Archie, I fear."
+
+"There's few red deer left," said the man gloomily. "It used to be
+deer and men; it is sheep and dogs now."
+
+After a painful silence the dominie said,
+
+"Something ought to be done for those braw fellows. They canna ditch
+and delve like an Irish peasant. It would be like harnessing stags in
+a plough."
+
+Then Crawford spoke cautiously of his intention, and to his delight
+the dominie approved it.
+
+"I'll send them out in Read & Murray's best ships. I'll gie each head
+o' a family what you think right, Tallisker, and I'll put L100 in your
+hands for special cases o' help. And you will speak to the men and
+their wives for me, for it is a thing I canna bear to do."
+
+But the men too listened eagerly to the proposition. They trusted the
+dominie, and they were weary of picking up a precarious living in
+hunting and fishing, and relying on the chief in emergencies. Their
+old feudal love and reverence still remained in a large measure, but
+they were quite sensible that everything had changed in their little
+world, and that they were out of tune with it. Some few of their
+number had made their way to India or Canada, and there was a vague
+dissatisfaction which only required a prospect of change to develop.
+As time went on, and the laird's plan for opening the coal beds on his
+estate got known, the men became impatient to be gone.
+
+In the early part of March two large ships lay off the coast waiting
+for them, and they went in a body to Crawford Keep to bid the chief
+"farewell." It was a hard hour, after all, to Crawford. The great
+purpose that he had kept before his eyes for years was not at that
+moment sufficient. He had dressed himself in his full chieftain's suit
+to meet them. The eagle's feather in his Glengary gave to his great
+stature the last grace. The tartan and philibeg, the garters at his
+knee, the silver buckles at his shoulder, belt, and shoon, the
+jewelled mull and dirk, had all to these poor fellows in this last
+hour a proud and sad significance. As he stood on the steps to welcome
+them, the wind colored his handsome face and blew out the long black
+hair which fell curling on his shoulders.
+
+Whatever they intended to say to him, when they thus saw him with
+young Colin by his side they were unable to say. They could only lift
+their bonnets in silence. The instincts and traditions of a thousand
+years were over them; he was at this moment the father and the chief
+of their deepest affection. One by one they advanced to him. He
+pressed the hands of all. Some of the older men--companions of his
+youth in play and sport--he kissed with a solemn tenderness. They went
+away silently as they came, but every heart was full and every eye was
+dim. There was a great feast for them in the clachan that night, but
+it was a sombre meeting, and the dominie's cheerful words of advice
+and comfort formed its gayest feature.
+
+The next day was calm and clear. The women and children were safely on
+board soon after noon, and about four o'clock the long boats left the
+shore full of men. Tallisker was in the front one. As they pulled away
+he pointed silently to a steep crag on the shingly beach. The chief
+stood upon it. He waved his bonnet, and then the long-pent feelings of
+the clan found vent in one long, pitiful Gallic lament, _O hon a rie!
+O hon a rie!_ For a few moments the boats lay at rest, no man was able
+to lift an oar. Suddenly Tallisker's clear, powerful voice touched the
+right chord. To the grand, plaintive melody of St. Mary's he began the
+125th Psalm,
+
+  "They in the Lord that firmly trust
+    shall be like Sion hill,
+  Which at no time can be removed,
+    but standeth ever still.
+
+  As round about Jerusalem
+    the mountains stand alway;
+  The Lord his folk doth compass so
+    from henceforth and for aye."
+
+And thus singing together they passed from their old life into a new
+one.
+
+Colin had been indignant and sorrowful over the whole affair. He and
+Helen were still young enough to regret the breaking of a tie which
+bound them to a life whose romance cast something like a glamour over
+the prosaic one of more modern times. Both would, in the
+unreasonableness of youthful sympathy, have willingly shared land and
+gold with their poor kinsmen; but in this respect Tallisker was with
+the laird.
+
+"It was better," he said, "that the old feudal tie should be severed
+even by a thousand leagues of ocean. They were men and not bairns, and
+they could feel their ain feet;" and then he smiled as he remembered
+how naturally they had taken to self-dependence. For one night, in a
+conversation with the oldest men, he said, "Crawfords, ye'll hae to
+consider, as soon as you are gathered together in your new hame, the
+matter o' a dominie. Your little flock in the wilderness will need a
+shepherd, and the proper authorities maun be notified."
+
+Then an old gray-headed man had answered firmly, "Dominie, we will
+elect our ain minister. We hae been heart and soul, every man o' us,
+with the Relief Kirk; but it is ill living in Rome and striving wi'
+the pope, and sae for the chief's sake and your sake we hae withheld
+our testimony. But we ken weel that even in Scotland the Kirk willna
+hirple along much farther wi' the State on her back, and in the
+wilderness, please God, we'll plant only a Free Kirk."
+
+The dominie heard the resolve in silence, but to himself he said
+softly, "_They'll do! They'll do!_ They'll be a bit upsetting at
+first, maybe, but they are queer folk that have nae failings."
+
+A long parting is a great strain; it was a great relief when the ships
+had sailed quite out of sight. The laird with a light heart now turned
+to his new plans. No reproachful eyes and unhappy faces were there to
+damp his ardor. Everything promised well. The coal seam proved to be
+far richer than had been anticipated, and those expert in such matters
+said there were undoubted indications of the near presence of iron
+ore. Great furnaces began to loom up in Crawford's mental vision, and
+to cast splendid lustres across his future fortunes.
+
+In a month after the departure of the clan, the little clachan of
+Traquare had greatly changed. Long rows of brick cottages, ugly and
+monotonous beyond description, had taken the place of the more
+picturesque sheilings. Men who seemed to measure everything in life
+with a two-foot rule were making roads and building jetties for
+coal-smacks to lie at. There was constant influx of strange men and
+women--men of stunted growth and white faces, and who had an insolent,
+swaggering air, intolerably vulgar when contrasted with the Doric
+simplicity and quiet gigantic manhood of the mountain shepherds.
+
+The new workers were, however, mainly Lowland Scotchmen from the
+mining districts of Ayrshire. The dominie had set himself positively
+against the introduction of a popish element and an alien people; and
+in this position he had been warmly upheld by Farquharson and the
+neighboring proprietors. As it was, there was an antagonism likely to
+give him full employment. The Gael of the mountains regarded these
+Lowland "working bodies" with something of that disdain which a rich
+and cultivated man feels for kin, not only poor, but of contemptible
+nature and associations. The Gael was poor truly, but he held himself
+as of gentle birth. He had lived by his sword, or by the care of
+cattle, hunting, and fishing. Spades, hammers, and looms belonged to
+people of another kind.
+
+Besides this great social gulf, there were political and religious
+ones still wider. That these differences were traditional, rather than
+real, made no distinction. Man have always fought as passionately for
+an idea as for a fact. But Dominie Tallisker was a man made for great
+requirements and great trusts. He took in the position with the eye of
+a general. He watched the two classes passing down the same streets as
+far apart as if separated by a continent, and he said, with a very
+positive look on his face, "These men are brethren and they ought to
+dwell in unity; and, God helping Dugald Tallisker, they will do it,
+yes, indeed, they will."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+In a year after the departure of the clan, the clachans of Crawford
+and Traquare had lost almost all traces of their old pastoral
+character. The coal pit had been opened, and great iron furnaces built
+almost at its mouth. Things had gone well with Crawford; the seam had
+proved to be unusually rich; and, though the iron had been found, not
+on his land, but on the extreme edge of Blair, he was quite satisfied.
+Farquharson had struck hands with him over it, and the Blair iron ore
+went to the Crawford furnaces to be smelted into pig iron.
+
+Crawford had grown younger in the ardent life he had been leading. No
+one would have taken him to be fifty-five years old. He hardly thought
+of the past; he only told himself that he had never been as strong and
+clear-headed and full of endurance, and that it was probable he had
+yet nearly half a century before him. What could he not accomplish in
+that time?
+
+But in every earthly success there is a Mordecai sitting in its gate,
+and Colin was the uncomfortable feature in the laird's splendid hopes.
+He had lounged heartlessly to and from the works; the steady,
+mechanical routine of the new life oppressed him, and he had a
+thorough dislike for the new order of men with whom he had to come in
+contact. The young Crawfords had followed him about the hills with an
+almost canine affection and admiration. To them he was always "the
+young laird." These sturdy Ayrshire and Galloway men had an old
+covenanting rebelliousness about them. They disputed even with Dominie
+Tallisker on church government; they sang Robert Burns' most
+democratic songs in Crawford's very presence.
+
+Then Colin contrasted them physically with the great fellows he had
+been accustomed to see striding over the hills, and he despised the
+forms stunted by working in low seams and unhealthy vapors and the
+faces white for lack of sunshine and grimy with the all-pervading coal
+dust. The giants who toiled in leather masks and leather suits before
+the furnaces suited his taste better. When he watched them moving
+about amid the din and flames and white-hot metal, he thought of
+Vulcan and Mount AEtna, and thus threw over them the enchantments of
+the old Roman age. But in their real life the men disappointed him.
+They were vulgar and quarrelsome; the poorest Highland gillie had a
+vein of poetry in his nature, but these iron-workers were painfully
+matter of fact; they could not even understand a courtesy unless it
+took the shape of a glass of whiskey.
+
+It was evident to the laird that the new life was very distasteful to
+his heir; it was evident to the dominie that it was developing the
+worst sides of Colin's character. Something of this he pointed out to
+Helen one morning. Helen and he had lately become great friends,
+indeed, they were co-workers together in all the new labors which the
+dominie's conscience had set him. The laird had been too busy and
+anxious about other matters to interfere as yet with this alliance,
+but he promised himself he would do so very soon. Helen Crawford was
+not going to nurse sick babies and sew for all the old women in the
+clachan much longer. And the night-school! This was particularly
+offensive to him. Some of the new men had gone there, and Crawford was
+sure he was in some way defrauded by it. He thought it impossible to
+work in the day and study an hour at night. In some way he suffered by
+it.
+
+"If they werna in the schoolroom they would be in the Change House,"
+Tallisker had argued.
+
+But the laird thought in his heart that the whiskey would be more to
+his advantage than the books. Yet he did not like to say so; there was
+something in the dominie's face which restrained him. He had opened
+the subject in that blustering way which always hides the white
+feather somewhere beneath it, and Tallisker had answered with a solemn
+severity,
+
+"Crawford, it seems to be your wark to mak money; it is mine to save
+souls. Our roads are sae far apart we arena likely to run against each
+other, if we dinna try to."
+
+"But I don't like the way you are doing your wark; that is all,
+dominie."
+
+"Mammon never did like God's ways. There is a vera old disagreement
+between them. A man has a right to consider his ain welfare, Crawford,
+but it shouldna be mair than the twa tables o' the law to him."
+
+Now Tallisker was one of those ministers who bear their great
+commission in their faces. There was something almost imperial about
+the man when he took his stand by the humblest altar of his duty.
+Crawford had intended at this very time to speak positively on the
+subject of his own workers to Tallisker. But when he looked at the
+dark face, set and solemn and full of an irresistible authority, he
+was compelled to keep silence. A dim fear that Tallisker would say
+something to him which would make him uncomfortable crept into his
+heart. It was better that both the dominie and conscience should be
+quiet at present.
+
+Still he could not refrain from saying,
+
+"You hae set yoursel' a task you'll ne'er win over, dominie. You could
+as easy mak Ben-Cruchan cross the valley and sit down by Ben-Appin as
+mak Gael and Lowlander call each other brothers."
+
+"We are told, Crawford, that mountains may be moved by faith; why not,
+then, by love? I am a servant o' God. I dinna think it any presumption
+to expect impossibilities."
+
+Still it must be acknowledged that Tallisker looked on the situation
+as a difficult one. The new workers to a man disapproved of the
+Established Church of Scotland. Perhaps of all classes of laborers
+Scotch colliers are the most theoretically democratic and the most
+practically indifferent in matters of religion. Every one of them had
+relief and secession arguments ready for use, and they used them
+chiefly as an excuse for not attending Tallisker's ministry. When
+conscience is used as an excuse, or as a weapon for wounding, it is
+amazing how tender it becomes. It pleased these Lowland workers to
+assert a religious freedom beyond that of the dominie and the shepherd
+Gael around them. And if men wish to quarrel, and can give their
+quarrel a religious basis, they secure a tolerance and a respect which
+their own characters would not give them. Tallisker might pooh-pooh
+sectional or political differences, but he was himself far too
+scrupulous to regard with indifference the smallest theological
+hesitation.
+
+One day as he was walking up the clachan pondering these things, he
+noticed before him a Highland shepherd driving a flock to the hills.
+There was a party of colliers sitting around the Change House; they
+were the night-gang, and having had their sleep and their breakfast,
+were now smoking and drinking away the few hours left of their rest.
+Anything offering the chance of amusement was acceptable, and Jim
+Armstrong, a saucy, bullying fellow from the Lonsdale mines, who had
+great confidence in his Cumberland wrestling tricks, thought he saw in
+the placid indifference of the shepherd a good opportunity for
+bravado.
+
+"Sawnie, ye needna pass the Change House because we are here. We'll no
+hurt you, man."
+
+The shepherd was as one who heard not.
+
+Then followed an epithet that no Highlander can hear unmoved, and the
+man paused and put his hand under his plaid. Tallisker saw the
+movement and quickened his steps. The word was repeated, with the
+scornful laugh of the group to enforce it. The shepherd called his
+dog--
+
+"Keeper, you tak the sheep to the Cruchan corrie, and dinna let are o'
+them stray."
+
+The dumb creature looked in his face assentingly, and with a sharp
+bark took the flock charge. Then the shepherd walked up to the group,
+and Jim Armstrong rose to meet him.
+
+"Nae dirks," said an old man quietly; "tak your hands like men."
+
+Before the speech was over they were clinched in a grasp which meant
+gigantic strength on one side, and a good deal of practical bruising
+science on the other. But before there was an opportunity of testing
+the quality of either the dominie was between the men. He threw them
+apart like children, and held each of them at arm's length, almost as
+a father might separate two fighting schoolboys. The group watching
+could not refrain a shout of enthusiasm, and old Tony Musgrave jumped
+to his feet and threw his pipe and his cap in the air.
+
+"Dugald," said the dominie to the shepherd, "go your ways to your
+sheep. I'll hae nae fighting in my parish.
+
+"Jim Armstrong, you thrawart bully you, dinna think you are the only
+man that kens Cumberland cantrips. I could fling you mysel' before you
+could tell your own name;" and as if to prove his words, he raised an
+immense stone, that few men could have lifted, and with apparent ease
+flung it over his right shoulder. A shout of astonishment greeted the
+exploit, and Tony Musgrave--whose keen, satirical ill-will had
+hitherto been Tallisker's greatest annoyance--came frankly forward and
+said, "Dominie, you are a guid fellow! Will you tak some beer wi' me?"
+
+Tallisker did not hesitate a moment.
+
+"Thank you, Tony. If it be a drink o' good-will, I'll tak it gladly."
+
+But he was not inclined to prolong the scene; the interference had
+been forced upon him. It had been the only way to stop a quarrel which
+there would have been no healing if blood had once been shed. Yet he
+was keenly alive to the dignity of his office, and resumed it in the
+next moment. Indeed, the drinking of the glass of good-will together
+was rather a ceremonial than a convivial affair. Perhaps that also was
+the best. The men were silent and respectful, and for the first time
+lifted their caps with a hearty courtesy to Tallisker when he left
+them.
+
+"Weel! Wonders never cease!" said Jim Armstrong scornfully. "To see
+Tony Musgrave hobnobbing wi' a black-coat! The deil must 'a' had a
+spasm o' laughing."
+
+"Let the deil laugh," said Tony, with a snap of his grimy fingers.
+Then, after a moment's pause, he added, "Lads, I heard this morning
+that the dominie's wheat was spoiling, because he couldna get help to
+cut it. I laughed when I heard it; I didna ken the man then. I'm
+going to-morrow to cut the dominie's wheat; which o' you will go wi'
+me?"
+
+"I!" and "I!" and "I!" was the hearty response; and so next day
+Traquare saw a strange sight--a dozen colliers in a field of wheat,
+making a real holiday of cutting the grain and binding the sheaves, so
+that before the next Sabbath it had all been brought safely home.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+But during these very days, when the dominie and his parishioners were
+drawing a step closer to each other, the laird and his son were
+drifting farther apart. Crawford felt keenly that Colin took no
+interest in the great enterprises which filled his own life. The fact
+was, Colin inherited his mother's, and not his father's temperament.
+The late Lady Crawford had been the daughter of a Zetland Udaller, a
+pure Scandinavian, a descendant of the old Vikings, and she inherited
+from them a poetic imagination and a nature dreamy and inert, though
+capable of rousing itself into fits of courage that could dare the
+impossible. Colin would have led a forlorn hope or stormed a battery;
+but the bare ugliness and monotony of his life at the works fretted
+and worried him.
+
+Tallisker had repeatedly urged a year's foreign travel. But the laird
+had been much averse to the plan. France, in his opinion, was a hotbed
+of infidelity; Italy, of popery; Germany, of socialistic and
+revolutionary doctrines. There was safety only in Scotland. Pondering
+these things, he resolved that marriage was the proper means to
+"settle" the lad. So he entered into communication with an old friend
+respecting his daughter and his daughter's portion; and one night he
+laid the result before Colin.
+
+Colin was indignant. He wanted to marry no woman, and least of all
+women, Isabel McLeod.
+
+"She'll hae L50,000!" said the laird sententiously.
+
+"I would not sell myself for L50,000."
+
+"You'd be a vera dear bargain at half the price to any woman, Colin.
+And you never saw Isabel. She was here when you were in Glasgow. She
+has the bonniest black e'en in Scotland, and hair like a raven's
+wing."
+
+"When I marry, sir, I shall marry a woman like my mother: a woman with
+eyes as blue as heaven, and a face like a rose. I'll go, as you did,
+to Shetland for her."
+
+"There isna a house there fit for you to take a wife from, Colin, save
+and except the Earl's ain; and his daughter, the Lady Selina, is near
+thirty years old."
+
+"There are my second cousins, Helga and Saxa Vedder."
+
+Then the laird was sure in his own heart that Tallisker's advice was
+best. France and Italy were less to be feared than pretty, portionless
+cousins. Colin had better travel a year, and he proposed it. It hurt
+him to see how eagerly his heir accepted the offer. However, if the
+thing was to be done, it was best done quickly. Letters of credit
+suitable to the young laird's fortune were prepared, and in less than
+a month he was ready to begin his travels. It had been agreed that he
+should remain away one year, and if it seemed desirable, that his stay
+might even be lengthened to two. But no one dreamed that advantage
+would be taken of this permission.
+
+"He'll be hamesick ere a twelvemonth, laird," said the dominie; and
+the laird answered fretfully, "A twelvemonth is a big slice o' life to
+fling awa in far countries."
+
+The night before Colin left he was walking with his sister on the
+moor. A sublime tranquillity was in the still September air. The
+evening crimson hung over the hills like a royal mantle. The old
+church stood framed in the deepest blue. At that distance the long
+waves broke without a sound, and the few sails on the horizon looked
+like white flowers at sea.
+
+"How beautiful is this mansion of our father!" said Helen softly. "One
+blushes to be caught worrying in it, and yet, Colin, I fear to have
+you go away."
+
+"Why, my dear?"
+
+"I have a presentiment that we shall meet no more in this life. Nay,
+do not smile; this strange intelligence of sorrow, this sudden
+trembling in a soul at rest, is not all a delusion. We shall part
+to-morrow, Colin. Oh, darling brother, where shall we meet again?"
+
+He looked into the fair, tender face and the eager, questioning eyes,
+and found himself unable to reply.
+
+"Remember, Colin! I give you a rendezvous in heaven."
+
+He clasped her hand tightly, and they walked on in a silence that
+Colin remembered often afterwards. Sometimes, in dreams, to the very
+end of his life, he took again with Helen that last evening walk, and
+his soul leaned and hearkened after hers. "I give you a rendezvous in
+heaven!"
+
+In the morning they had a few more words alone. She was standing
+looking out thoughtfully into the garden. "Are you going to London?"
+she asked suddenly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You will call on Mr. Selwyn?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Tell him we remember him--and try to follow, though afar off, the
+example he sets us."
+
+"Well, you know, Helen, I may not see him. We never were chums. I have
+often wondered why I asked him here. It was all done in a moment. I
+had thought of asking Walter Napier, and then I asked Selwyn. I have
+often thought it would have pleased me better if I had invited
+Walter."
+
+"Sometimes it is permitted to us to do things for the pleasure of
+others, rather than our own. I have often thought that God--who
+foresaw the changes to take place here--sent Mr. Selwyn with a message
+to Dominie Tallisker. The dominie thinks so too. Then how glad you
+ought to be that you asked him. He came to prepare for those poor
+people who as yet were scattered over Ayrshire and Cumberland. And
+this thought comforts me for you, Colin. God knows just where you are
+going, dear, and the people you are going to meet, and all the events
+that will happen to you."
+
+The events and situations of life resemble ocean waves--every one is
+alike and yet every one is different. It was just so at Crawford Keep
+after Colin left it. The usual duties of the day were almost as
+regular as the clock, but little things varied them. There were
+letters or no letters from Colin; there were little events at the
+works or in the village; the dominie called or he did not call.
+Occasionally there were visitors connected with the mines or furnaces,
+and sometimes there were social evening gatherings of the neighboring
+young people, or formal state dinners for the magistrates and
+proprietors who were on terms of intimacy with the laird.
+
+For the first year of Colin's absence, if his letters were not quite
+satisfactory, they were condoned. It did not please his father that
+Colin seemed to have settled himself so completely in Rome, among
+"artists and that kind o' folk," and he was still more angry when
+Colin declared his intention of staying away another year. Poor
+father! How he had toiled and planned to aggrandize this only son, who
+seemed far more delighted with an old coin or an old picture than with
+the great works which bore his name. In all manner of ways he had made
+it clear to his family that in the dreamy, sensuous atmosphere of
+Italian life he remembered the gray earnestness of Scottish life with
+a kind of terror.
+
+Tallisker said, "Give him his way a little longer, laird. To bring him
+hame now is no use. People canna thole blue skies for ever; he'll be
+wanting the moors and the misty corries and the gray clouds erelong."
+So Colin had another year granted him, and his father added thousand
+to thousand, and said to his heart wearily many and many a time, "It
+is all vexation of spirit."
+
+At the end of the second year Crawford wrote a most important letter
+to his son. There was an opening for the family that might never come
+again. All arrangements had been made for Colin to enter the coming
+contest for a seat in Parliament. The Marquis of B---- had been spoken
+to, and Crawford and he had come to an understanding Crawford did not
+give the particulars of the "understanding," but he told Colin that
+his "political career was assured." He himself would take care of the
+works. Political life was open to his son, and if money and influence
+could put him in the House of Peers, money should not be spared.
+
+The offer was so stupendous, the future it looked forward to so great,
+Crawford never doubted Colin's proud, acquiescence. That much he owed
+to a long line of glorious ancestors; it was one of the obligations of
+noble birth; he would not dare to, neglect it.
+
+Impatiently he waited Colin's answer. Indeed, he felt sure Colin would
+answer such a call in person. He was disappointed when a letter came;
+he had not known, till then, how sure he had felt of seeing his son.
+And the letter was a simple blow to him. Very respectfully, but very
+firmly, the proposition was declined. Colin said he knew little of
+parties and cabals, and was certain, at least, that nothing could
+induce him to serve under the Marquis of B----. He could not see his
+obligations to the dead Crawfords as his father did. He considered his
+life his own. It had come to him with certain tastes, which he meant
+to improve and gratify, for only in that way was life of any value to
+him.
+
+The laird laid the letter in Tallisker's hands without a word. He was
+almost broken-hearted. He had not yet got to that point where
+money-making for money's sake was enough. Family aggrandizement and
+political ambition are not the loftiest motives of a man's life, but
+still they lift money-making a little above the dirty drudgery of mere
+accumulation. Hitherto Crawford had worked for an object, and the
+object, at least in his own eyes, had dignified the labor.
+
+In his secret heart he was angry at Colin's calm respectability. A
+spendthrift prodigal, wasting his substance in riotous living, would
+have been easier to manage than this young man of aesthetic tastes,
+whose greatest extravagance was a statuette or a picture. Tallisker,
+too, was more uneasy than he would confess. He had hoped that Colin
+would answer his father's summons, because he believed now that the
+life he was leading was unmanning him. The poetical element in his
+character was usurping an undue mastery. He wrote to Colin very
+sternly, and told him plainly that a poetic pantheism was not a whit
+less sinful than the most vulgar infidelity.
+
+Still he advised the laird to be patient, and by no means to answer
+Colin's letter in a hurry. But only fixed more firmly the angry
+father's determination. Colin must come home and fulfil his wish, or
+he must time remain away until he returned as master. As his son, he
+would know him no more; as the heir of Crawford, he would receive at
+intervals such information as pertained to that position. For the old
+man was just in his anger; it never seemed possible to him to deprive
+Colin of the right of his heritage. To be the 13th Laird of Crawford
+was Colin's birthright; he fully recognized his title to the honor,
+and, as the future head of the house, rendered him a definite respect.
+
+Of course a letter written in such a spirit did no good whatever.
+Nothing after it could have induced Colin to come home. He wrote and
+declined to receive even the allowance due to him as heir of Crawford.
+The letter was perfectly respectful, but cruelly cold and polite, and
+every word cut the old man like a sword.
+
+For some weeks he really seemed to lose all interest in life. Then the
+result Tallisker feared was arrived at. He let ambition go, and
+settled down to the simple toil of accumulation.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+But Crawford had not a miser's nature. His house, his name, his
+children were dearer, after all, to him than gold. Hope springs
+eternal in the breast; in a little while he had provided himself with
+a new motive: he would marry Helen to young Farquharson, and endow her
+so royally that Farquharson would gladly take her name. There should
+be another house of Crawford of which Helen should be the root.
+
+Helen had been long accustomed to consider Hugh Farquharson as her
+future husband. The young people, if not very eager lovers, were at
+least very warm and loyal friends. They had been in no hurry to finish
+the arrangement. Farquharson was in the Scot's Greys; it was
+understood that at his marriage he should resign his commission, so,
+though he greatly admired Helen, he was in no hurry to leave the
+delights of metropolitan and military life.
+
+But suddenly Crawford became urgent for the fulfilment of the
+contract, and Helen, seeing how anxious he was, and knowing how sorely
+Colin had disappointed him, could no longer plead for a delay. And yet
+a strange sadness fell over her; some inexplicable symptoms as to her
+health led her to fear she would never be Farquharson's wife; the gay
+wedding attire that came from Edinburgh filled her with a still
+sorrow; she could not appropriate any part of it as her own.
+
+One day when the preparations were nearly finished, Tallisker came up
+to the Keep. Helen saw at once that he was moved by some intense
+feeling, and there was a red spot on his cheeks which she had been
+accustomed to associate with the dominie's anger. The laird was
+sitting placidly smoking, and drinking toddy. He had been telling
+Helen of the grand house he was going to build on the new estate he
+had just bought; and he was now calmly considering how to carry out
+his plans on the most magnificent scale, for he had firmly determined
+there should be neither Keep nor Castle in the North Country as
+splendid as the new Crawfords' Home.
+
+He greeted Tallisker with a peculiar kindness, and held his hand
+almost lovingly. His friendship for the dominie--if he had known
+it--was a grain of salt in his fast deteriorating life. He did not
+notice the dominie's stern preoccupation, he was so full of his own
+new plans. He began at once to lay them before his old friend; he had
+that very day got the estimates from the Edinburgh architect.
+
+Tallisker looked at them a moment with a gathering anger. Then he
+pushed them passionately away, saying in a voice that was almost a
+sob, "I darena look at them, laird; I darena look at them! Do you ken
+that there are fourteen cases o' typhus in them colliers' cottages you
+built? Do you remember what Mr. Selwyn said about the right o'
+laborers to pure air and pure water? I knew he was right then, and
+yet, God forgive me! I let you tak your ain way. Six little bits o'
+bairns, twa women, and six o' your pit men! You must awa to Athol
+instanter for doctors and medicines and brandy and such things as are
+needfu'. There isna a minute to lose, laird."
+
+Helen had risen while he was speaking with a calm determination that
+frightened her father. He did not answer Tallisker, he spoke to her:
+"Where are you going, Helen?"
+
+"Down to the village; I can do something till better help is got."
+
+"Helen Crawford, you'll bide where you are! Sit still, and I'll do
+whatever Tallisker bids me."
+
+Then he turned angrily to the dominie.
+
+"You are aye bringing me ill tidings. Am I to blame if death comes?"
+
+"Am I my brother's keeper? It's an auld question, laird. The first
+murderer of a' asked it. I'm bound to say you are to blame. When you
+gie fever an invite to your cotters' homes, you darena lay the blame
+on the Almighty. You should hae built as Mr. Selwyn advised."
+
+"Dominie, be quiet. I'm no a bairn, to be hectored o'er in this way.
+Say what I must do and I'll do it--anything in reason--only Helen.
+I'll no hae her leave the Keep; that's as sure as deathe. Sit down,
+Helen. Send a' the wine and dainties you like to, but don't you stir a
+foot o'er the threshold."
+
+His anger was, in its way, as authoritative as the dominie's. Helen
+did as she was bid, more especially as Tallisker in this seconded the
+laird.
+
+"There is naething she could do in the village that some old crone
+could not do better."
+
+It was a bitterly annoying interruption to Crawford's pleasant dreams
+and plans. He got up and went over to the works. He found things very
+bad there. Three more of the men had left sick, and there was an
+unusual depression in the village. The next day the tidings were
+worse. He foresaw that he would have to work the men half time, and
+there had never been so many large and peremptory orders on hand. It
+was all very unfortunate to him.
+
+Tallisker's self-reproaches were his own; he resented them, even while
+he acknowledged their truth. He wished he had built as Selwyn advised;
+he wished Tallisker had urged him more. It was not likely he would
+have listened to any urging, but it soothed him to think he would. And
+he greatly aggravated the dominie's trouble by saying,
+
+"Why did ye na mak me do right, Tallisker? You should hae been mair
+determined wi' me, dominie."
+
+During the next six weeks the dominie's efforts were almost
+superhuman. He saw every cottage whitewashed; he was nurse and doctor
+and cook. The laird saw him carrying wailing babies and holding raving
+men in his strong arms. He watched over the sick till the last ray of
+hope fled; he buried them tenderly when all was over. The splendor of
+the man's humanity had never shown itself until it stood erect and
+feared not, while the pestilence that walked in darkness and the
+destruction that wasted at noon-day dogged his every step.
+
+The laird, too, tried to do his duty. Plenty of people are willing to
+play the Samaritan without the oil and the twopence, but that was not
+Crawford's way. Tallisker's outspoken blame had really made him
+tremble at his new responsibilities; he had put his hand liberally in
+his pocket to aid the sufferers. Perhaps at the foundation of all lay
+one haunting thought--Helen! If he did what he could for others, Helen
+would safer. He never audibly admitted that Helen was in any danger,
+but--but--if there should be danger, he was, he hoped, paying a ransom
+for her safety.
+
+In six weeks the epidemic appeared to have spent itself. There was a
+talk of resuming full hours at the works. Twenty new hands had been
+sent for to fill vacant places. Still there was a shadow on the
+dominie's face, and he knew himself there was a shadow on his heart.
+Was it the still solemnity of death in which he had lately lived so
+much? Or was it the shadow of a coming instead of a departing sorrow?
+
+One afternoon he thought he would go and sit with Helen a little
+while. During his close intimacy with the colliers he had learned many
+things which would change his methods of working for their welfare;
+and of these changes he wished to speak with Helen. She was just going
+for a walk on the moor, and he went with her. It was on such a
+September evening she had walked last with Colin. As they sauntered
+slowly, almost solemnly home, she remembered it. Some impulse far
+beyond her control or understanding urged her to say, "Dominie, when I
+am gone I leave Colin to you."
+
+He looked at her with a sudden enlightenment. Her face had for a
+moment a far-away death-like predestination over it. His heart sank
+like lead as he looked at her.
+
+"Are you ill, Helen?"
+
+"I have not been well for two weeks."
+
+He felt her hands; they were burning with fever.
+
+"Let us go home," she said, and then she turned and gave one long,
+mournful look at the mountains and the sea and the great stretch of
+moorland. Tallisker knew in his heart she was bidding farewell to
+them. He had no word to say. There are moods of the soul beyond all
+human intermeddling.
+
+The silence was broken by Helen. She pointed to the mountains. "How
+steadfast they are, how familiar with forgotten years! How small we
+are beside them!"
+
+"I don't think so," said Tallisker stoutly. "Mountains are naething to
+men. How small is Sinai when the man Moses stands upon it!"
+
+Then they were at the Keep garden. Helen pulled a handful of white and
+golden asters, and the laird, who had seen them coming, opened the
+door wide to welcome them. Alas! Alas! Though he saw it not, death
+entered with them. At midnight there was the old, old cry of despair
+and anguish, the hurrying for help, where no help was of avail, the
+desolation of a terror creeping hour by hour closer to the
+hearthstone.
+
+The laird was stricken with a stony grief which was deaf to all
+consolation. He wandered up and down wringing his hands, and crying
+out at intervals like a man in mortal agony. Helen lay in a stupor
+while the fever burned her young life away. She muttered constantly
+the word "Colin;" and Tallisker, though he had no hope that Colin
+would ever reach his sister, wrote for the young laird.
+
+Just before the last she became clearly, almost radiantly conscious.
+She would be alone with her father, and the old man, struggling
+bravely with his grief, knelt down beside her. She whispered to him
+that there was a paper in the jewel-box on her table. He went and got
+it. It was a tiny scrap folded crosswise. "Read it, father, when I am
+beyond all pain and grief. I shall trust you, dear." He could only bow
+his head upon her hands and weep.
+
+"Tallisker!" she whispered, and he rose softly and called him. The two
+men stood together by her side.
+
+"Is it well, my daughter?" said the dominie, with a tone of tender
+triumph in his voice. "You fear not, Helen, the bonds of death?"
+
+"I trust in those pierced hands which have broken the bonds of death.
+Oh! the unspeakable riches!"
+
+These were her last words. Tallisker prayed softly as the mystical
+gray shadow stole over the fair, tranquil face. It was soon all over.
+
+  "She had outsoared the shadow of our night,
+  And that unrest which men misname delight."
+
+The bridal robes were folded away, the bridegroom went back to his
+regiment, the heartsore father tried to take up his life again. But it
+seemed to him to have been broken in two by the blow; and besides
+this, there was a little strip of paper which lay like a load upon his
+heart. It was the paper he had taken from Helen's dying fingers, and
+it contained her last request:
+
+"Father, dear, dear father, whatever you intended to give me--I pray
+you--give it to God's poor.
+
+"HELEN."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+The dominie had felt certain that Colin would answer his letter in
+person, but after a long silence he received it back again. Colin had
+left Rome, and left no trace behind him. The laird knew that Tallisker
+had written, and he too had been hoping and expecting. But he received
+the news of his son's disappearance without remark. Life for some time
+was a dreary weight to him, he scarce felt as if he could lift it
+again. Hope after hope had failed him. He had longed so to be a rich
+man, had God in his anger granted him his wish? And was no other thing
+to prosper with him? All the same he clung to his gold with a deeper
+affection. When all other vices are old avarice is still young. As
+ambition and other motives died out, avarice usurped their places, and
+Tallisker saw with a feeling half angry, and half pitiful, the laird's
+life dwindling down to this most contemptible of all aims. He kept his
+duty as proprietor constantly before the laird, but he no longer
+seemed to care that people should say, "Crawford's men have the best
+laborers' cottages in Scotland."
+
+"I hae made up my mind, Tallisker," said fretfully, "the warld thinks
+more o' the who mak money than o' those who gie it awa." Certainly
+this change was not a sudden one; for two years after Helen's death it
+was coming slowly forward, yet there were often times when Tallisker
+hoped that it was but a temptation, and would be finally conquered.
+Men do not lose the noble savor of humanity in a moment. Even on the
+downward road good angels wait anxiously, and whisper in every better
+moment to the lapsing soul, "Return!"
+
+But there was a seed of bitterness in Crawford's heart, that was
+poisoning the man's spiritual life--a little bit of paper, yet it lay
+like a great stone over his noblest feelings, and sealed them up as in
+a sepulchre. Oh, if some angel would come and roll it away! He had
+never told the dominie of Helen's bequest. He did not dare to destroy
+the slip of paper, but he hid it in the most secret drawer of his
+secretary. He told himself that it was only a dying sentiment in Helen
+to wish it, and that it would be a foolish superstition in him to
+regard it. Perhaps in those last moments she had not understood what
+she was asking.
+
+For a little while he found relief in this suggestion; then he
+remembered that the request must have been dictated before the fever
+had conquered her strength or judgment. The words were clearly written
+in Helen's neat, precise manner; there was not a hesitating line in
+the whole. She had evidently written it with care and consideration.
+No one could tell how that slip of paper haunted him. Even in the
+darkness of its secret hiding-place his spiritual eyes saw it clearly
+day and night.
+
+To give to the poor all he had intended to give to Helen! He could
+not! He could not! He could not do it! Helen could not have known what
+she was asking. He had meant, in one way or another, to give her, as
+the founder of the new line of Crawfords, at least one hundred
+thousand pounds. Was it reasonable to scatter hither and yon such a
+large sum, earned, as he told himself pitifully, "by his ain wisdom
+and enterprise!"
+
+The dominie knew nothing of this terrible struggle going on ever in
+the man's soul who sat by his side. He saw that Crawford was irritable
+and moody, but he laid the blame of it on Colin. Oh, if the lad would
+only write, he would go himself and bring him back to his father,
+though he should have to seek him at the ends of the earth. But four
+years passed away, and the prodigal sent no backward, homeward sign.
+Every night, then, the laird looked a moment into the dominie's face,
+and always the dominie shook his head. Ah, life has silences that are
+far more pathetic than death's.
+
+One night Crawford said, almost in a whisper,
+
+"He'll be dead, Tallisker."
+
+And Tallisker answered promptly,
+
+"He'll come hame, laird."
+
+No other words about Colin passed between the two men in four years.
+But destiny loves surprises. One night Tallisker laid a letter on the
+table.
+
+"It is for you, laird; read it."
+
+It was a singular letter to come after so long a silence, and the
+laird's anger was almost excusable.
+
+"Listen, Tallisker; did e'er you hear the like?
+
+"'DEAR FATHER: I want, for a very laudable purpose, L4,000. It is not
+for myself in any way. If you will let me have it, I will trouble you
+with the proper explanations. If not, they will not be necessary. I
+have heard that you are well. I pray God to continue his mercy to you.
+
+"'Your dutiful son,
+
+"'COLIN CRAWFORD.'
+
+"'Laudable purpose!'" cried the unhappy father, in a passion. "The lad
+is altogether too laudable. The letter is an insult, Tallisker. I'll
+ne'er forgive him for it. Oh, what a miserable father I am!"
+
+And the dominie was moved to tears at the sight of his old friend's
+bitter anguish.
+
+Still he asserted that Colin had meant it to be a kind letter.
+
+"Dinna tak want o' sense for want o' affection laird. The lad is a
+conceited prig. He's set up wi' himsel' about something he is going to
+do. Let him hae the money. I would show him you can gie as grandly as
+he can ask loftily."
+
+And, somehow, the idea pleased the laird. It was something that Colin
+had been obliged to ask him for money at all. He sat down and wrote
+out a check for the amount. Then he enclosed it with these words:
+
+"SON COLIN CRAWFORD: I send you what you desire. I am glad your
+prospects are sae laudable; maybe it may enter your heart, some day,
+to consider it laudable to keep the Fifth Command. Your sister is
+dead. Life is lonely, but I thole it. I want nae explanations.
+
+"Your father,
+
+"ALEX. CRAWFORD."
+
+"What's the address, Tallisker?"
+
+"Regent's Place, London."
+
+The answer arrived in due time. It was as proper as a letter could be.
+Colin said he was just leaving for America, but did not expect to be
+more than six months there. But he never said a word about coming to
+Crawford. Tallisker was downright angry at the young man. It was true
+his father had told him he did not wish to see him again, but that had
+been said under a keen sense of family wrong and of bitter
+disappointment. Colin ought to have taken his father's ready response
+to his request as an overture of reconciliation. For a moment he was
+provoked with both of them.
+
+"You are a dour lot, you Crawfords; ane o' you is prouder than the
+ither."
+
+"The Crawfords are as God made them, dominie."
+
+"And some o' them a little warse."
+
+Yet, after all, it was Colin Tallisker was really angry at. For the
+present he had to let his anger lie by. Colin had gone, and given him
+no address in America.
+
+"He is feared I will be telling him his duty, and when he comes back
+that is what I shall do, if I go to London to mak him hear me."
+
+For a moment the laird looked hopefully into the dominie's face, but
+the hope was yet so far off he could not grasp it. Yet, in a dim,
+unacknowledged way it influenced him. He returned to his money-making
+with renewed vigor. It was evident he had let the hope of Colin's
+return steal into his heart. And the giving of that L4,000 Tallisker
+considered almost a sign of grace. It had not been given from any
+particularly noble motive; but any motive, not sinful, roused in
+opposition to simple avarice, was a gain. He was quite determined now
+to find Colin as soon as he returned from America.
+
+In rather less than six months there were a few lines from Colin,
+saying that the money sent had been applied to the proper purpose, and
+had nobly fulfilled it. The laird had said he wanted no explanations,
+and Colin gave him none.
+
+Tallisker read the letter with a half smile.
+
+"He is just the maist contrary, conceited young man I e'er heard tell
+o'. Laird, as he wont come to us, I am going to him."
+
+The laird said nothing. Any grief is better than a grief not sure. It
+would be a relief to know all, even if that "all" were painful.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Tallisker was a man as quick in action as in resolve; the next night
+he left for London, it was no light journey in those days for a man of
+his years, and who had never in all his life been farther away from
+Perthshire than Edinburgh. But he feared nothing. He was going into
+the wilderness after his own stray sheep, and he had a conviction that
+any path of duty is a safe path. He said little to any one. The people
+looked strangely on him. He almost fancied himself to be Christian
+going through Vanity Fair.
+
+He went first to Colin's old address in Regent's Place. He did not
+expect to find him there, but it might lead him to the right place.
+Number 34 Regent's Place proved to be a very grand house. As he went
+up to the door, an open carriage, containing a lady and a child, left
+it. A man dressed in the Crawford tartan opened the door.
+
+"Crawford?" inquired Tallisker, "is he at home?"
+
+"Yes, he is at home;" and the servant ushered him into, a
+carefully-shaded room, where marble statues gleamed in dusk corners
+and great flowering plants made the air fresh and cool. It as the
+first time Tallisker had ever seen a calla lily and he looked with
+wonder and delight at the gleaming flowers. And somehow he thought of
+Helen. Colin sat in a great leathern chair reading. He did not lift
+his head until the door closed and he was sensible the servant had
+left some one behind. Then for a moment he could hardly realize who it
+was; but when he did, he came forward with a glad cry.
+
+"Dominie! O Tallisker!"
+
+"Just so, Colin, my dear lad. O Colin, you are the warst man I ever
+kenned. You had a good share o' original sin to start wi', but what
+wi' pride and self-will and ill-will, the old trouble is sairly
+increased."
+
+Colin smiled gravely. "I think you misjudge me, dominie." Then
+refreshments were sent for, and the two men sat down for a long mutual
+confidence.
+
+Colin's life had not been uneventful. He told it frankly, without
+reserve and without pride. When he quarrelled with his father about
+entering Parliament, he left Rome at once, and went to Canada. He had
+some idea of joining his lot with his own people there. But he found
+them in a state of suffering destitution. They had been unfortunate in
+their choice of location, and were enduring an existence barer than
+the one they had left, without any of its redeeming features. Colin
+gave them all he had, and left them with promises of future aid.
+
+Then he went to New York. When he arrived, there was an intense
+excitement over the struggle then going on in the little republic of
+Texas. He found out something about the country; as for the struggle,
+it was the old struggle of freedom against papal and priestly
+dominion. That was a quarrel for which Scotchmen have always been
+ready to draw the sword. It was Scotland's old quarrel in the New
+World, and Colin went into it heart and soul. His reward had been an
+immense tract of the noble rolling Colorado prairie. Then he
+determined to bring the Crawfords down, and plant them in this garden
+of the Lord. It was for this end he had written to his father for
+L4,000. This sum had sufficed to transplant them to their new home,
+and give them a start. He had left them happy and contented, and felt
+now that in this matter he had absolved his conscience of all wrong.
+
+"But you ought to hae told the laird. It was vera ill-considered. It
+was his affair more than yours. I like the thing you did, Colin, but I
+hate the way you did it. One shouldna be selfish even in a good wark."
+
+"It was the laird's own fault; he would not let me explain."
+
+"Colin, are you married?"
+
+"Yes. I married a Boston lady. I have a son three years old. My wife
+was in Texas with me. She had a large fortune of her own."
+
+"You are a maist respectable man, Colin, but I dinna like it at all.
+What are you doing wi' your time? This grand house costs something."
+
+"I am an artist--a successful one, if that is not also against me."
+
+"Your father would think sae. Oh, my dear lad, you hae gane far astray
+from the old Crawford ways."
+
+"I cannot help that, dominie. I must live according to my light. I am
+sorry about father."
+
+Then the dominie in the most forcible manner painted the old laird's
+hopes and cruel disappointments. There were tears in Colin's eyes as
+he reasoned with him. And at this point his own son came into the
+room. Perhaps for the first time Colin looked at the lad as the future
+heir of Crawford. A strange thrill of family and national pride
+stirred his heart. He threw the little fellow shoulder high, and in
+that moment regretted that he had flung away the child's chance of
+being Earl of Crawford. He understood then something of the anger and
+suffering his father had endured, and he put the boy down very
+solemnly. For if Colin was anything, he was just; if his father had
+been his bitterest enemy, he would, at this moment, have acknowledged
+his own aggravation.
+
+Then Mrs. Crawford came in. She had heard all about the dominie, and
+she met him like a daughter. Colin had kept his word. This fair,
+sunny-haired, blue-eyed woman was the wife he had dreamed about; and
+Tallisker told him he had at any rate done right in that matter. "The
+bonnie little Republican," as he called her, queened it over the
+dominie from the first hour of their acquaintance.
+
+He stayed a week in London, and during it visited Colin's studio. He
+went there at Colin's urgent request, but with evident reluctance. A
+studio to the simple dominie had almost the same worldly flavor as a
+theatre. He had many misgivings as they went down Pall Mall, but he
+was soon reassured. There was a singular air of repose and quiet in
+the large, cool room. And the first picture he cast his eyes upon
+reconciled him to Colin's most un-Crawford-like taste.
+
+It was "The Farewell of the Emigrant Clan." The dominie's knees shook,
+and he turned pale with emotion. How had Colin reproduced that scene,
+and not only reproduced but idealized it! There were the gray sea and
+the gray sky, and the gray granite boulder rocks on which the chief
+stood, the waiting ships, and the loaded boats, and he himself in the
+prow of the foremost one. He almost felt the dear old hymn thrilling
+through the still room. In some way, too, Colin had grasped the
+grandest points of his father's character. In this picture the man's
+splendid physical beauty seemed in some mysterious way to give
+assurance of an equally splendid spiritual nature.
+
+"If this is making pictures, Colin, I'll no say but what you could
+paint a sermon, my dear lad. I hae ne'er seen a picture before." Then
+he turned to another, and his swarthy face glowed with an intense
+emotion. There was a sudden sense of tightening in his throat, and he
+put his hand up and slowly raised his hat. It was Prince Charlie
+entering Edinburgh. The handsome, unfortunate youth rode bareheaded
+amid the Gordons and the Murrays and a hundred Highland noblemen. The
+women had their children shoulder high to see him, the citizens,
+bonnets up, were pressing up to his bridle-rein. It stirred Tallisker
+like a peal of trumpets. With the tears streaming down his glowing
+face, he cried out,
+
+"How daur ye, sir! You are just the warst rebel between the seas! King
+George ought to hang you up at Carlisle-gate. And this is painting!
+This is artist's wark! And you choose your subjects wisely, Colin: it
+is a gift the angels might be proud o'." He lingered long in the room,
+and when he left it, "Prince Charlie" and the "Clan's Farewell" were
+his own. They were to go back with him to the manse at Crawford.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+It was, upon the whole, a wonderful week to Tallisker; he returned
+home with the determination that the laird must recall his banished.
+He had tried to induce Colin to condone all past grievances, but Colin
+had, perhaps wisely, said that he could not go back upon a momentary
+impulse. The laird must know all, and accept him just as he was. He
+had once been requested not to come home unless he came prepared to
+enter into political life. He had refused the alternative then, and he
+should refuse it again. The laird must understand these things, or the
+quarrel would probably be renewed, perhaps aggravated.
+
+And Tallisker thought that, in this respect, Colin was right. He would
+at any rate hide nothing from the laird, he should know all; and
+really he thought he ought to be very grateful that the "all" was so
+much better than might have been.
+
+The laird was not glad. A son brought down to eat the husk of evil
+ways, poor, sick, suppliant, would have found a far readier welcome.
+He would gladly have gone to meet Colin, even while he was yet a great
+way off, only he wanted Colin to be weary and footsore and utterly
+dependent on his love. He heard with a grim silence Tallisker's
+description of the house in Regent's Place, with its flowers and
+books, its statues, pictures, and conservatory. When Tallisker told
+him of the condition of the Crawfords in Canada, he was greatly moved.
+He was interested and pleased with the Texan struggle. He knew nothing
+of Texas, had never heard of the country, but Mexicans, Spaniards, and
+the Inquisition were one in his mind.
+
+"That at least was Crawford-like," he said warmly, when told of
+Colin's part in the struggle.
+
+But the subsequent settlement of the clan there hurt him terribly. "He
+should hae told me. He shouldna hae minded what I said in such a case.
+I had a right to know. Colin has used me vera hardly about this. Has
+he not, Tallisker?"
+
+"Yes, laird, Colin was vera wrong there. He knows it now."
+
+"What is he doing in such a grand house? How does he live?"
+
+"He is an artist--a vera great one, I should say."
+
+"He paints pictures for a living! He! A Crawford o' Traquare! I'll no
+believe it, Tallisker."
+
+"There's naught to fret about, laird. You'll ken that some day. Then
+his wife had money."
+
+"His wife! Sae he is married. That is o' a piece wi' the rest. Wha is
+she?"
+
+"He married an American--a Boston lady."
+
+Then the laird's passion was no longer controllable, and he said some
+things the dominie was very angry at.
+
+"Laird," he answered, "Mrs. Colin Crawford is my friend. You'll no
+daur to speak any way but respectful o' her in my presence. She is as
+good as any Crawford that ever trod the heather. She came o' the
+English Hampdens. Whar will ye get better blood than that?"
+
+"No Hampdens that ever lived--"
+
+"Whist! Whist, laird! The Crawfords are like a' ither folk; they have
+twa legs and twa hands."
+
+"He should hae married a Scots lass, though she had carried a
+milking-pail."
+
+"Laird, let me tell you there will be nae special heaven for the Gael.
+They that want to go to heaven by themsel's arena likely to win there
+at a'. You may as well learn to live with ither folk here; you'll hae
+to do it to a' eternity."
+
+"If I get to heaven, Dominie Tallisker, I'll hae special graces for
+the place. I'm no going to put mysel' in a blazing passion for you
+to-night. Yon London woman has bewitched you. She's wanting to come to
+the Keep, I'll warrant."
+
+"If ye saw the hame she has you wouldna warrant your ain word a minute
+longer, laird. And I'm sure I dinna see what she would want to hae twa
+Crawfords to guide for. One is mair than enough whiles. It's a wonder
+to me how good women put up wi' us at all!"
+
+"_Humff!_" said the laird scornfully. "Too many words on a spoiled
+subject."
+
+"I must say one mair, though. There is a little lad, a bonnie, brave,
+bit fellow, your ain grandson, Crawford."
+
+"An American Crawford!" And the laird laughed bitterly. "A foreigner!
+an alien! a Crawford born in England! Guid-night, Tallisker! We'll
+drop the subject, an it please you."
+
+Tallisker let it drop. He had never expected the laird to give in at
+the first cry of "Surrender." But he reflected that the winter was
+coming, and that its long nights would give plenty of time for thought
+and plenty of opportunities for further advocacy. He wrote constantly
+to Colin and his wife, perhaps oftener to Mrs. Crawford than to the
+young laird, for she was a woman of great tact and many resources, and
+Tallisker believed in her.
+
+Crawford had said a bitter word about her coming to the Keep, and
+Tallisker could not help thinking what a blessing she would be there;
+for one of Crawford's great troubles now was the wretchedness of his
+household arrangements. The dainty cleanliness and order which had
+ruled it during Helen's life were quite departed. The garden was
+neglected, and all was disorder and discomfort. Now it is really
+wonderful how much of the solid comfort of life depends upon a
+well-arranged home, and the home must depend upon some woman. Men may
+mar the happiness of a household, but they cannot make it. Women are
+the happiness makers. The laird never thought of it in this light, but
+he did know that he was very uncomfortable.
+
+"I canna even get my porridge made right," he said fretfully to the
+dominie.
+
+"You should hae a proper person o'er them ne'er-do-weel servants o'
+yours, laird. I ken one that will do you."
+
+"Wha is she?"
+
+"A Mrs. Hope."
+
+"A widow?"
+
+"No, not a widow, but she is not living with her husband."
+
+"Then she'll ne'er win into my house, dominie."
+
+"She has good and sufficient reasons. I uphold her. Do you think I
+would sanction aught wrong, laird?"
+
+No more was said at that time, but a month afterwards Mrs. Hope had
+walked into the Keep and taken everything in her clever little hands.
+Drunken, thieving, idle servants had been replaced by men and women
+thoroughly capable and efficient. The laird's tastes were studied, his
+wants anticipated, his home became bright, restful, and quiet. The
+woman was young and wonderfully pretty, and Crawford soon began to
+watch her with a genuine interest.
+
+"She'll be ane o' the Hopes o' Beaton," he thought; "she is vera like
+them."
+
+At any rate he improved under her sway, for being thoroughly
+comfortable himself, he was inclined to have consideration for others.
+
+One afternoon, as he came from the works, it began to snow. He turned
+aside to the manse to borrow a plaid of Tallisker. He very seldom went
+to the manse, but in the keen, driving snow the cheerful fire gleaming
+through the window looked very inviting. He thought he would go in and
+take a cup of tea with Tallisker.
+
+"Come awa in, laird," cried old Janet, "come awa in. You are a sight
+good for sair e'en. The dominie will be back anon, and I'll gie ye a
+drap o' hot tay till he comes."
+
+So the laird went in, and the first thing he saw was Colin's picture
+of "The Clan's Farewell." It moved him to his very heart. He divined
+at once whose work it was, and he felt that it was wonderful. It must
+be acknowledged, too, that he was greatly pleased with Colin's
+conception of himself.
+
+"I'm no a bad-looking Crawford," he thought complacently; "the lad has
+had a vera clear notion o' what he was doing."
+
+Personal flattery is very subtle and agreeable. Colin rose in his
+father's opinion that hour.
+
+Then he turned to Prince Charlie. How strange is that vein of romantic
+loyalty marbling the granite of Scotch character! The common-place man
+of coal and iron became in the presence of his ideal prince a feudal
+chieftain again. His heart swelled to that pictured face as the great
+sea swells to the bending moon. He understood in that moment how his
+fathers felt it easy to pin on the white cockade and give up
+everything for an impossible loyalty.
+
+The dominie found him in this mood. He turned back to every-day life
+with a sigh.
+
+"Weel, dominie, you are a man o' taste. When did you begin buying
+pictures?"
+
+"I hae no money for pictures, laird. The artist gave me them."
+
+"You mean Colin Crawford gave you them."
+
+"That is what I mean."
+
+"Weel, I'm free to say Colin kens how to choose grand subjects. I
+didna think there was so much in a picture. I wouldna dare to keep
+that poor dear prince in my house. I shouldna be worth a bawbee at the
+works. It was a wonderfu' wise step, that forbidding o' pictures in
+the kirks. I can vera weel see how they would lead to a sinfu'
+idolatry."
+
+"Yes, John Knox kent well the temper o' the metal he had to work.
+There's nae greater hero-worshippers than Scots folk. They are aye
+making idols for themsel's. Whiles it's Wallace, then it's Bruce or
+Prince Charlie; nay, there are decent, pious folk that gie Knox
+himsel' a honoring he wouldna thank them for. But, laird, there is a
+mair degraded idolatry still--that o' gold. We are just as ready as
+ever the Jews were to fall down before a calf, an' it only be a golden
+one."
+
+"Let that subject alane, dominie. It will tak a jury o' rich men to
+judge rich men. A poor man isna competent. The rich hae straits the
+poor canna fathom."
+
+And then he saw in light as clear as crystal a slip of paper hid away
+in a secret drawer.
+
+Just at this moment a little lad bairn entered the room; a child with
+bright, daring eyes, and a comically haughty, confident manner. He
+attracted Crawford's attention at once.
+
+"What's your name, my wee man?"
+
+"Alexander is my name."
+
+"That is my name."
+
+"It is not," he answered positively; "don't say that any more."
+
+"Will you hae a sixpence?"
+
+"Yes, I will. Money is good. It buys sweeties."
+
+"Whose boy is that, dominie?"
+
+"Mrs. Hope's. I thought he would annoy you. He is a great pleasure to
+me."
+
+"Let him come up to the Keep whiles. I'll no mind him."
+
+When he rose to go he stood a moment before each picture, and then
+suddenly asked,
+
+"Whar is young Crawford?"
+
+"In Rome."
+
+"A nice place for him to be! He'd be in Babylon, doubtless, if it was
+on the face o' the earth."
+
+When he went home he shut himself in his room and almost stealthily
+took out that slip of paper. It had begun to look yellow and faded,
+and Crawford had a strange fancy that it had a sad, pitiful
+appearance. He held it in his hand a few moments and then put it back
+again. It would be the new year soon, and he would decide then. He had
+made similar promises often; they always gave him temporary comfort.
+
+Then gradually another element of pleasure crept into his life--Mrs.
+Hope's child. The boy amused him; he never resented his pretty,
+authoritative ways; a queer kind of companionship sprang up between
+them. It was one of perfect equality every way; an old man easily
+becomes a little child. And those who only knew Crawford among coals
+and pig iron would have been amazed to see him keeping up a mock
+dispute with this baby.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+One day, getting towards the end of December, the laird awoke in a
+singular mood. He had no mind to go to the works, and the weather
+promised to give him a good excuse. Over the dreary hills there was a
+mournful floating veil of mist. Clouds were flying rapidly in great
+masses, and showers streaming through the air in disordered ranks,
+driven furiously before a mad wind--a wind that before noon shook the
+doors and windows, and drove the bravest birds into hiding.
+
+The laird wandered restlessly up and down.
+
+"There is the dominie," cried Mrs. Hope, about one o'clock. "What
+brings him here through such a storm?"
+
+Crawford walked to the door to meet him. He came striding over the
+soaking moor with his plaid folded tightly around him and his head
+bent before the blast. He was greatly excited.
+
+"Crawford, come wi' me. The Athol passenger packet is driving before
+this wind, and there is a fishing smack in her wake."
+
+"Gie us some brandy wi' us, Mrs. Hope, and you'll hae fires and
+blankets and a' things needfu' in case O' accident, ma'am." He was
+putting on his bonnet and plaid as he spoke, and in five minutes the
+men were hastening to the seaside.
+
+It was a deadly coast to be on in a storm with a gale blowing to land.
+A long reef of sharp rocks lay all along it, and now the line of
+foaming breakers was to any ship a terrible omen of death and
+destruction. The packet was almost helpless, and the laird and
+Tallisker found a crowd of men waiting the catastrophe that was every
+moment imminent.
+
+"She ought to hae gien hersel' plenty o' sea room," said the laird. He
+was half angry to see all the interest centred on the packet. The
+little fishing cobble was making, in his opinion, a far more sensible
+struggle for existence. She was managing her small resources with
+desperate skill.
+
+"Tallisker," said the laird, "you stay here with these men. Rory and I
+are going half a mile up the coast. If the cobble drives on shore, the
+current will take a boat as light as she is over the Bogie Rock and
+into the surf yonder. There are doubtless three or four honest men in
+her, quite as weel worth the saving as those stranger merchant bodies
+that will be in the packet."
+
+So Crawford and Rory hastened to the point they had decided on, and
+just as they reached it the boat became unmanageable. The wind took
+her in its teeth, shook her a moment or two like a thing of straw and
+rags, and then flung her, keel upwards, on the Bogie Rock. Two of the
+men were evidently good swimmers; the others were a boy and an old
+man. Crawford plunged boldly in after the latter. The waves buffeted
+him, and flung him down, and lifted him up, but he was a fine surf
+swimmer, and he knew every rock on that dangerous coast. After a hard
+struggle, all were brought safe to land.
+
+Then they walked back to where the packet had been last seen. She had
+gone to pieces. A few men waited on the beach, picking up the dead,
+and such boxes and packages as were dashed on shore. Only three of all
+on board had been rescued, and they had been taken to the Keep for
+succor and rest.
+
+The laird hastened home. He had not felt as young for many years. The
+struggle, though one of life and death, had not wearied him like a
+day's toil at the works, for it had been a struggle to which the soul
+had girded itself gladly, and helped and borne with it the mortal
+body. He came in all glowing and glad; a form lay on his own couch
+before the fire. The dominie and Mrs. Hope were bending over it. As he
+entered, Mrs. Hope sprang forward--
+
+"Father!"
+
+"Eh? Father? What is this?"
+
+"Father, it is Colin."
+
+Then he knew it all. Colin stretched out a feeble hand towards him. He
+was sorely bruised and hurt, he was white and helpless and death-like.
+
+"Father!"
+
+And the father knelt down beside him. Wife and friend walked softly
+away. In the solemn moment when these two long-parted souls met again
+there was no other love that could inter-meddle.
+
+"My dear father--forgive me!"
+
+Then the laird kissed his recovered son, and said tenderly,
+
+"Son Colin, you are all I have, and all I have is yours."
+
+"Father, my wife and son."
+
+Then the old man proudly and fondly kissed Hope Crawford too, and he
+clasped the little lad in his arms. He was well pleased that Hope had
+thought it worth while to minister to his comfort, and let him learn
+how to know her fairly.
+
+"But it was your doing, Tallisker, I ken it was; it has your mark on
+it." And he grasped his old friend's hand with a very hearty grip.
+
+"Not altogether, laird. Colin had gone to Rome on business, and you
+were in sair discomfort, and I just named it to Mrs. Hope. After a' it
+was her proposal. Naebody but a woman would hae thought o' such a way
+to win round you."
+
+Perhaps it was well that Colin was sick and very helpless for some
+weeks. During them the two men learned to understand and to respect
+each other's peculiarities. Crawford himself was wonderfully happy; he
+would not let any thought of the past darken his heart. He looked
+forward as hopefully as if he were yet on the threshold of life.
+
+O mystery of life! from what depths proceed thy comforts and thy
+lessons! One morning at very early dawn Crawford awoke from a deep
+sleep in an indescribable awe. In some vision of the night he had
+visited that piteous home which memory builds, and where only in sleep
+we walk. Whom had he seen there? What message had he received? This he
+never told. He had been "spoken to."
+
+Tallisker was not the man to smile at any such confidence. He saw no
+reason why God's messengers should not meet his children in the
+border-land of dreams. Thus he had counselled and visited the
+patriarchs and prophets of old. He was a God who changeth not; and if
+he had chosen to send Crawford a message in this way, it was doubtless
+some special word, for some special duty or sorrow. But he had really
+no idea of what Crawford had come to confess to him.
+
+"Tallisker, I hae been a man in a sair strait for many a year. I hae
+not indeed hid the Lord's talent in a napkin, but I hae done a warse
+thing; I hae been trading wi' it for my ain proper advantage. O
+dominie, I hae been a wretched man through it all. Nane ken better
+than I what a hard master the deil is."
+
+Then he told the dominie of Helen's bequest. He went over all the
+arguments with which he had hitherto quieted his conscience, and he
+anxiously watched their effect upon Tallisker. He had a hope even yet
+that the dominie might think them reasonable. But the table at which
+they sat was not less demonstrative than Tallisker's face; for once he
+absolutely controlled himself till the story was told. Then he said to
+Crawford,
+
+"I'll no tak any responsibility in a matter between you and your
+conscience. If you gie it, gie it without regret and without holding
+back. Gie it cheerfully; God loves a cheerful giver. But it isna wi'
+me you'll find the wisdom to guide you in this matter. Shut yoursel'
+in your ain room, and sit down at the foot o' the cross and think it
+out. It is a big sum to gie away, but maybe, in the face o' that
+stupendous Sacrifice it willna seem so big. I'll walk up in the
+evening, laird; perhaps you will then hae decided what to do."
+
+Crawford was partly disappointed. He had hoped that Tallisker would in
+some way take the burden from him--he had instead sent him to the foot
+of the cross. He did not feel as if he dared to neglect the advice; so
+he went thoughtfully to his own room and locked the door. Then he took
+out his private ledger. Many a page had been written the last ten
+years. It was the book of a very rich man. He thought of all his
+engagements and plans and hopes, and of how the withdrawal of so large
+a sum would affect them.
+
+Then he took out Helen's last message, and sat down humbly with it
+where Tallisker had told him to sit. Suddenly Helen's last words came
+back to him, "Oh! the unspeakable riches!" What of? The cross of
+Christ--the redemption from eternal death--the promise of eternal
+life! Sin is like a nightmare; when we stir under it, we awake.
+Crawford sat thinking until his heart burned and softened, and great
+tears rolled slowly down his cheeks and dropped upon the paper in his
+hands. Then he thought of the richness of his own life--Colin and
+Hope, and the already beloved child Alexander--of his happy home, of
+the prosperity of his enterprises, of his loyal and loving friend
+Tallisker. What a contrast to the Life he had been told to remember!
+that pathetic Life that had not where to lay its head, that mysterious
+agony in Gethsemane, that sublime death on Calvary, and he cried out,
+"O Christ! O Saviour of my soul! all that I have is too little!"
+
+When Tallisker came in the evening, Hope noticed a strange solemnity
+about the man. He, too, had been in the presence of God all day. He
+had been praying for his friend. But as soon as he saw Crawford he
+knew how the struggle had ended. Quietly they grasped each other's
+hand, and the evening meal was taken by Colin's side in pleasant
+cheerfulness. After it, when all were still, the laird spoke:
+
+"Colin and Hope, I hae something I ought to tell you. When your sister
+Helen died she asked me to gie her share o' the estate to the poor
+children of our Father. I had intended giving Helen L100,000. It is a
+big sum, and I hae been in a sair strait about it. What say you,
+Colin?"
+
+"My dear father, I say there is only one way out of that strait. The
+money must be given as Helen wished it. Helen was a noble girl. It was
+just like her."
+
+"Ah, Colin, if you could only tell what a burden this bit o' paper has
+been to me! I left the great weight at the foot o' the cross this
+morning." As he spoke the paper dropped from his fingers and fell upon
+the table. Colin lifted it reverently and kissed it. "Father," he
+said, "may I keep it now? The day will come when the Crawfords will
+think with more pride of it than of any parchment they possess."
+
+Then there was an appeal to Tallisker about its disposal. "Laird," he
+answered, "such a sum must be handled wi' great care. It is not enough
+to gie money, it must be gien wisely." But he promised to take on
+himself the labor of inquiry into different charities, and the
+consideration of what places and objects needed help most. "But,
+Crawford," he said, "if you hae any special desire, I think it should
+be regarded."
+
+Then Crawford said he had indeed one. When he was himself young he had
+desired greatly to enter the ministry, but his father had laid upon
+him a duty to the family and estate which he had accepted instead.
+
+"Now, dominie," he said, "canna I keep aye a young man in my place?"
+
+"It is a worthy thought, Crawford."
+
+So the first portion of Helen's bequest went to Aberdeen University.
+This endowment has sent out in Crawford's place many a noble young man
+into the harvest-field of the world, and who shall say for how many
+centuries it will keep his name green in earth and heaven! The
+distribution of the rest does not concern our story. It may safely be
+left in Dominie Tallisker's hands.
+
+Of course, in some measure it altered Crawford's plans. The new house
+was abandoned and a wing built to the Keep for Colin's special use. In
+this portion the young man indulged freely his poetic, artistic
+tastes. And the laird got to like it. He used to tread softly as soon
+as his feet entered the large shaded rooms, full of skilful lights and
+white gleaming statues. He got to enjoy the hot, scented atmosphere
+and rare blossoms of the conservatory, and it became a daily delight
+to him to sit an hour in Colin's studio and watch the progress of some
+favorite picture.
+
+But above all his life was made rich by his grandson. Nature, as she
+often does, reproduced in the second generation what she had totally
+omitted in the first. The boy was his grandfather over again. They
+agreed upon every point. It was the laird who taught Alexander to
+spear a salmon, and throw a trout-line, and stalk a deer. They had
+constant confidences about tackle and guns and snares. They were all
+day together on the hills. The works pleased the boy better than his
+father's studio. He trotted away with his grandfather gladly to them.
+The fires and molten metal, the wheels and hammers and tumult, were
+all enchantments to him. He never feared to leap into a collier's
+basket and swing down the deep, black shaft. He had also an
+appreciative love of money; he knew just how many sixpences he owned,
+and though he could give if asked to do so, he always wanted the
+dominie to give him a good reason for giving. The child gave him back
+again his youth, and a fuller and nobler one than he himself had
+known.
+
+And God was very gracious to him, and lengthened out this second youth
+to a green old age. These men of old Gaul had iron constitutions; they
+did not begin to think themselves old men until they had turned
+fourscore. It was thirty years after Helen's death when Tallisker one
+night sent this word to his life-long friend,
+
+"I hae been called, Crawford; come and see me once more."
+
+They all went together to the manse. The dominie was in his
+ninety-first year, and he was going home. No one could call it dying.
+He had no pain. He was going to his last sleep
+
+          "As sweetly as a child,
+  Whom neither thought disturbs nor care encumbers,
+  Tired with long play, at close of summer's day
+      Lies down and slumbers."
+
+"Good-by, Crawford--for a little while. We'll hae nae tears. I hae
+lived joyfully before my God these ninety years; I am going out o' the
+sunshine into the sunshine. Crawford, through that sair strait o'
+yours you hae set a grand, wide-open door for a weight o' happiness. I
+am glad ye didna wait. A good will is a good thing, but a good life is
+far better. It is a grand thing to sow your ain good seed. Nae ither
+hand could hae done it sae well and sae wisely. Far and wide there are
+lads and lasses growing up to call you blessed. This is a thought to
+mak death easy, Crawford. Good-night, dears."
+
+And then "God's finger touched him and he slept."
+
+Crawford lived but a few weeks longer. After the dominie's death he
+simply sat waiting. His darling Alexander came home specially to
+brighten these last hours, and in his company he showed almost to the
+last hour the true Crawford spirit.
+
+"Alexander," he would say, "you'll ding for your ain side and the
+Crawfords always, but you'll be a good man; there is nae happiness
+else, dear. Never rest, my lad, till ye sit where your fathers sat in
+the House o' Peers. Stand by the State and the Kirk, and fear God,
+Alexander. The lease o' the Cowden Knowes is near out; don't renew it.
+Grip tight what ye hae got, but pay every debt as if God wrote the
+bill. Remember the poor, dear lad. Charity gies itsel' rich. Riches
+mak to themselves wings, but charity clips the wings. The love o' God,
+dear, the love o' God--that is the best o' all."
+
+Yes, he had a sair struggle with his lower nature to the very last,
+but he was constantly strengthened by the conviction of a "Power
+closer to him than breathing, nearer than hands or feet." Nine weeks
+after the dominie's death they found him sitting in his chair, fallen
+on that sleep whose waking is eternal day. His death was like
+Tallisker's--a perfectly natural one. He had been reading. The Bible
+lay open at that grand peroration of St. Paul's on faith, in the
+twelfth of Hebrews. The "great cloud of witnesses," "the sin which
+doth so easily beset us," "Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our
+faith"--these were probably his last earthly thoughts, and with them
+he passed into
+
+  "That perfect presence of His face
+  Which we, for want of words, call heaven."
+
+
+
+
+James Blackie's Revenge.
+
+
+
+
+JAMES BLACKIE'S REVENGE.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Few people who have travelled will deny that of all cities Glasgow is
+apparently the least romantic. Steeped in wet, white mist, or wrapped
+in yellow fog vapor, all gray stone and gray sky, dirty streets, and
+sloppy people, it presents none of the features of a show town. Yet it
+has great merits; it is enterprising, persevering, intensely national,
+and practically religious; and people who do not mind being damp have
+every chance to make a good living there. Even the sombre appearance
+of the dark gray granite of which it is built is not unsuitable to the
+sterling character of its people; for though this stone may be dull
+and ugly, there is a natural nobility about it, and it never can be
+mean.
+
+I have said that, as a city, Glasgow is practically religious, and
+certainly this was the case something less than half a century ago.
+The number of its churches was not more remarkable than the piety and
+learning of its clergy; and the "skailing" of their congregations on a
+Sabbath afternoon was one of the most impressive sights, of its kind,
+in the world.
+
+My true little story opens with the skailing of the Ramshorn Kirk, a
+very favorite place of worship with the well-to-do burghers of the
+east end of the city, and it was a peculiarly douce, decent,
+solemn-looking crowd that slowly and reverently passed out of its
+gates into the absolutely silent streets. For no vehicles of any kind
+disturbed the Sabbath stillness, and not until the people had gone
+some distance from the house of God did they begin to think their own
+thoughts, and with a certain grave reserve put them into words.
+
+Among the groups who proceeded still farther east, towards the
+pleasant houses facing the "Green," one alone was remarkable enough to
+have elicited special notice from an observing stranger. It consisted
+of an old man and a young girl, evidently his daughter. Both were
+strikingly handsome, and the girl was much better dressed than the
+majority of women who took the same road. Long before they reached the
+Green they were joined by a younger man, whom the elder at once
+addressed in a reproving voice.
+
+"Ye didna pay as much attention to the sermon as it behooved ye to do,
+James Blackie; and what for did ye speak to Robert Laird a'most within
+'the Gates'?"
+
+"I only asked if he had heard of the 'Bonnie Bess;' she is overdue
+five days, and eight good men in her, not to speak of the cargo."
+
+"It's no cannie to be aye asking questions. Sit still and the news
+will come to ye: forbye, I'm no sure if yon was a lawfu' question; the
+Sabbath sun hasna set yet."
+
+James Blackie mechanically turned to the west, and then slowly let his
+glance fall on the lovely face at his side.
+
+"Christine," he asked softly, "how is all with you?"
+
+"All is well, James."
+
+Not another word was spoken until they reached David Cameron's home.
+He was carefully reconsidering the sermon--going over every point on
+his finger ends, lest he should drop any link of the argument; and
+James and Christine were listening to his criticisms and remarks. They
+all stopped before a shop over the windows of which was painted,
+"David Cameron, Dealer in Fine Teas;" and David, taking a large key
+from his pocket, opened the door, and said,
+
+"Come in and eat wi' us, James; ye ken ye're welcome."
+
+"Our friendship, Mr. Cameron, is a kind of Montgomery division--all on
+one side, nothing on the other; but I am 'so by myself' that I thank
+you heartily."
+
+So David, followed by Christine and James, passed slowly through the
+darkened store, with its faint smells of Eastern spices and fragrant
+teas, into the little parlor beyond. The early winter night had now
+fallen, and the room, having only an outlet into a small court, would
+have been dark also but for the red glow of the "covered" fire. David
+took the poker and struck the great block of coal, and instantly the
+cheerful blaze threw an air of cosey and almost picturesque comfort
+over the homelike room.
+
+The two men sat down beside the fire, spreading their hands to its
+warmth, and apparently finding their own thoughts excellent company,
+for neither of them spoke or moved until Christine reappeared. She had
+divested herself of the handsome black satin and velvet which formed
+her kirk suit; but in her long, plain dress of gray winsey, with a
+snowy lawn kerchief and cuffs, she looked still more fair and lovable.
+
+James watched her as she spread the cloth and produced from various
+cupboards cold meats and pastries, bread and cakes, and many kinds of
+delicate preserves and sweetmeats. Her large, shapely hands among the
+gold-and-white china fascinated him, while her calm, noiseless,
+unhurried movements induced a feeling of passive repose that it
+required an effort to dispel, when she said in a low, even voice,
+
+"Father, the food is waiting for the blessing."
+
+It was a silent but by no means an unhappy meal. David was a good man,
+and he ate his food graciously and gratefully, dropping now and then a
+word of praise or thanks; and James felt it delightful enough to watch
+Christine. For James, though he had not yet admitted the fact to his
+own heart, loved Christine Cameron as men love only once, with that
+deep, pure affection that has perchance a nearer kindred than this
+life has hinted of.
+
+He thought her also exquisitely beautiful, though this opinion would
+not have been indorsed by a majority of men. For Christine had one of
+those pale, statuesque faces apt to be solemn in repose; its beauty
+was tender and twilight, its expression serious and steadfast, and her
+clear, spiritual eyes held in them no light of earthly passion. She
+had grown up in that little back parlor amid the din and tumult of the
+city, under the gray, rainy skies, and surrounded by care and sin, as
+a white lily grows out of the dark, damp soil, drawing from the
+elements around only sweetness and purity.
+
+She was very silent this afternoon, but apparently very happy. Indeed,
+there was an expression on her face which attracted her father's
+attention, and he said,
+
+"The sermon has pleased thee well, I see, Christine."
+
+"The sermon was good, but the text was enough, father. I think it over
+in my heart, and it leaves a light on all the common things of life."
+And she repeated it softly, "O Thou preserver of men, unto Thee shall
+all flesh come."
+
+David lifted his bonnet reverently, and James, who was learned in what
+the Scotch pleasantly call "the humanities," added slowly,
+
+  "'But I, the mortal,
+  Planted so lowly, with death to bless me,
+  I sorrow no longer.'"
+
+When people have such subjects of conversation, they talk
+moderately--for words are but poor interpreters of emotions whose
+sources lie in the depths of eternity. But they were none the less
+happy, and James felt as if he had been sitting at one of those tables
+which the Lord "prepareth in the wilderness," where the "cup runneth
+over" with joy and content.
+
+Such moments rarely last long; and it is doubtful if we could bear to
+keep the soul always to its highest bent. When Christine had sided
+away the dishes and put in order the little room, David laid down his
+pipe, and said, "The Lord's day being now over, I may speak anent my
+ain matters. I had a letter, Christine, on Saturday, from my
+brother-in-law, McFarlane. He says young Donald will be in Glasgow
+next week."
+
+"Will he stay here, father?"
+
+"Na, na; he'll bide wi' the McFarlanes. They are rich folk; but siller
+is nae sin--an' it be clean-won siller."
+
+"Then why did Uncle McFarlane write to you, father?"
+
+"He wrote concerning the lad's pecuniary matters, Christine. Young
+Donald will need gude guiding; and he is my sister Jessie's only
+bairn--blood is thicker than water, ye'll allow that--and Donald is o'
+gentle blood. I'm no saying that's everything; but it is gude to come
+o' a gude kind."
+
+"The McFarlanes have aye been for the pope and the Stuarts," said
+James, a little scornfully. "They were 'out' in the '79'; and they
+would pin the white cockade on to-morrow, if there was ever a Stuart
+to bid them do it."
+
+"Maybe they would, James. Hielandmen hae a way o' sticking to auld
+friends. There's Camerons I wadna go bail for, if Prince Charlie could
+come again; but let that flea stick to the wa'. And the McFarlanes
+arena exactly papist noo; the twa last generations hae been
+'Piscopals--that's ane step ony way towards the truth. Luther mayna be
+John Knox, but they'll win up to him some time, dootless they will."
+
+"How old is young McFarlane?" asked James.
+
+"He is turned twenty--a braw lad, his father says. I hae ne'er seen
+him, but he's Jessie's bairn, and my heart gaes out to meet him."
+
+"Why did you not tell me on Saturday, father? I could have spoken for
+Maggie Maclean to help me put the house in order."
+
+"I didna get the letter till the evening post. It was most as good as
+Sabbath then. Housecleaning is an unco temptation to women-folk, so I
+keepit the news till the Sabbath sun was weel set."
+
+During this conversation James Blackie's heart had become heavy with
+some sad presentiment of trouble, such as arise very naturally in
+similar circumstances. As a poet says,
+
+  "Ah, no! it is not all delusion,
+    That strange intelligence of sorrow
+  Searching the tranquil heart's seclusion,
+    Making us quail before the morrow.
+  'Tis the farewell of happiness departing,
+    The sudden tremor of a soul at rest;
+  The wraith of coming grief upstarting
+    Within the watchful breast."
+
+He listened to David Cameron's reminiscences of his bonnie sister
+Jessie, and of the love match she had made with the great Highland
+chieftain, with an ill-disguised impatience. He had a Lowlander's
+scorn for the thriftless, fighting, freebooting traditions of the
+Northern clans and a Calvinist's dislike to the Stuarts and the
+Stuarts' faith; so that David's unusual emotion was exceedingly and,
+perhaps, unreasonably irritating to him. He could not bear to hear him
+speak with trembling voice and gleaming eyes of the grand mountains
+and the silent corries around Ben-Nevis, the red deer trooping over
+the misty steeps, and the brown hinds lying among the green plumes of
+fern, and the wren and the thrush lilting in song together.
+
+"Oh, the bonnie, bonnie Hielands!" cried David with a passionate
+affection; "it is always Sabbath up i' the mountains, Christine. I
+maun see them once again ere I lay by my pilgrim-staff and shoon for
+ever."
+
+"Then you are not Glasgow born, Mr. Cameron," said James, with the air
+of one who finds out something to another's disadvantage.
+
+"Me! Glasgo' born! Na, na, man! I was born among the mountains o'
+Argyle. It was a sair downcome fra them to the Glasgo' pavements. But
+I'm saying naething against Glasgo'. I was but thinking o' the days
+when I wore the tartan and climbed the hills in the white dawns, and,
+kneeling on the top o' Ben Na Keen, saw the sun sink down wi' a smile.
+It's little ane sees o' sunrising or sunsetting here, James," and
+David sighed heavily and wiped away the tender mist from his sight.
+
+James looked at the old man with some contempt; he himself had been
+born and reared in one or other of the closest and darkest streets of
+the city. The memories of his loveless, hard-worked childhood were
+bitter to him, and he knew nothing of the joy of a boyhood spent in
+the hills and woods.
+
+"Life is the same everywhere, Mr. Cameron. I dare say there is as much
+sin and as much worry and care among the mountains as on the Glasgow
+pavements."
+
+"You may 'daur say' it, James, but that winna mak it true. Even in
+this warld our Father's house has many mansions. Gang your way up and
+up through thae grand solitudes and ye'll blush to be caught worrying
+among them."
+
+And then in a clear, jubilant voice he broke into the old Scotch
+version of the 121st Psalm:
+
+  "I to the hills will lift mine eyes
+    from whence doth come mine aid;
+  My safety cometh from the Lord,
+    who heaven and earth hath made."
+
+And he sang it to that loveliest of all psalm tunes, Rathiel's "St.
+Mary's." It was impossible to resist the faith, the enthusiasm, the
+melody. At the second bar Christine's clear, sweet voice joined in,
+and at the second line James was making a happy third.
+
+  "Henceforth thy goings out and in
+    God keep for ever will."
+
+"Thae twa lines will do for a 'Gude-night,'" said David in the pause
+at the end of the psalm, and James rose with a sigh and wrapped his
+plaid around him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+James had gone into the house so happy and hopeful, he left it so
+anxious and angry--yes, angry. He knew well that he had no just cause
+for anger, but that knowledge only irritated him the more. Souls, as
+well as bodies, are subject to malignant diseases, and to-night envy
+and jealousy were causing James Blackie more acute suffering than any
+attack of fever or contagion. A feeling of dislike towards young
+Donald McFarlane had taken possession of his heart; he lay awake to
+make a mental picture of the youth, and then he hated the picture he
+had made.
+
+Feverish and miserable, he went next morning to the bank in which he
+was employed, and endeavored amid the perplexities of compound
+interest to forget the anxieties he had invented for himself. But it
+was beyond his power, and he did not pray about them; for the burdens
+we bind on our own shoulders we rarely dare to go to God with, and
+James might have known from this circumstance alone that his trouble
+was no lawful one. He nursed it carefully all day and took it to bed
+with him again at night. The next day he had begun to understand how
+envy grew to hatred, and hatred to murder. Still he did not go to God
+for help, and still he kept ever before his eyes the image of the
+youth that he had determined was to be his enemy.
+
+On Thursday night he could no longer bear his uncertainties. He
+dressed himself carefully and went to David Cameron's. David was in
+his shop tasting and buying teas, and apparently absorbed in business.
+He merely nodded to James, and bid him "walk through." He had no
+intention of being less kindly than usual, but James was in such a
+suspicious temper that he took his preoccupation for coolness, and so
+it was almost with a resentful feeling he opened the half-glass door
+dividing the shop from the parlor.
+
+As his heart had foretold him, there sat the youth whom he had
+determined to hate, but his imagination had greatly deceived him with
+regard to his appearance. He had thought of Donald only as a "fair,
+false Highlander" in tartan, kilt, and philibeg. He found him a tall,
+dark youth, richly dressed in the prevailing Southern fashion, and
+retaining no badge of his country's costume but the little Glengary
+cap with its chieftain's token of an eagle's feather. His manners were
+not rude and haughty, as James had decided they would be; they were
+singularly frank and pleasant. Gracious and graceful, exceedingly
+handsome and light-hearted, he was likely to prove a far more
+dangerous rival than even James' jealous heart had anticipated.
+
+He rose at Christine's introduction, and offered his hand with a
+pleasant smile to James. The latter received the courtesy with such
+marked aversion that Donald slightly raised his eyebrows ere he
+resumed his interrupted conversation with Christine. And now that
+James sat down with a determination to look for offences he found
+plenty. Christine was sewing, and Donald sat beside her winding and
+unwinding her threads, playing with her housewife, or teasingly hiding
+her scissors. Christine, half pleased and half annoyed, gradually fell
+into Donald's mood, and her still face dimpled into smiles. James very
+quickly decided that Donald presumed in a very offensive manner on his
+relationship to Christine.
+
+A little after nine o'clock David, having closed his shop, joined them
+in the parlor. He immediately began to question James about the loss
+of the "Bonnie Bess," and from that subject they drifted easily into
+others of a local business interest. It was very natural that Donald,
+being a stranger both to the city and its business, should take no
+part in this discourse, and that he should, in consequence, devote
+himself to Christine. But James felt it an offence, and rose much
+earlier than was his wont to depart. David stayed him, almost
+authoritatively:
+
+"Ye maun stop, baith o' ye lads, and join in my meat and worship. They
+are ill visitors that canna sit at ane board and kneel at ane altar."
+
+For David had seen, through all their drifting talk of ships and
+cargoes, the tumult in James' heart, and he did not wish him to go
+away in an ungenerous and unjust temper. So both Donald and James
+partook of the homely supper of pease brose and butter, oatmeal cakes
+and fresh milk, and then read aloud with David and Christine the
+verses of the evening Psalm that came to each in turn. James was much
+softened by the exercise; so much so that when Donald asked permission
+to walk with him as far as their way lay together, he very pleasantly
+acceded to the request. And Donald was so bright and unpretentious it
+was almost impossible to resist the infectious good temper which
+seemed to be his characteristic.
+
+Still James was very little happier or more restful. He lay awake
+again, but this night it was not to fret and fume, but to calmly think
+over his position and determine what was best and right to do. For
+James still thought of "right," and would have been shocked indeed if
+any angel of conscience had revealed to him the lowest depths of his
+desires and intentions. In the first place, he saw that David would
+tolerate no element of quarrelling and bitterness in his peaceful
+home, and that if he would continue to visit there he must preserve
+the semblance of friendship for Donald McFarlane. In the second, he
+saw that Donald had already made so good his lien upon his uncle's and
+cousin's affections that it would be very hard to make them believe
+wrong of the lad, even if he should do wrong, though of this James
+told himself there would soon be abundance.
+
+"For the things David will think sinful beyond all measure," he
+argued, "will seem but Puritanical severity to him; forbye, he is
+rich, gay, handsome, and has little to do with his time, he'll get
+well on to Satan's ground before he knows it;" and then some whisper
+dim and low in his soul made him blush and pause and defer the
+following out of a course which was to begin in such a way.
+
+So Donald and he fell into the habit of meeting at David's two or
+three nights every week, and an apparent friendship sprang up between
+them. It was only apparent, however. On Donald's side was that
+good-natured indifference that finds it easy enough to say smooth
+words, and is not ready to think evil or to take offence; on James'
+part a wary watchfulness, assuming the role of superior wisdom, half
+admiring and half condemning Donald's youthful spirits and ways.
+
+David was quite deceived; he dropped at once the authoritative manner
+which had marked his displeasure when he perceived James' disposition
+to envy and anger; he fell again into his usual pleasant familiar
+talks with the young man, for David thought highly of James as of one
+likely to do his duty to God and himself.
+
+In these conversations Donald soon began to take a little share, and
+when he chose to do so, evinced a thought and shrewdness which greatly
+pleased his uncle; more generally, however, he was at Christine's
+side, reading her some poem he had copied, or telling her about some
+grand party he had been at. Sometimes James could catch a few words of
+reproof addressed in a gentle voice to Donald by Christine; more often
+he heard only the murmur of an earnest conversation, or Christine's
+low laugh at some amusing incident.
+
+The little room meanwhile had gradually become a far brighter place.
+Donald kept it sweet and bright with his daily offerings of fresh
+flowers; the pet canary he had given Christine twittered and sang to
+her all the day through. Over Christine herself had come the same
+bright change; her still, calm face often dimpled into smiles, her
+pale-gold hair was snooded with a pretty ribbon, and her dress a
+little richer. Yet, after all, the change was so slight that none but
+a lover would have noticed it. But there was not a smile or a shade of
+brighter color that James did not see; and he bore it with an
+equanimity which used often to astonish himself, though it would not
+have done so if he had dared just once to look down into his heart; he
+bore it because he knew that Donald was living two lives--one that
+Christine saw, and one that she could not even have imagined.
+
+It was, alas, too true that this gay, good-natured young man, who had
+entered the fashionable world without one bad habit, was fast becoming
+proficient in all its follies and vices. That kind of negative
+goodness which belonged naturally to him, unfortified by strict habits
+and strong principles, had not been able to repel the seductions and
+temptations that assail young men, rich, handsome, and well-born.
+There was an evil triumph in James' heart one night when Donald said
+to him, as they walked home after an evening at David's,
+
+"Mr. Blackie, I wish you could lend me L20. I am in a little trouble,
+and I cannot ask Uncle David for more, as I have already overdrawn my
+father's allowance."
+
+James loaned it with an eager willingness, though he was usually very
+cautious and careful of every bawbee of his hard-earned money. He knew
+it was but the beginning of confidence, and so it proved; in a very
+little while Donald had fallen into the habit of going to James in
+every emergency, and of making him the confidant of all his youthful
+hopes and follies.
+
+James even schooled himself to listen patiently to Donald's praises of
+his cousin Christine. "She is just the wife I shall need when I settle
+down in three or four years," Donald would say complacently, "and I
+think she loves me. Of course no man is worthy of such a woman, but
+when I have seen life a little I mean to try and be so."
+
+"Umph!" answered James scornfully, "do you suppose, Mr. McFarlane,
+that ye'll be fit for a pure lassie like Christine Cameron when you
+have played the prodigal and consorted with foolish women, and wasted
+your substance in riotous living?"
+
+And Donald said with an honest blush, "By the memory of my mother, no,
+I do not, James. And I am ashamed when I think of Christine's white
+soul and the stained love I have to offer it. But women forgive! Oh,
+what mothers and wives and sisters there are in this world!"
+
+"Well, don't try Christine too far, Donald. She is of an old
+Covenanting stock; her conscience feels sin afar off. I do not believe
+she would marry a bad, worldly man, though it broke her heart to say
+'No.' I have known her far longer than you have."
+
+"Tut, man, I love her! I know her better in an hour than you could do
+in a lifetime;" and Donald looked rather contemptuously on the plain
+man who was watching him with eyes that might have warned any one more
+suspicious or less confident and self-satisfied.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+The summer brought some changes. Christine went to the seaside for a
+few weeks, and Donald went away in Lord Neville's yacht with a party
+of gay young men; James and David passed the evenings generally
+together. If it was wet, they remained in the shop or parlor; if fine,
+they rambled to the "Green," and sitting down by the riverside talked
+of business, of Christine, and of Donald. In one of these confidential
+rambles James first tried to arouse in David's mind a suspicion as to
+his nephew's real character. David himself introduced the subject by
+speaking of a letter he had received from Donald.
+
+"He's wi' the great Earl o' Egremont at present," said David proudly,
+for he had all a Scotsman's respect for good birth; "and there is wi'
+them young Argyle, and Lord Lovat, and ithers o' the same quality. But
+our Donald can cock his bonnet wi' ony o' them; there is na better
+blood in Scotland than the McFarlanes'. It taks money though to
+foregather wi' nobeelity, and Donald is wanting some. So, James, I'll
+gie ye the siller to-night, and ye'll send it through your bank as
+early as may be in the morn."
+
+"Donald wanting money is an old want, Mr. Cameron."
+
+David glanced quickly at James, and answered almost haughtily, "It's a
+common want likewise, James Blackie. But if Donald McFarlane wants
+money, he's got kin that can accommodate him, James; wanters arena
+always that fortunate."
+
+"He has got friends likewise, Mr. Cameron; and I am sure I was proud
+enough to do him a kindness, and he knows it well."
+
+"And how much may Donald be owing you, I wonder?"
+
+"Only a little matter of L20. You see he had got into--"
+
+"Dinna fash yoursel' wi' explanations, James. Dootless Donald has his
+faults; but I may weel wink at his small faults, when I hae sae mony
+great faults o' my ain."
+
+And David's personal accusation sounded so much like a reproof, that
+James did not feel it safe to pursue the subject.
+
+That very night David wrote thus to his nephew:
+
+"Donald, my dear lad, if thou owest James Blackie L20, pay it
+immediate. Lying is the second vice, owing money is the first. I
+enclose draft for L70 instead o' L50, as per request."
+
+That L70 was a large sum in the eyes of the careful Glasgow trader; in
+the young Highlander's eyes it seemed but a small sum. He could not
+form any conception of the amount of love it represented, nor of the
+struggle it had cost David to "gie awa for nae consideration" the
+savings of many days, perhaps weeks, of toil and thought.
+
+In September Christine came back, and towards the end of October,
+Donald. He was greatly improved externally by his trip and his
+associations--more manly and more handsome--while his manners had
+acquired a slight touch of hauteur that both amused and pleased his
+uncle. It had been decided that he should remain in Glasgow another
+winter, and then select his future profession. But at present Donald
+troubled himself little about the future. He had returned to Christine
+more in love with the peace and purity of her character than ever; and
+besides, his pecuniary embarrassments in Glasgow were such as to
+require his personal presence until they were arranged.
+
+This arrangement greatly troubled him. He had only a certain allowance
+from his father--a loving but stern man--who having once decided what
+sum was sufficient for a young man in Donald's position, would not,
+under any ordinary circumstances, increase it. David Cameron had
+already advanced him L70. James Blackie was a resource he did not care
+again to apply to. In the meantime he was pressed by small debts on
+every hand, and was living among a class of young men whose habits led
+him into expenses far beyond his modest income. He began to be very
+anxious and miserable. In Christine's presence he was indeed still the
+same merry-hearted gentleman; but James saw him in other places, and
+he knew from long experience the look of care that drew Donald's
+handsome brows together.
+
+One night, towards the close of this winter, James went to see an old
+man who was a broker or trader in bills and money, doing business in
+the Cowcaddens. James also did a little of the same business in a
+cautious way, and it was some mutual transaction in gold and silver
+that took him that dreary, soaking night into such a locality.
+
+The two men talked for some time in a low and earnest voice, and then
+the old man, opening a greasy leather satchel, displayed a quantity of
+paper which he had bought. James looked it over with a keen and
+practised eye. Suddenly his attitude and expression changed; he read
+over and over one piece of paper, and every time he read it he looked
+at it more critically and with a greater satisfaction.
+
+"Andrew Starkie," he said, "where did you buy this?"
+
+"Weel, James, I bought it o' Laidlaw--Aleck Laidlaw. Ye wadna think a
+big tailoring place like that could hae the wind in their faces; but
+folks maun hae their bad weather days, ye ken; but it blew me gude, so
+I'll ne'er complain. Ye see it is for L89, due in twenty days now, and
+I only gied L79 for it--a good name too, nane better."
+
+"David Cameron! But what would he be owing Laidlaw L89 for clothes
+for?"
+
+"Tut, tut! The claithes were for his nephew. There was some trouble
+anent the bill, but the old man gied a note for the amount at last, at
+three months. It's due in twenty days now. As he banks wi' your firm,
+ye may collect it for me; it will be an easy-made penny or twa."
+
+"I would like to buy this note. What will you sell it for?"
+
+"I'm no minded to sell it. What for do ye want it?"
+
+"Nothing particular. I'll give you L90 for it."
+
+"If it's worth that to you, it is worth mair. I'm no minded to tak
+L90."
+
+"I'll give you L95."
+
+"I'm no minded to tak it. It's worth mair to you, I see that. What are
+you going to mak by it? I'll sell it for half o' what you are counting
+on." "Then you would not make a bawbee. I am going to ware L95 on--on
+a bit of revenge. Now will you go shares?"
+
+"Not I. Revenge in cold blood is the deil's own act. I dinna wark wi'
+the deil, when it's a losing job to me."
+
+"Will you take L95 then?"
+
+"No. When lads want whistles they maun pay for them."
+
+"I'll give no more. For why? Because in twenty days you will do my
+work for me; then it will cost me nothing, and it will cost you L89,
+that is all about it, Starkie."
+
+Starkie lifted the note which James had flung carelessly down, and his
+skinny hands trembled as he fingered it. "This is David Cameron's note
+o' hand, and David Cameron is a gude name."
+
+"Yes, very good. Only that is not David Cameron's writing, it is
+a--forgery. Light your pipe with it, Andrew Starkie."
+
+"His nephew gave it himsel' to Aleck Laidlaw--"
+
+"I know. And I hate his nephew. He has come between me and Christine
+Cameron. Do you see now?"
+
+"Oh! oh! oh! I see, I see! Well, James, you can have it for L100--as a
+favor."
+
+"I don't want it now. He could not have a harder man to deal with than
+you are. You suit me very well."
+
+"James, such business wont suit me. I can't afford to be brought into
+notice. I would rather lose double the money than prosecute any
+gentleman in trouble."
+
+The older man had reasoned right--James dared not risk the note out of
+sight, dared not trust to Starkie's prosecution. He longed to have the
+bit of paper in his own keeping, and after a wary battle of a full
+hour's length Andrew Starkie had his L89 back again, and James had the
+note in his pocket-book.
+
+Through the fog, and through the wind, and through the rain he went,
+and he knew nothing, and he felt nothing but that little bit of paper
+against his breast. Oh, how greedily he remembered Donald's handsome
+looks and stately ways, and all the thousand little words and acts by
+which he imagined himself wronged and insulted. Now he had his enemy
+beneath his feet, and for several days this thought satisfied him, and
+he hid his secret morsel of vengeance and found it sweet--sharply,
+bitterly sweet--for even yet conscience pleaded hard with him.
+
+As he sat counting his columns of figures, every gentle, forgiving
+word of Christ came into his heart. He knew well that Donald would
+receive his quarterly allowance before the bill was due, and that he
+must have relied on this to meet it. He also knew enough of Donald's
+affairs to guess something of the emergency that he must have been in
+ere he would have yielded to so dangerous an alternative. There were
+times when he determined to send for Donald, show him the frightful
+danger in which he stood, and then tear the note before his eyes, and
+leave its payment to his honor. He even realized the peace which would
+flow from such a deed. Nor were these feelings transitory, his better
+nature pleaded so hard with him that he walked his room hour after
+hour under their influence, and their power over him was such as
+delayed all action in the matter for nearly a week.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+At length one morning David Cameron came into the bank, and having
+finished his business, walked up to James and said, "I feared ye were
+ill, James. Whatna for hae ye stayed awa sae lang? I wanted ye sairly
+last night to go o'er wi' me the points in this debate at our kirk. We
+are to hae anither session to-night; ye'll come the morn and talk it
+o'er wi' me?"
+
+"I will, Mr. Cameron."
+
+But James instantly determined to see Christine that night. Her father
+would be at the kirk session, and if Donald was there, he thought he
+knew how to whisper him away. He meant to have Christine all to
+himself for an hour or two, and if he saw any opportunity he would
+tell her all. When he got to David's the store was still open, but the
+clerk said, "David has just gone," and James, as was his wont, walked
+straight to the parlor.
+
+Donald was there; he had guessed that, because a carriage was in
+waiting, and he knew it could belong to no other caller at David
+Cameron's. And never had Donald roused in him such an intense
+antagonism. He was going to some National Celebration, and he stood
+beside Christine in all the splendid picturesque pomp of the McFarlane
+tartans. He was holding Christine's hand, and she stood as a white
+lily in the glow and color of his dark beauty. Perhaps both of them
+felt James' entrance inopportune. At any rate they received him
+coldly, Donald drew Christine a little apart, said a few whispered
+words to her, and lifting his bonnet slightly to James, he went away.
+
+In the few minutes of this unfortunate meeting the devil entered into
+James' heart. Even Christine was struck with the new look on his face.
+It was haughty, malicious, and triumphant, and he leaned against the
+high oaken chimney-piece in a defiant way that annoyed Christine,
+though she could not analyze it.
+
+"Sit down, James," she said with a touch of authority--for his
+attitude had unconsciously put her on the defensive. "Donald has gone
+to the Caledonian club; there is to be a grand gathering of Highland
+gentlemen there to-night."
+
+"_Gentlemen!_"
+
+"Well, yes, _gentlemen!_ And there will be none there more worthy the
+name than our Donald."
+
+"The rest of them are much to be scorned at, then."
+
+"James, James, that speech was little like you. Sit down and come to
+yourself; I am sure you are not so mean as to grudge Donald the rights
+of his good birth."
+
+"Donald McFarlane shall have all the rights he has worked for; and
+when he gets his just payment he will be in Glasgow jail."
+
+"James, you are ill. You have not been here for a week, and you look
+so unlike yourself. I know you must be ill. Will you let me send for
+our doctor?" And she approached him kindly, and looked with anxious
+scrutiny into his face.
+
+He put her gently away, and said in a thick, rapid voice,
+
+"Christine, I came to-night to tell you that Donald McFarlane is
+unworthy to come into your presence--he has forged your father's
+name."
+
+"James, you are mad, or ill, what you say is just impossible!"
+
+"I am neither mad nor ill. I will prove it, if you wish."
+
+At these words every trace of sympathy or feeling vanished from her
+face; and she said in a low, hoarse whisper,
+
+"You cannot prove it. I would not believe such a thing possible."
+
+Then with a pitiless particularity he went over all the events
+relating to the note, and held it out for her to examine the
+signature.
+
+"Is that David Cameron's writing?" he cried; "did you ever see such a
+weak imitation? The man is a fool as well as a villain."
+
+Christine gazed blankly at the witness of her cousin's guilt, and
+James, carried away with the wicked impetuosity of his passionate
+accusations of Donald's life, did not see the fair face set in white
+despair and the eyes close wearily, as with a piteous cry she fell
+prostrate at his feet.
+
+Ah, how short was his triumph! When he saw the ruin that his words had
+made he shrieked aloud in his terror and agony. Help was at hand, and
+doctors were quickly brought, but she had received a shock from which
+it seemed impossible to revive her. David was brought home, and knelt
+in speechless distress by the side of his insensible child, but no
+hope lightened the long, terrible night, and when the reaction came in
+the morning, it came in the form of fever and delirium.
+
+Questioned closely by David, James admitted nothing but that while
+talking to him about Donald McFarlane she had fallen at his feet, and
+Donald could only say that he had that evening told her he was going
+to Edinburgh in two weeks, to study law with his cousin, and that he
+had asked her to be his wife.
+
+This acknowledgement bound David and Donald in a closer communion of
+sorrow. James and his sufferings were scarcely noticed. Yet, probably
+of all that unhappy company, he suffered the most. He loved Christine
+with a far deeper affection than Donald had ever dreamed of. He would
+have given his life for hers, and yet he had, perhaps, been her
+murderer. How he hated Donald in those days! What love and remorse
+tortured him! And what availed it that he had bought the power to ruin
+the man he hated? He was afraid to use it. If Christine lived, and he
+did use it, she would never forgive him; if she died, he would be her
+murderer.
+
+But the business of life cannot be delayed for its sorrows. David must
+wait in his shop, and James must be at the bank; and in two weeks
+Donald had to leave for Edinburgh, though Christine was lying in a
+silent, broken-hearted apathy, so close to the very shoal of Time that
+none dared say, "She will live another day."
+
+How James despised Donald for leaving her at all; he desired nothing
+beyond the permission to sit by her side, and watch and aid the slow
+struggle of life back from the shores and shades of death.
+
+It was almost the end of summer before she was able to resume her
+place in the household, but long before that she had asked to see
+James. The interview took place one Sabbath afternoon while David was
+at church. Christine had been lifted to a couch, but she was unable to
+move, and even speech was exhausting and difficult to her. James knelt
+down by her side, and, weeping bitterly, said,
+
+"O Christine, forgive me!"
+
+She smiled faintly.
+
+"You--have--not--used--yonder--paper,--James?"
+
+"Oh, no, no."
+
+"It--would--kill--me. You--would--not--kill--me?"
+
+"I would die to make you strong again."
+
+"Don't--hurt--Donald. Forgive--for--Christ's--sake,--James!"
+
+Poor James! It was hard for him to see that still Donald was her first
+thought, and, looking on the wreck of Christine's youth and beauty, it
+was still harder not to hate him worse than ever.
+
+Nor did the temptation to do so grow less with time. He had to listen
+every evening to David's praises of his nephew: how "he had been
+entered wi' Advocate Scott, and was going to be a grand lawyer," or
+how he had been to some great man's house and won all hearts with his
+handsome face and witty tongue. Or, perhaps, he would be shown some
+rich token of his love that had come for Christine; or David would
+say, "There's the 'Edinbro' News,' James; it cam fra Donald this morn;
+tak it hame wi' you. You're welcome." And James feared not to take it,
+feared to show the slightest dislike to Donald, lest David's anger at
+it should provoke him to say what was in his heart, and Christine only
+be the sufferer.
+
+One cold night in early winter, James, as was his wont now, went to
+spend the evening in talking with David and in watching Christine.
+That was really all it was; for, though she had resumed her house
+duties, she took little part in conversation. She had always been
+inclined to silence, but now a faint smile and a "Yes" or "No" were
+her usual response, even to her father's remarks. This night he found
+David out, and he hesitated whether to trouble Christine or not. He
+stood for a moment in the open door and looked at her. She was sitting
+by the table with a little Testament open in her hand; but she was
+rather musing on what she had been reading than continuing her
+occupation.
+
+"Christine!"
+
+"James!"
+
+"May I come in?"
+
+"Yes, surely."
+
+"I hear your father has gone to a town-meeting."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And he is to be made a bailie."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I am very glad. It will greatly please him, and there is no citizen
+more worthy of the honor."
+
+"I think so also."
+
+"Shall I disturb you if I wait to see him?"
+
+"No, James; sit down."
+
+Then Christine laid aside her book and took her sewing, and James sat
+thinking how he could best introduce the subject ever near his heart.
+He felt that there was much to say in his own behalf, if he only knew
+how to begin. Christine opened the subject for him. She laid down her
+work and went and stood before the fire at his side. The faintest
+shadow of color was in her face, and her eyes were unspeakably sad and
+anxious. He could not bear their eager, searching gaze, and dropped
+his own.
+
+"James, have you destroyed yonder paper?"
+
+"Nay, Christine; I am too poor a man to throw away so much hard-won
+gold. I am keeping it until I can see Mr. McFarlane and quietly
+collect my own."
+
+"You will never use it in any way against him?"
+
+"Will you ever marry him? Tell me that."
+
+"O sir!" she cried indignantly, "you want to make a bargain with my
+poor heart. Hear, then. If Donald wants me to marry him I'll never
+cast him off. Do you think God will cast him off for one fault? You
+dare not say it."
+
+"I do not say but what God will pardon. But we are human beings; we
+are not near to God yet."
+
+"But we ought to be trying to get near him; and oh, James, you never
+had so grand a chance. See the pitiful face of Christ looking down on
+you from the cross. If that face should turn away from you, James--if
+it should!"
+
+"You ask a hard thing of me, Christine."
+
+"Yes, I do."
+
+"But if you will only try and love me--"
+
+"Stop, James! I will make no bargain in a matter of right and wrong.
+If for Christ's sake, who has forgiven you so much, you can forgive
+Donald, for Christ's dear sake do it. If not, I will set no earthly
+love before it. Do your worst. God can find out a way. I'll trust
+him."
+
+"Christine! dear Christine!"
+
+"Hush! I am Donald's promised wife. May God speak to you for me. I am
+very sad and weary. Good-night."
+
+James did not wait for David's return. He went back to his own
+lodging, and, taking the note out of his pocket-book, spread it before
+him. His first thought was that he had wared L89 on his enemy's fine
+clothes, and James loved gold and hated foppish, extravagant dress;
+his next that he had saved Andrew Starkie L89, and he knew the old
+usurer was quietly laughing at his folly. But worse than all was the
+alternative he saw as the result of his sinful purchase: if he used it
+to gratify his personal hatred, he deeply wounded, perhaps killed, his
+dearest love and his oldest friend. Hour after hour he sat with the
+note before him. His good angel stood at his side and wooed him to
+mercy. There was a fire burning in the grate, and twice he held the
+paper over it, and twice turned away from his better self.
+
+The watchman was calling "half-past two o'clock," when, cold and weary
+with his mental struggle, he rose and went to his desk. There was a
+secret hiding-place behind a drawer there, in which he kept papers
+relating to his transactions with Andrew Starkie, and he put it among
+them. "I'll leave it to its chance," he muttered; "a fire might come
+and burn it up some day. If it is God's will to save Donald, he could
+so order it, and I am fully insured against pecuniary loss." He did
+not at that moment see how presumptuously he was throwing his own
+responsibility on God; he did not indeed want to see anything but some
+plausible way of avoiding a road too steep for a heart weighed down
+with earthly passion to dare.
+
+Then weeks and months drifted away in the calm regular routine of
+David's life. But though there were no outward changes, there was a
+very important inward one. About sixteen months after Donald's
+departure he returned to visit Christine. James, at Christine's urgent
+request, absented himself during this visit; but when he next called
+at David's, he perceived at once that all was not as had been
+anticipated. David had little to say about him; Christine looked paler
+and sadder than ever. Neither quite understood why. There had been no
+visible break with Donald, but both father and daughter felt that he
+had drifted far away from them and their humble, pious life. Donald
+had lost the child's heart he had brought with him from the mountains;
+he was ambitious of honors, and eager after worldly pleasures and
+advantages. He had become more gravely handsome, and he talked more
+sensibly to David; but David liked him less.
+
+After this visit there sprang up a new hope in James' heart, and he
+waited and watched, though often with very angry feelings; for he was
+sure that Donald was gradually deserting Christine.
+
+She grew daily more sad and silent; it was evident she was suffering.
+The little Testament lay now always with her work, and he noticed that
+she frequently laid aside her sewing and read it earnestly, even while
+David and he were quietly talking at the fireside.
+
+One Sabbath, two years after Donald's departure, James met David
+coming out of church alone. He could only say, "I hope Christine is
+well."
+
+"Had she been well, she had been wi' me; thou kens that, James."
+
+"I might have done so. Christine is never absent from God's house when
+it is open."
+
+"It is a good plan, James; for when they who go regular to God's house
+are forced to stay away, God himself asks after them. I hae no doubt
+but what Christine has been visited."
+
+They walked on in silence until David's house was in sight. "I'm no
+caring for any company earth can gie me the night, James; but the morn
+I hae something to tell you I canna speak anent to-day."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+The next day David came into the bank about noon, and said, "Come wi'
+me to McLellan's, James, and hae a mutton pie, it's near by
+lunch-time." While they were eating it David said, "Donald McFarlane
+is to be wedded next month. He's making a grand marriage."
+
+James bit his lip, but said nothing.
+
+"He's spoken for Miss Margaret Napier; her father was ane o' the Lords
+o' Session; she's his sole heiress, and that will mean L50,000, foreby
+the bonnie place and lands o' Ellenshawe."
+
+"And Christine?"
+
+"Dinna look that way, man. Christine is content; she kens weel enough
+she isna like her cousin."
+
+"God be thanked she is not. Go away from me, David Cameron, or I shall
+say words that will make more suffering than you can dream off. Go
+away, man."
+
+David was shocked and grieved at his companion's passion. "James," he
+said solemnly, "dinna mak a fool o' yoursel'. I hae long seen your
+ill-will at Donald. Let it go. Donald's aboon your thumb now, and the
+anger o' a poor man aye falls on himsel'."
+
+"For God's sake don't tempt me farther. You little know what I could
+do if I had the ill heart to do it."
+
+"Ow! ay!" said David scornfully, "if the poor cat had only wings it
+would extirpate the race of sparrows from the world; but when the
+wings arena there, James lad, it is just as weel to mak no boast o'
+them."
+
+James had leaned his head in his hands, and was whispering,
+"Christine! Christine! Christine!" in a rapid inaudible voice. He took
+no notice of David's remark, and David was instantly sorry for it.
+"The puir lad is just sorrowful wi' love for Christine, and that's nae
+sin that I can see," he thought. "James," he said kindly, "I am sorry
+enough to grieve you. Come as soon as you can like to do it. You'll be
+welcome."
+
+James slightly nodded his head, but did not move; and David left him
+alone in the little boarded room where they had eaten. In a few
+minutes he collected himself, and, like one dazed, walked back to his
+place in the bank. Never had its hours seemed so long, never had the
+noise and traffic, the tramping of feet, and the banging of doors
+seemed so intolerable. As early as possible he was at David's, and
+David, with that fine instinct that a kind heart teaches, said as he
+entered, "Gude evening, James. Gae awa ben and keep Christine company.
+I'm that busy that I'll no shut up for half an hour yet."
+
+James found Christine in her usual place. The hearth had been freshly
+swept, the fire blazed brightly, and she sat before it with her white
+seam in her hand. She raised her eyes at James' entrance, and
+smilingly nodded to a vacant chair near her. He took it silently.
+Christine seemed annoyed at his silence in a little while, and asked,
+"Why don't you speak, James? Have you nothing to say?"
+
+"A great deal, Christine. What now do you think of Donald McFarlane?"
+
+"I think well of Donald."
+
+"And of his marriage also?"
+
+"Certainly I do. When he was here I saw how unfit I was to be his
+wife. I told him so, and bid him seek a mate more suitable to his
+position and prospects."
+
+"Do you think it right to let yonder lady wed such a man with her eyes
+shut?"
+
+"Are you going to open them?" Her face was sad and mournful, and she
+laid her hand gently on James' shoulder.
+
+"I think it is my duty, Christine."
+
+"Think again, James. Be sure it is your duty before you go on such an
+errand. See if you dare kneel down and ask God to bless you in this
+duty."
+
+"Christine, you treat me very hardly. You know how I love you, and you
+use your power over me unmercifully."
+
+"No, no, James, I only want you to keep yourself out of the power of
+Satan. If indeed I have any share in your heart, do not wrong me by
+giving Satan a place there also. Let me at least respect you, James."
+
+Christine had never spoken in this way before to him; the majesty and
+purity of her character lifted him insensibly to higher thoughts, her
+gentleness soothed and comforted him. When David came in he found them
+talking in a calm, cheerful tone, and the evening that followed was
+one of the pleasantest he could remember. Yet James understood that
+Christine trusted in his forbearance, and he had no heart to grieve
+her, especially as she did her best to reward him by striving to make
+his visits to her father unusually happy.
+
+So Donald married Miss Napier, and the newspapers were full of the
+bridegroom's beauty and talents, and the bride's high lineage and
+great possessions. After this Donald and Donald's affairs seemed to
+very little trouble David's humble household. His marriage put him far
+away from Christine's thoughts, for her delicate conscience would have
+regarded it as a great sin to remember with any feeling of love
+another woman's affianced husband; and when the struggle became one
+between right and wrong, it was ended for Christine. David seldom
+named him, and so Donald McFarlane gradually passed out of the lives
+he had so sorely troubled.
+
+Slowly but surely James continued to prosper; he rose to be cashier in
+the bank, and he won a calm but certain place in Christine's regard.
+She had never quite recovered the shock of her long illness; she was
+still very frail, and easily exhausted by the least fatigue or
+excitement. But in James' eyes she was perfect; he was always at his
+best in her presence, and he was a very proud and happy man when,
+after eight years' patient waiting and wooing, he won from her the
+promise to be his wife; for he knew that with Christine the promise
+meant all that it ought to mean.
+
+The marriage made few changes in her peaceful life. James left the
+bank, put his savings in David's business, and became his partner. But
+they continued to live in the same house, and year after year passed
+away in that happy calm which leaves no records, and has no fate days
+for the future to date from.
+
+Sometimes a letter, a newspaper, or some public event, would bring
+back the memory of the gay, handsome lad that had once made so bright
+the little back parlor. Such strays from Donald's present life were
+always pleasant ones. In ten years he had made great strides forward.
+Every one had a good word for him. His legal skill was quoted as
+authority, his charities were munificent, his name unblemished by a
+single mean deed.
+
+Had James forgotten? No, indeed. Donald's success only deepened his
+hatred of him. Even the silence he was compelled to keep on the
+subject intensified the feeling. Once after his marriage he attempted
+to discuss the subject with Christine, but the scene had been so
+painful he had never attempted it again; and David was swift and
+positive to dismiss any unfavorable allusion to Donald. Once, on
+reading that "Advocate McFarlane had joined the Free Kirk of Scotland
+on open confession of faith," James flung down the paper and said
+pointedly, "I wonder whether he confessed his wrong-doing before his
+faith or not."
+
+"There's nane sae weel shod, James, that they mayna slip," answered
+David, with a stern face. "He has united wi' Dr. Buchan's
+kirk--there's nane taken into that fellowship unworthily, as far as
+man can judge."
+
+"He would be a wise minister that got at all Advocate McFarlane's
+sins, I am thinking."
+
+"Dinna say all ye think, James. They walk too fair for earth that
+naebody can find fault wi'."
+
+So James nursed the evil passion in his own heart; indeed, he had
+nursed it so long that he could not of himself resign it, and in all
+his prayers--and he did pray frequently, and often sincerely--he never
+named this subject to God, never once asked for his counsel or help in
+the matter.
+
+Twelve years after his marriage with Christine David died, died as he
+had often wished to die, very suddenly. He was well at noon; at night
+he had put on the garments of eternal Sabbath. He had but a few
+moments of consciousness in which to bid farewell to his children.
+"Christine," he said cheerfully, "we'll no be lang parted, dear
+lassie;" and to James a few words on his affairs, and then almost with
+his last breath, "James, heed what I say: 'Blessed are the merciful,
+for they shall--obtain mercy.'"
+
+There seemed to have been some prophetic sense in David's parting
+words to his daughter, for soon after his death she began to fail
+rapidly. What James suffered as he saw it only those can tell who have
+watched their beloved slowly dying, and hoped against hope day after
+day and week after week. Perhaps the hardest part was the knowledge
+that she had never recovered the health she had previous to the
+terrible shock which his revelation of Donald's guilt had been to her.
+He forgot his own share in the shock and threw the whole blame of her
+early decay on Donald. "And if she dies," he kept saying in his angry
+heart, "I will make him suffer for it."
+
+And Christine was drawing very near to death, though even when she was
+confined to her room and bed James would not believe it. And it was at
+this time that Donald came once more to Glasgow. There was a very
+exciting general election for a new Parliament, and Donald stood for
+the Conservative party in the city of Glasgow. Nothing could have so
+speedily ripened James' evil purpose. Should a forger represent his
+native city? Should he see the murderer of his Christine win honor
+upon honor, when he had but to speak and place him among thieves?
+
+During the struggle he worked frantically to defeat him--and failed.
+That night he came home like a man possessed by some malicious,
+ungovernable spirit of hell. He would not go to Christine's room, for
+he was afraid she would discover his purpose in his face, and win him
+from it. For now he had sworn to himself that he would only wait until
+the congratulatory dinner. He could get an invitation to it. All the
+bailies and the great men of the city would be there. The newspaper
+reporters would be there. His triumph would be complete. Donald would
+doubtless make a great speech, and after it _he_ would say his few
+words.
+
+Then he thought of Christine. But she did not move him now, for she
+was never likely to hear of it. She was confined to her bed; she read
+nothing but her Bible; she saw no one but her nurse. He would charge
+the nurse, and he would keep all papers and letters from her. He
+thought of nothing now but the near gratification of a revengeful
+purpose for which he had waited twenty years. Oh, how sweet it seemed
+to him!
+
+The dinner was to be in a week, and during the next few days he was
+like a man in a bad dream. He neglected his business, and wandered
+restlessly about the house, and looked so fierce and haggard that
+Christine began to notice, to watch, and to fear. She knew that Donald
+was in the city, and her heart told her that it was his presence only
+that could so alter her husband; and she poured it out in strong
+supplications for strength and wisdom to avert the calamity she felt
+approaching.
+
+That night her nurse became sick and could not remain with her, and
+James, half reluctantly, took her place, for he feared Christine's
+influence now. She would ask him to read the Bible, to pray with her;
+she might talk to him of death and heaven; she might name Donald, and
+extract some promise from him. And he was determined now that nothing
+should move him. So he pretended great weariness, drew a large chair
+to her bedside, and said,
+
+"I shall try and sleep a while, darling; if you need me you have only
+to speak."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+He was more weary than he knew, and ere he was aware he fell asleep--a
+restless, wretched sleep, that made him glad when the half-oblivion
+was over. Christine, however, was apparently at rest, and he soon
+relapsed into the same dark, haunted state of unconsciousness.
+Suddenly he began to mutter and moan, and then to speak with a hoarse,
+whispered rapidity that had in it something frightful and unearthly.
+But Christine listened with wide-open eyes, and heard with sickening
+terror the whole wicked plot. It fell from his half-open lips over and
+over in every detail; and over and over he laughed low and terribly at
+the coming shame of the hated Donald.
+
+She had not walked alone for weeks, nor indeed been out of her room
+for months, but she must go now; and she never doubted her strength.
+As if she had been a spirit, she slipped out of bed, walked rapidly
+and noiselessly into the long-unfamiliar parlor. A rushlight was
+burning, and the key of the old desk was always in it. Nothing
+valuable was kept there, and people unacquainted with the secret of
+the hidden drawer would have looked in vain for the entrance to it.
+Christine had known it for years, but her wifely honor had held it
+more sacred than locks or keys could have done. She was aware only
+that James kept some private matter of importance there, and she would
+as readily have robbed her husband's purse as have spied into things
+of which he did not speak to her.
+
+Now, however, all mere thoughts of courtesy or honor must yield before
+the alternative in which James and Donald stood. She reached the desk,
+drew out the concealing drawer, pushed aside the slide, and touched
+the paper. There were other papers there, but something taught her at
+once the right one. To take it and close the desk was but the work of
+a moment, then back she flew as swiftly and noiselessly as a spirit
+with the condemning evidence tightly clasped in her hand.
+
+James was still muttering and moaning in his troubled sleep, and with
+the consciousness of her success all her unnatural strength passed
+away. She could hardly secrete it in her bosom ere she fell into a
+semi-conscious lethargy, through which she heard with terror her
+husband's low, weird laughter and whispered curses.
+
+At length the day for the dinner came. James had procured an
+invitation, and he made unusual personal preparations for it. He was
+conscious that he was going to do a very mean action, but he would
+look as well as possible in the act. He had even his apology for it
+ready; he would say that "as long as it was a private wrong he had
+borne the loss patiently for twenty years, but that the public welfare
+demanded honest men, men above reproach, and he could no longer feel
+it his duty," etc., etc.
+
+After he was dressed he bid Christine "Good-by."
+
+"He would only stay an hour," he said, "and he must needs go, as
+Donald was her kin."
+
+Then he went to the desk, and with hands trembling in their eagerness
+sought the bill. It was not there. _Impossible!_ He looked
+again--again more carefully--could not believe his eyes, and looked
+again and again. It was really gone. If the visible hand of God had
+struck him, he could not have felt it more consciously. He
+mechanically closed the desk and sat down like one stunned. Cain might
+have felt as James did when God asked him, "Where is thy brother?" He
+did not think of prayer. No "God be merciful to me a sinner" came as
+yet from his dry, white lips. The fountains of his heart seemed dry as
+dust. The anger of God weighed him down till
+
+      "He felt as one
+  Who, waking after some strange, fevered dream,
+  Sees a dim land and things unspeakable,
+  And comes to know at last that it is hell."
+
+Meantime Christine was lying with folded hands, praying for him. She
+knew what an agony he was going through, and ceaselessly with pure
+supplications she prayed for his forgiveness. About midnight one came
+and told him his wife wanted to see him. He rose with a wretched sigh,
+and looked at the clock. He had sat there six hours. He had thought
+over everything, over and over--the certainty that the paper was
+there, the fact that no other paper had been touched, and that no
+human being but Christine knew of the secret place. These things
+shocked him beyond expression. It was to his mind a visible assertion
+of the divine prerogative; he had really heard God say to him,
+"Vengeance is mine." The lesson that in these materialistic days we
+would reason away, James humbly accepted. His religious feelings were,
+after all, his deepest feelings, and in those six hours he had so
+palpably felt the frown of his angry Heavenly Father that he had quite
+forgotten his poor, puny wrath at Donald McFarlane.
+
+As he slowly walked up stairs to Christine he determined to make to
+her a full confession of the deed he had meditated. But when he
+reached her bedside he saw that she was nearly dead. She smiled
+faintly and said,
+
+"Send all away, James. I must speak alone with you, dear; we are going
+to part, my husband."
+
+Then he knelt down by her side and held her cold hands, and the
+gracious tears welled up in his hot eyes, and he covered them with the
+blessed rain.
+
+"O James, how you have suffered--since six o'clock."
+
+"You know then, Christine! I would weep tears of blood over my sin. O
+dear, dear wife, take no shameful memory of me into eternity with
+you."
+
+"See how I trust you, James. Here is poor, weak Donald's note. I know
+now you will never use it against him. What if your six hours were
+lengthened out through life--through eternity? I ask no promise from
+you now, dear."
+
+"But I give it. Before God I give it, with all my heart. My sin has
+found me out this night. How has God borne with me all these years?
+Oh, how great is his mercy!"
+
+Then Christine told him how he had revealed his wicked plot, and how
+wonderful strength had been given her to defeat it; and the two souls,
+amid their parting sighs and tears, knew each other as they had never
+done through all their years of life.
+
+For a week James remained in his own room. Then Christine was laid
+beside her father, and the shop was reopened, and the household
+returned to its ways. But James was not seen in house or shop, and the
+neighbors said,
+
+"Kirsty Cameron has had a wearisome sickness, and nae doobt her
+gudeman was needing a rest. Dootless he has gane to the Hielands a
+bit."
+
+But it was not northward James Blackie went. It was south; south past
+the bonnie Cumberland Hills and the great manufacturing towns of
+Lancashire and the rich valleys of Yorkshire; southward until he
+stopped at last in London. Even then, though he was weary and sick and
+the night had fallen, he did not rest. He took a carriage and drove at
+once to a fashionable mansion in Baker street. The servant looked
+curiously at him and felt half inclined to be insolent to such a
+visitor.
+
+"Take that card to your master at once," he said in a voice whose
+authority could not be disputed, and the man went.
+
+His master was lying on a sofa in a luxuriously-furnished room,
+playing with a lovely girl about four years old, and listening
+meanwhile to an enthusiastic account of a cricket match that two boys
+of about twelve and fourteen years were giving him. He was a
+strikingly handsome man, in the prime of life, with a thoroughly happy
+expression. He took James' card in a careless fashion, listened to the
+end of his sons' story, and then looked at it. Instantly his manner
+changed; he stood up, and said promptly,
+
+"Go away now, Miss Margaret, and you also, Angus and David; I have an
+old friend to see." Then to the servant, "Bring the gentleman here at
+once."
+
+When he heard James' step he went to meet him with open hand; but
+James said,
+
+"Not just yet, Mr. McFarlane; hear what I have to say. Then if you
+offer your hand I will take it."
+
+"Christine is dead?"
+
+"Dead, dead."
+
+They sat down opposite each other, and James did not spare himself.
+From his discovery of the note in old Starkie's possession until the
+death of Christine, he confessed everything. Donald sat with downcast
+eyes, quite silent. Once or twice his fierce Highland blood surged
+into his face, and his hand stole mechanically to the place where his
+dirk had once been, but the motion was as transitory as a thought.
+When James had finished he sat with compressed lips for a few moments,
+quite unable to control his speech; but at length he slowly said,
+
+"I wish I had known all this before; it would have saved much sin and
+suffering. You said that my indifference at first angered you. I must
+correct this. I was not indifferent. No one can tell what suffering
+that one cowardly act cost me. But before the bill fell due I went
+frankly to Uncle David and confessed all my sin. What passed between
+us you may guess; but he forgave me freely and fully, as I trust God
+did also. Hence there was no cause for its memory to darken life."
+
+"I always thought Christine had told her father," muttered James.
+
+"Nay, but I told him myself. He said he would trace the note, and I
+have no doubt he knew it was in your keeping from the first."
+
+Then James took it from his pocket-book.
+
+"There it is, Mr. McFarlane. Christine gave it back to me the hour she
+died. I promised her to bring it to you and tell you all."
+
+"Christine's soul was a white rose without a thorn. I count it an
+honor to have known and loved her. But the paper is yours, Mr.
+Blackie, unless I may pay for it."
+
+"O man, man! what money could pay for it? I would not dare to sell it
+for the whole world! Take it, I pray you."
+
+"I will not. Do as you wish with it, James, I can trust you."
+
+Then James walked towards the table. There were wax lights burning on
+it, and he held it in the flame and watched it slowly consume away to
+ashes. The silence was so intense that they heard each other
+breathing, and the expression on James' face was so rapt and noble
+that even Donald's stately beauty was for the moment less attractive.
+Then he walked towards Donald and said,
+
+"Now give me your hand, McFarlane, and I'll take it gladly."
+
+And that was a handclasp that meant to both men what no words could
+have expressed.
+
+"Farewell, McFarlane; our ways in this world lie far apart; but when
+we come to die it will comfort both of us to remember this meeting.
+God be with you!"
+
+"And with you also, James. Farewell."
+
+Then James went back to his store and his shadowed household life. And
+people said he looked happier than ever he had done, and pitied him
+for his sick wife, and supposed he felt it a happy release to be rid
+of her. So wrongly does the world, which knows nothing of our real
+life, judge us.
+
+You may see his gravestone in Glasgow Necropolis to-day, and people
+will tell you that he was a great philanthropist, and gave away a
+noble fortune to the sick and the ignorant; and you will probably
+wonder to see only beneath his name the solemn text, "Vengeance is
+mine; I will repay, saith the Lord."
+
+
+
+
+Facing His Enemy.
+
+
+
+
+FACING HIS ENEMY.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Forty years ago there stood in the lower part of the city of Glasgow a
+large, plain building which was to hundreds of very intelligent
+Scotchmen almost sacred ground. It stood among warehouses and
+factories, and in a very unfashionable quarter; but for all that, it
+was Dr. William Morrison's kirk. And Dr. Morrison was in every respect
+a remarkable man--a Scotchman with the old Hebrew fervor and
+sublimity, who accepted the extremest tenets of his creed with a deep
+religious faith, and scorned to trim or moderate them in order to suit
+what he called "a sinfu' latitudinarian age."
+
+Such a man readily found among the solid burghers of Glasgow a large
+"following" of a very serious kind, douce, dour men, whose
+strongly-marked features looked as if they had been chiselled out of
+their native granite--men who settled themselves with a grave kind of
+enjoyment to listen to a full hour's sermon, and who watched every
+point their minister made with a critical acumen that seemed more
+fitting to a synod of divines than a congregation of weavers and
+traders.
+
+A prominent man in this remarkable church was Deacon John Callendar.
+He had been one of its first members, and it was everything to his
+heart that Jerusalem is to the Jew, or Mecca to the Mohammedan. He
+believed his minister to be the best and wisest of men, though he was
+by no means inclined to allow himself a lazy confidence in this
+security. It was the special duty of deacons to keep a strict watch
+over doctrinal points, and though he had never had occasion to dissent
+in thirty years' scrutiny, he still kept the watch.
+
+In the temporal affairs of the church it had been different. There was
+no definite creed for guidance in these matters, and eight or ten men
+with strong, rugged wills about L, _s_., _d_., each thinking highly of
+his own discretion in monetary affairs, and rather indifferently of
+the minister's gifts in this direction, were not likely to have always
+harmonious sessions.
+
+They had had a decidedly inharmonious one early in January of 184-,
+and Deacon Callendar had spoken his mind with his usual blunt
+directness. He had been a good deal nettled at the minister's
+attitude, for, instead of seconding his propositions, Dr. Morrison had
+sat with a faraway, indifferent look, as if the pending discussion was
+entirely out of his range of interest. John could have borne
+contradiction better. An argument would have gratified him. But to
+have the speech and statistics which he had so carefully prepared fall
+on the minister's ear without provoking any response was a great trial
+of his patience. He was inwardly very angry, though outwardly very
+calm; but Dr. Morrison knew well what a tumult was beneath the dour
+still face of the deacon as he rose from his chair, put on his plaid,
+and pulled his bonnet over his brows.
+
+"John," he said kindly, "you are a wise man, and I aye thought so. It
+takes a Christian to lead passion by the bridle. A Turk is a placid
+gentleman, John, but he cannot do it."
+
+"Ou, ay! doubtless! There is talk o' the Turk and the Pope, but it is
+my neighbors that trouble me the maist, minister. Good-night to ye
+all. If ye vote to-night you can e'en count my vote wi' Dr.
+Morrison's; it will be as sensible and warld-like as any o' the lave."
+
+With this parting reflection he went out. It had begun to snow, and
+the still, white solitude made him ashamed of his temper. He looked up
+at the quiet heavens above him, then at the quiet street before him,
+and muttered with a spice of satisfaction, "Speaking comes by nature,
+and silence by understanding. I am thankfu' now I let Deacon Strang
+hae the last word. I'm saying naught against Strang; he may gie good
+counsel, but they'll be fools that tak it."
+
+"Uncle!"
+
+"Hout, Davie! Whatna for are you here?"
+
+"It began to snow, and I thought you would be the better of your cloak
+and umbrella. You seem vexed, uncle."
+
+"Vexed? Ay. The minister is the maist contrary o' mortals. He kens
+naething about church government, and he treats gude siller as if it
+wasna worth the counting; but he's a gude man, and a great man, Davie,
+and folk canna serve the altar and be money-changers too. I ought to
+keep that i' mind. It's Deacon Strang, and no the minister."
+
+"Well, uncle, you must just thole it; you know what the New Testament
+says?"
+
+"Ay, ay; I ken it says if a man be struck on one cheek, he must turn
+the other; but, Davie, let me tell you that the man who gets the first
+blow generally deserves the second. It is gude Christian law no to
+permit the first stroke. That is my interpretation o' the matter."
+
+"I never thought of that."
+
+"Young folk don't think o' everything."
+
+There was something in the tone of this last remark which seemed to
+fit best into silence, and David Callendar had a particular reason for
+not further irritating his uncle. The two men without any other remark
+reached the large, handsome house in Blytheswood Square which was
+their home. Its warmth and comfort had an immediate effect on the
+deacon. He looked pleasantly at the blazing fire and the table on the
+hearthrug, with its basket of oaten cakes, its pitcher of cream, and
+its whiskey-bottle and toddy glasses. The little brass kettle was
+simmering before the fire, his slippers were invitingly warm, his
+loose coat lying over the back of his soft, ample chair, and just as
+he had put them on, and sank down with a sigh of content, a bright old
+lady entered with a spicy dish of kippered salmon.
+
+"I thought I wad bring ye a bit relish wi' your toddy, deacon. Talking
+is hungry wark. I think a man might find easier pleasuring than going
+to a kirk session through a snowstorm."
+
+"A man might, Jenny. They'd suit women-folk wonderfu'; there's plenty
+o' talk and little wark."
+
+"Then I dinna see ony call to mak a change, deacon."
+
+"Now, Jenny, you've had the last word, sae ye can go to bed wi' an
+easy mind. And, Jenny, woman, dinna let your quarrel wi' Maggie
+Launder come between you and honest sleep. I think that will settle
+her," he observed with a pawky smile, as his housekeeper shut the door
+with unnecessary haste.
+
+Half an hour afterwards, David, mixing another glass of toddy, drew
+his chair closer to the fire, and said, "Uncle John, I want to speak
+to you."
+
+"Speak on, laddie;" but David noticed that even with the permission,
+cautious curves settled round his uncle's eyes, and his face assumed
+that business-like immobility which defied his scrutiny.
+
+"I have had a very serious talk with Robert Leslie; he is thinking of
+buying Alexander Hastie out."
+
+"Why not think o' buying out Robert Napier, or Gavin Campbell, or
+Clydeside Woolen Works? A body might as weel think o' a thousand
+spindles as think o' fifty."
+
+"But he means business. An aunt, who has lately died in Galloway, has
+left him L2,000."
+
+"That isna capital enough to run Sandy Hastie's mill."
+
+"He wants me to join him."
+
+"And how will that help matters? Twa thousand pounds added to Davie
+Callendar will be just L2,000."
+
+"I felt sure you would lend me L2,000; and in that case it would be a
+great chance for me. I am very anxious to be--"
+
+"Your ain maister."
+
+"Not that altogether, uncle, although you know well the Callendars
+come of a kind that do not like to serve. I want to have a chance to
+make money."
+
+"How much of your salary have you saved?"
+
+"I have never tried to save anything yet, uncle, but I am going to
+begin."
+
+The old man sat silent for a few moments, and then said, "I wont do
+it, Davie."
+
+"It is only L2,000, Uncle John."
+
+"_Only_ L2,000! Hear the lad! Did ye ever mak L2,000? Did ye ever save
+L2,000? When ye hae done that ye'll ne'er put in the adverb, Davie.
+_Only L2,000, indeed!_"
+
+"I thought you loved me, uncle."
+
+"I love no human creature better than you. Whatna for should I not
+love you? You are the only thing left to me o' the bonnie brave
+brother who wrapped his colors round him in the Afghan Pass, the
+brave-hearted lad who died fighting twenty to one. And you are whiles
+sae like him that I'm tempted--na, na, that is a' byganes. I will not
+let you hae the L2,000, that is the business in hand."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"If you will hear the truth, that second glass o' whiskey is reason
+plenty. I hae taken my ane glass every night for forty years, and I
+hae ne'er made the ane twa, except New Year's tide."
+
+"That is fair nonsense, Uncle John. There are plenty of men whom you
+trust for more than L2,000 who can take four glasses for their
+nightcap always."
+
+"That may be; I'm no denying it; but what is lawfu' in some men is
+sinfu' in others."
+
+"I do not see that at all."
+
+"Do you mind last summer, when we were up in Argyleshire, how your
+cousin, Roy Callendar, walked, with ne'er the wink o' an eyelash, on a
+mantel-shelf hanging over a three-hundred-feet precipice? Roy had the
+trained eyesight and the steady nerve which made it lawfu' for him;
+for you or me it had been suicide--naething less sinfu'. Three or four
+glasses o' whiskey are safer for some men than twa for you. I hae been
+feeling it my duty to tell you this for some time. Never look sae
+glum, Davie, or I'll be thinking it is my siller and no mysel' you
+were caring for the night when ye thought o' my cloak and umbrella."
+
+The young man rose in a perfect blaze of passion.
+
+"Sit down, sit down," said his uncle. "One would think you were your
+grandfather, Evan Callendar, and that some English red-coat had trod
+on your tartan. Hout! What's the use o' a temper like that to folk wha
+hae taken to the spindle instead o' the claymore?"
+
+"I am a Callendar for all that."
+
+"Sae am I, sae am I, and vera proud o' it fore-bye. We are a' kin,
+Davie; blood is thicker than water, and we wont quarrel."
+
+David put down his unfinished glass of toddy. He could not trust
+himself to discuss the matter any farther, but as he left the room he
+paused, with the open door in his hand, and said,
+
+"If you are afraid I am going to be a drunkard, why did you not care
+for the fear before it became a question of L2,000? And if I ever do
+become one, remember this, Uncle John--you mixed my first glass for
+me!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+A positive blow could hardly have stunned John Callendar as this
+accusation did. He could not have answered it, even if he had had an
+opportunity, and the shock was the greater that it brought with it a
+sudden sense of responsibility, yea, even guilt. At first the feeling
+was one of anger at this sudden charge of conscience. He began to
+excuse himself; he was not to blame if other people could not do but
+they must o'erdo; then to assure himself that, being God's child,
+there could be no condemnation in the matter to him. But his heart was
+too tender and honest to find rest in such apologies, and close upon
+his anger at the lad crowded a host of loving memories that would not
+be put away.
+
+David's father had been very dear to him. He recalled his younger
+brother in a score of tender situations: the schoolhouse in which they
+had studied cheek to cheek over one book; the little stream in which
+they had paddled and fished on holidays, the fir-wood, the misty
+corries, and the heathery mountains of Argyle; above all, he
+remembered the last time that he had ever seen the bright young face
+marching at the head of his company down Buchanan street on his way to
+India. David's mother was a still tenderer memory, and John
+Callendar's eyes grew misty as his heart forced him to recall that
+dark, wintry afternoon when she had brought David to him, and he had
+solemnly promised to be a father to the lad. It was the last promise
+between them; three weeks afterwards he stood at her grave's side.
+Time is said to dim such memories as these. It never does. After many
+years some sudden event recalls the great crises of any life with all
+the vividness of their first occurrence.
+
+Confused as these memories were, they blended with an equal confusion
+of feelings. Love, anger, regret, fear, perplexity, condemnation,
+excuse, followed close on each other, and John's mind, though
+remarkably clear and acute, was one trained rather to the
+consideration of things point by point than to the catching of the
+proper clew in a mental labyrinth. After an hour's miserable
+uncertainty he was still in doubt what to do. The one point of comfort
+he had been able to reach was the hope that David had gone straight to
+Jenny with his grievance. "And though women-folk arena much as
+counsellors," thought John, "they are wonderfu' comforters; and Jenny
+will ne'er hear tell o' his leaving the house; sae there will be time
+to put right what is wrong."
+
+But though David had always hitherto, when lessons were hard or
+lassies scornful, gone with his troubles to the faithful Jenny, he did
+not do so at this time. He did not even bid her "Good-night," and
+there was such a look on his face that she considered it prudent not
+to challenge the omission.
+
+"It will be either money or marriage," she thought. "If it be money,
+the deacon has mair than is good for him to hae; if it be marriage, it
+will be Isabel Strang, and that the deacon wont like. But it is his
+ain wife Davie is choosing, and I am for letting the lad hae the lass
+he likes best."
+
+Jenny had come to these conclusions in ten minutes, but she waited
+patiently for an hour before she interrupted her master. Then the
+clock struck midnight, and she felt herself aggrieved. "Deacon," she
+said sharply, "ye should mak the day day and the night night, and ye
+would if ye had a three weeks' ironing to do the morn. It has chappit
+twelve, sir."
+
+"Jenny, I'm not sleeplike to-night. There hae been ill words between
+David and me."
+
+"And I am mair than astonished at ye, deacon. Ye are auld enough to
+ken that ill words canna be wiped out wi' a sponge. Our Davie isna an
+ordinar lad; he can be trusted where the lave would need a watcher. Ye
+ken that, deacon, for he is your ain bringing up."
+
+"But, Jenny, L2,000 for his share o' Hastie's mill! Surely ye didna
+encourage the lad in such an idea?"
+
+"Oh, sae it's money," thought Jenny. "What is L2,000 to you, deacon?
+Why should you be sparing and saving money to die wi'? The lad isna a
+fool."
+
+"I dinna approve o' the partner that is seeking him, Jenny. I hae
+heard things anent Robert Leslie that I dinna approve of; far from
+it."
+
+"Hae ye _seen_ anything wrong?"
+
+"I canna say I hae."
+
+"Trust to your eyes, deacon; they believe themselves, and your ears
+believe other people; ye ken which is best. His father was a decent
+body."
+
+"Ay, ay; but Alexander Leslie was different from his son Robert. He
+was a canny, cautious man, who could ding for his ain side, and who
+always stood by the kirk. Robert left Dr. Morrison's soon after his
+father died. The doctor was too narrow for Robert Leslie. Robert
+Leslie has wonderfu' broad ideas about religion now. Jenny, I dinna
+like the men who are their ain Bibles and ministers."
+
+"But there are good folk outside Dr. Morrison's kirk, deacon, surely."
+
+"We'll trust so, surely, we'll trust so, Jenny; but a man wi' broad
+notions about religion soon gets broad notions about business and all
+other things. Why, Jenny, I hae heard that Robert Leslie once spoke o'
+the house o' John Callendar & Co. as 'old fogyish!'"
+
+"That's no hanging matter, deacon, and ye must see that the world is
+moving."
+
+"Maybe, maybe; but I'se never help it to move except in the safe,
+narrow road. Ye ken the Garloch mill-stream? It is narrow enough for a
+good rider to leap, but it is deep, and it does its wark weel summer
+and winter. They can break down the banks, woman, and let it spread
+all over the meadow; bonnie enough it will look, but the mill-clapper
+would soon stop. Now there's just sae much power, spiritual or
+temporal, in any man; spread it out, and it is shallow and no to be
+depended on for any purpose whatever. But narrow the channel, Jenny,
+narrow the channel, and it is a driving force."
+
+"Ye are getting awa from the main subject, deacon. It is the L2,000,
+and ye had best mak up your mind to gie it to Davie. Then ye can gang
+awa to your bed and tak your rest."
+
+"You talk like a--like a woman. It is easy to gie other folks' siller
+awa. I hae worked for my siller."
+
+"Your siller, deacon? Ye hae naught but a life use o' it. Ye canna
+take it awa wi' ye. Ye can leave it to the ane you like best, but that
+vera person may scatter it to the four corners o' the earth. And why
+not? Money was made round that it might roll. It is little good yours
+is doing lying in the Clyde Trust."
+
+"Jenny Callendar, you are my ain cousin four times removed, and you
+hae a kind o' right to speak your mind in my house; but you hae said
+enough, woman. It isna a question of money only; there are ither
+things troubling me mair than that. But women are but one-sided
+arguers. Good-night to you."
+
+He turned to the fire and sat down, but after a few moments of the
+same restless, confused deliberation, he rose and went to his Bible.
+It lay open upon its stand, and John put his hand lovingly, reverently
+upon the pages. He had no glasses on, and he could not see a letter,
+but he did not need to.
+
+"It is my Father's word," he whispered; and, standing humbly before
+it, he recalled passage after passage, until a great calm fell upon
+him. Then he said,
+
+"I will lay me down and sleep now; maybe I'll see clearer in the
+morning light."
+
+Almost as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning there was a tap at
+his door, and the gay, strong voice he loved so dearly asked,
+
+"Can I come in, Uncle John?"
+
+"Come in, Davie."
+
+"Uncle, I was wrong last night, and I cannot be happy with any shadow
+between us two."
+
+Scotchmen are not demonstrative, and John only winked his eyes and
+straightened out his mouth; but the grip of the old and young hand
+said what no words could have said half so eloquently. Then the old
+man remarked in a business-like way,
+
+"I hae been thinking, Davie, I would go and look o'er Hastie's
+affairs, and if I like the look o' them I'll buy the whole concern out
+for you. Partners are kittle cattle. Ye will hae to bear their
+shortcomings as well as your ain. Tak my advice, Davie; rule your
+youth well, and your age will rule itsel'."
+
+"Uncle, you forget that Robert Leslie is in treaty with Hastie. It
+would be the height of dishonor to interfere with his bargain. You
+have always told me never to put my finger in another man's bargain.
+Let us say no more on the subject. I have another plan now. If it
+succeeds, well and good; if not, there are chances behind this one."
+
+John fervently hoped there would be no more to say on this subject,
+and when day after day went by without any reference to Hastie or
+Robert Leslie, John Callendar felt much relieved. David also had
+limited himself to one glass of toddy at night, and this unspoken
+confession and reformation was a great consolation to the old man. He
+said to himself that the evil he dreaded had gone by his door, and he
+was rather complacent over the bold stand he had taken.
+
+That day, as he was slowly walking through the Exchange, pondering a
+proposal for Virginia goods, Deacon Strang accosted him. "Callendar, a
+good day to ye; I congratulate ye on the new firm o' Callendar &
+Leslie. They are brave lads, and like enough--if a' goes weel--to do
+weel."
+
+John did not allow an eyelash to betray his surprise and chagrin. "Ah,
+Strang!" he answered, "the Callendars are a big clan, and we are a'
+kin; sae, if you tak to congratulating me on every Callendar whose
+name ye see aboon a doorstep, you'll hae mair business on hand than
+you'll ken how to manage. A good day to you!" But Deacon Callendar
+went up Great George street that day with a heavy, angry heart. His
+nephew opened the door for him. "Uncle John, I have been looking all
+over for you. I have something to tell you."
+
+"Fiddler's news, Davie. I hae heard it already. Sae you hae struck
+hands wi' Robert Leslie after a', eh?"
+
+"He had my promise, uncle, before I spoke to you. I could not break
+it."
+
+"H'm! Where did you get the L2,000?"
+
+"I borrowed it."
+
+"Then I hope 'the party' looked weel into the business."
+
+"They did not. It was loaned to me on my simple representation."
+
+"'Simple representation!' Vera simple! It was some woman, dootless."
+
+"It was my mother's aunt, Lady Brith."
+
+"Ou, ay! I kent it. Weel, when a bargain is made, wish it good luck;
+sae, Jenny, put a partridge before the fire, and bring up a bottle O'
+Madeira."
+
+It was not however a lively meal. John was too proud and hurt to ask
+for information, and David too much chilled by his reserve to
+volunteer it. The wine, being an unusual beverage to John, made him
+sleepy; and when David said he had to meet Robert Leslie at nine
+o'clock, John made no objection and no remark. But when Jenny came in
+to cover up the fire for the night, she found him sitting before it,
+rubbing his hands in a very unhappy manner.
+
+"Cousin," he said fretfully, "there is a new firm in Glasgo' to-day."
+
+"I hae heard tell o' it. God send it prosperity."
+
+"It isna likely, Jenny; auld Lady Brith's money to start it! The
+godless auld woman! If Davie taks her advice, he's a gane lad."
+
+"Then, deacon, it's your ain fault. Whatna for did ye not gie him the
+L2,000?"
+
+"Just hear the woman! It taks women and lads to talk o' L2,000 as if
+it were picked up on the planestanes."
+
+"If ye had loaned it, deacon, ye would hae had the right to spier into
+things, and gie the lad advice. He maun tak his advice where he taks
+his money. Ye flung that chance o' guiding Davie to the four winds.
+And let me tell ye, Cousin Callendar, ye hae far too tight a grip on
+this warld's goods. The money is only loaned to you to put out at
+interest for the Master. It ought to be building kirks and
+schoolhouses, and sending Bibles to the far ends o' the earth. When
+you are asked what ye did wi' it, how will you like to answer, 'I hid
+it safely awa, Lord, in the Clyde Trust and in Andrew Fleming's
+bank!'"
+
+"That will do, woman. Now you hae made me dissatisfied wi' my guiding
+o' Davie, and meeserable anent my bank account, ye may gang to your
+bed; you'll doobtless sleep weel on the thought."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+However, sometimes things are not so ill as they look. The new firm
+obtained favor, and even old, cautious men began to do a little
+business with it. For Robert introduced some new machinery, and the
+work it did was allowed, after considerable suspicion, to be "vera
+satisfactory." A sudden emergency had also discovered to David that he
+possessed singularly original ideas in designing patterns; and he set
+himself with enthusiasm to that part of the business. Two years
+afterwards came the Great Fair of 1851, and Callendar & Leslie took a
+first prize for their rugs, both design and workmanship being
+honorably mentioned.
+
+Their success seemed now assured. Orders came in so fast that the mill
+worked day and night to fill them; and David was so gay and happy that
+John could hardly help rejoicing with him. Indeed, he was very proud
+of his nephew, and even inclined to give Robert a little cautious
+kindness. The winter of 1851 was a very prosperous one, but the spring
+brought an unlooked-for change.
+
+One evening David came home to dinner in a mood which Jenny
+characterized as "_thrawart_." He barely answered her greeting, and
+shut his room-door with a bang. He did not want any dinner, and he
+wanted to be let alone. John looked troubled at this behavior. Jenny
+said, "It is some lass in the matter; naething else could mak a
+sensible lad like Davie act sae child-like and silly." And Jennie was
+right. Towards nine o'clock David came to the parlor and sat down
+beside his uncle. He said he had been "greatly annoyed."
+
+"Annoyances are as certain as the multiplication table," John remarked
+quietly, "and ye ought to expect them--all the mair after a long run
+o' prosperity."
+
+"But no man likes to be refused by the girl he loves."
+
+"Eh? Refused, say ye? Wha has refused you?"
+
+"Isabel Strang. I have loved her, as you and Jenny know, since we went
+to school together, and I was sure that she loved me. Two days ago I
+had some business with Deacon Strang, and when it was finished I spoke
+to him anent Isabel. He made me no answer then, one way or the other,
+but told me he would have a talk with Isabel, and I might call on him
+this afternoon. When I did so he said he felt obligated to refuse my
+offer."
+
+"Weel?"
+
+"That is all."
+
+"Nonsense! Hae you seen Isabel hersel'?"
+
+"She went to Edinburgh last night."
+
+"And if you were your uncle, lad, you would hae been in Edinburgh too
+by this time. Your uncle would not stay refused twenty-four hours, if
+he thought the lass loved him. Tut, tut, you ought to hae left at
+once; that would hae been mair like a Callendar than ganging to your
+ain room to sit out a scorning. There is a train at ten o'clock
+to-night; you hae time to catch it if ye dinna lose a minute, and if
+you come back wi' Mrs. David Callendar, I'll gie her a warm welcome
+for your sake."
+
+The old man's face was aglow, and in his excitement he had risen to
+his feet with the very air of one whom no circumstances could depress
+or embarrass. David caught his mood and his suggestion, and in five
+minutes he was on his way to the railway depot. The thing was done so
+quickly that reflection had formed no part of it. But when Jenny heard
+the front-door clash impatiently after David, she surmised some
+imprudence, and hastened to see what was the matter. John told her the
+"affront" David had received, and looked eagerly into the strong,
+kindly face for an assurance that he had acted with becoming
+promptitude and sympathy. Jenny shook her head gravely, and regarded
+the deacon with a look of pitying disapproval. "To think," she said,
+"of twa men trying to sort a love affair, when there was a woman
+within call to seek counsel o'."
+
+"But we couldna hae done better, Jenny."
+
+"Ye couldna hae done warse, deacon. Once the lad asked ye for money,
+and ye wouldna trust him wi' it; and now ye are in sic a hurry to send
+him after a wife that he maun neither eat nor sleep. Ye ken which is
+the maist dangerous. And you, wi' a' your years, to play into auld
+Strang's hand sae glibly! Deacon, ye hae made a nice mess o' it. Dinna
+ye see that Strang knew you twa fiery Hielandmen would never tak
+'No,' and he sent Isabel awa on purpose for our Davie to run after her.
+He kens weel they will be sure to marry, but he'll say now that his
+daughter disobeyed him; sae he'll get off giving her a bawbee o' her
+fortune, and he'll save a' the plenishing and the wedding expenses.
+Deacon, I'm ashamed o' you. Sending a love-sick lad on sic a fool's
+errand. And mair, I'm not going to hae Isabel Strang, or Isabel
+Callendar here. A young woman wi' bridish ways dawdling about the
+house, I canna, and I willna stand. You'll hae to choose atween Deacon
+Strang's daughter and your auld cousin, Jenny Callendar."
+
+John had no answer ready, and indeed Jenny gave him no time to make
+one: she went off with a sob in her voice, and left the impulsive old
+matchmaker very unhappy indeed. For he had an unmitigated sense of
+having acted most imprudently, and moreover, a shrewd suspicion that
+Jenny's analysis of Deacon Strang's tactics was a correct one. For the
+first time in many a year, a great tide of hot, passionate anger swept
+away every other feeling. He longed to meet Strang face to face, and
+with an hereditary and quite involuntary instinct he put his hand to
+the place where his forefathers had always carried their dirks. The
+action terrified and partly calmed him. "My God!" he exclaimed,
+"forgive thy servant. I hae been guilty in my heart o' murder."
+
+He was very penitent, but still, as he mused the fire burned; and he
+gave vent to his feelings in odd, disjointed sentences thrown up from
+the very bottom of his heart, as lava is thrown up by the
+irrepressible eruption: "Wha shall deliver a man from his ancestors?
+Black Evan Callendar was never much nearer murder than I hae been this
+night, only for the grace of God, which put the temptation and the
+opportunity sae far apart. I'll hae Strang under my thumb yet. God
+forgie me! what hae I got to do wi' sorting my ain wrongs? What for
+couldna Davie like some other lass? It's as easy to graft on a good
+stock as an ill one. I doobt I hae done wrong. I am in a sair swither.
+The righteous dinna always see the right way. I maun e'en to my Psalms
+again. It is a wonderfu' comfort that King David was just a weak,
+sinfu' mortal like mysel'." So he went again to those pathetic,
+self-accusing laments of the royal singer, and found in them, as he
+always had done, words for all the great depths of his sin and fear,
+his hopes and his faith.
+
+In the morning one thing was clear to him; David must have his own
+house now--David must leave him. He could not help but acknowledge
+that he helped on this consummation, and it was with something of the
+feeling of a man doing a just penance that he went to look at a
+furnished house, whose owner was going to the south of France with a
+sick daughter. The place was pretty, and handsomely furnished, and
+John paid down the year's rent. So when David returned with his young
+bride, he assumed at once the dignity and the cares of a householder.
+
+Jenny was much offended at the marriage of David. She had looked
+forward to this event as desirable and probable, but she supposed it
+would have come with solemn religious rites and domestic feasting, and
+with a great gathering in Blytheswood Square of all the Callendar
+clan. That it had been "a wedding in a corner," as she contemptuously
+called it, was a great disappointment to her. But, woman-like, she
+visited it on her own sex. It was all Isabel's fault, and from the
+very first day of the return of the new couple she assumed an air of
+commiseration for the young husband, and always spoke of him as "poor
+Davie."
+
+This annoyed John, and after his visits to David's house he was
+perhaps unnecessarily eloquent concerning the happiness of the young
+people. Jenny received all such information with a dissenting silence.
+She always spoke of Isabel as "Mistress David," and when John reminded
+her that David's wife was "Mistress Callendar," she said, "It was weel
+kent that there were plenty o' folk called Callendar that werna
+Callendars for a' that." And it soon became evident to her womanly
+keen-sightedness that John did not always return from his visits to
+David and Isabel in the most happy of humors. He was frequently too
+silent and thoughtful for a perfectly satisfied man; but whatever his
+fears were, he kept them in his own bosom. They were evidently as yet
+so light that hope frequently banished them altogether; and when at
+length David had a son and called it after his uncle, the old man
+enjoyed a real springtime of renewed youth and pleasure. Jenny was
+partly reconciled also, for the happy parents treated her with special
+attention, and she began to feel that perhaps David's marriage might
+turn out better than she had looked for.
+
+Two years after this event Deacon Strang became reconciled to his
+daughter, and as a proof of it gave her a large mansion situated in
+the rapidly-growing "West End." It had come into his possession at a
+bargain in some of the mysterious ways of his trade; but it was, by
+the very reason of its great size, quite unsuitable for a young
+manufacturer like David. Indeed, it proved to be a most unfortunate
+gift in many ways.
+
+"It will cost L5,000 to furnish it," said John fretfully, "and that
+Davie can ill afford--few men could; but Isabel has set her heart on
+it."
+
+"And she'll hae her will, deacon. Ye could put L5,000 in the business
+though, or ye could furnish for them."
+
+"My way o' furnishing wouldna suit them; and as for putting back money
+that David is set on wasting, I'll no do it. It is a poor well, Jenny,
+into which you must put water. If David's business wont stand his
+drafts on it, the sooner he finds it out the better."
+
+So the fine house was finely furnished; but that was only the
+beginning of expenses. Isabel now wanted dress to suit her new
+surroundings, and servants to keep the numerous rooms clean. Then she
+wanted all her friends and acquaintances to see her splendid
+belongings, so that erelong David found his home turned into a
+fashionable gathering-place. Lunches, dinners, and balls followed
+each other quickly, and the result of all this visiting was that
+Isabel had long lists of calls to make every day, and that she finally
+persuaded David that it would be cheaper to buy their own carriage
+than to pay so much hire to livery-stables.
+
+These changes did not take place all at once, nor without much
+disputing. John Callendar opposed every one of them step by step till
+opposition was useless. David only submitted to them in order to
+purchase for himself a delusive peace during the few hours he could
+afford to be in his fine home; for his increased expenditure was not a
+thing he could bear lightly. Every extra hundred pounds involved extra
+planning and work and risks. He gradually lost all the cheerful
+buoyancy of manner and the brightness of countenance that had been
+always part and parcel of David Callendar. A look of care and
+weariness was on his face, and his habits and hours lost all their
+former regularity. It had once been possible to tell the time of day
+by the return home of the two Callendars. Now no one could have done
+that with David. He stayed out late at night; he stayed out all night
+long. He told Isabel the mill needed him, and she either believed him
+or pretended to do so.
+
+So that after the first winter of her fashionable existence she
+generally "entertained" alone. "Mr. Callendar had gone to Stirling, or
+up to the Highlands to buy wool," or, "he was so busy money-making she
+could not get him to recognize the claims of society." And society
+cared not a pin's point whether he presided or not at the expensive
+entertainments given in his name.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+But things did not come to this pass all at once; few men take the
+steps towards ruin so rapidly as to be themselves alarmed by it. It
+was nearly seven years after his marriage when the fact that he was in
+dangerously embarrassed circumstances forced itself suddenly on
+David's mind. I say "suddenly" here, because the consummation of evil
+that has been long preparing comes at last in a moment; a string
+holding a picture gets weaker and weaker through weeks of tension, and
+then breaks. A calamity through nights and days moves slowly towards
+us step by step, and then some hour it has come. So it was with
+David's business. It had often lately been in tight places, but
+something had always happened to relieve him. One day, however, there
+was absolutely no relief but in borrowing money, and David went to his
+uncle again.
+
+It was a painful thing for him to do; not that they had any quarrel,
+though sometimes David thought a quarrel would be better than the
+scant and almost sad intercourse their once tender love had fallen
+into. By some strange mental sympathy, hardly sufficiently recognized
+by us, John was thinking of his nephew when he entered. He greeted him
+kindly, and pulled a chair close, so that David might sit beside him.
+He listened sympathizingly to his cares, and looked mournfully into
+the unhappy face so dear to him; then he took his bank-book and wrote
+out a check for double the amount asked.
+
+The young man was astonished; the tears sprang to his eyes, and he
+said, "Uncle, this is very good of you. I wish I could tell you how
+grateful I am."
+
+"Davie, sit a moment, you dear lad. I hae a word to say to ye. I hear
+tell that my lad is drinking far mair than is good either for himsel'
+or his business. My lad, I care little for the business; let it go, if
+its anxieties are driving thee to whiskey. David, remember what thou
+accused me of, yonder night, when this weary mill was first spoken of;
+and then think how I suffer every time I hear tell o' thee being the
+warse o' liquor. And Jenny is greeting her heart out about thee. And
+there is thy sick wife, and three bonnie bit bairns."
+
+"Did Isabel tell you this?"
+
+"How can she help complaining? She is vera ill, and she sees little o'
+thee, David, she says."
+
+"Yes, she is ill. She took cold at Provost Allison's ball, and she has
+dwined away ever since. That is true. And the house is neglected and
+the servants do their own will both with it and the poor children. I
+have been very wretched, Uncle John, lately, and I am afraid I have
+drunk more than I ought to have done. Robert and I do not hit together
+as we used to; he is always fault-finding, and ever since that visit
+from his cousin who is settled in America he has been dissatisfied and
+heartless. His cousin has made himself a rich man in ten years there;
+and Robert says we shall ne'er make money here till we are too old to
+enjoy it."
+
+"I heard tell, too, that Robert has been speculating in railway stock.
+Such reports, true or false, hurt you, David. Prudent men dinna like
+to trust speculators."
+
+"I think the report is true; but then it is out of his private savings
+he speculates."
+
+"Davie, gie me your word that you wont touch a drop o' whiskey for a
+week--just for a week."
+
+"I cannot do it, uncle. I should be sure to break it. I don't want to
+tell you a lie."
+
+"O Davie, Davie! Will you try, then?"
+
+"I'll try, uncle. Ask Jenny to go and see the children."
+
+"'Deed she shall go; she'll be fain to do it. Let them come and stay
+wi' me till their mother is mair able to look after them."
+
+Jenny heard the story that night with a dour face. She could have said
+some very bitter things about Deacon Strang's daughter, but in
+consideration of her sickness she forbore. The next morning she went
+to David's house and had a talk with Isabel. The poor woman was so ill
+that Jenny had no heart to scold her; she only gave the house "a good
+sorting," did what she could for Isabel's comfort, and took back with
+her the children and their nurse. It was at her suggestion John saw
+David the next day, and offered to send Isabel to the mild climate of
+Devonshire. "She'll die if she stays in Glasgo' through the winter,"
+he urged, and David consented. Then, as David could not leave his
+business, John himself took the poor woman to Torbay, and no one but
+she and God ever knew how tenderly he cared for her, and how solemnly
+he tried to prepare her for the great change he saw approaching. She
+had not thought of death before, but when they parted he knew she had
+understood him, for weeping bitterly, she said, "You will take care of
+the children, Uncle John? I fear I shall see them no more."
+
+"I will, Isabel. While I live I will."
+
+"And, O uncle, poor David! I have not been a good wife to him.
+Whatever happens, think of that and judge him mercifully. It is my
+fault, uncle, my fault, my fault! God forgive me!"
+
+"Nae, nae, lassie; I am far from innocent mysel';" and with these
+mournful accusations they parted for ever.
+
+For Isabel's sickness suddenly assumed an alarming character, and her
+dissolution was so rapid that John had scarcely got back to Glasgow
+ere David was sent for to see his wife die. He came back a bereaved
+and very wretched man; the great house was dismantled and sold, and he
+went home once more to Blytheswood Square.
+
+But he could not go back to his old innocent life and self; and the
+change only revealed to John how terribly far astray his nephew had
+gone. And even Isabel's death had no reforming influence on him; it
+only roused regrets and self-reproaches, which made liquor all the
+more necessary to him. Then the breaking up of the house entailed much
+bargain-making, all of which was unfortunately cemented with glasses
+of whiskey toddy. Still his uncle had some new element of hope on
+which to work. David's home was now near enough to his place of
+business to afford no excuse for remaining away all night. The
+children were not to be hid away in some upper room; John was
+determined they should be at the table and on the hearthstone; and
+surely their father would respect their innocence and keep himself
+sober for their sakes.
+
+"It is the highest earthly motive I can gie him," argued the anxious
+old man, "and he has aye had grace enough to keep out o' my sight when
+he wasna himsel'; he'll ne'er let wee John and Flora and Davie see him
+when the whiskey is aboon the will and the wit--that's no to be
+believed."
+
+And for a time it seemed as if John's tactics would prevail. There
+were many evenings when they were very happy. The children made so gay
+the quiet old parlor, and David learning to know his own boys and
+girl, was astonished at their childish beauty and intelligence. Often
+John could not bear to break up the pleasant evening time, and David
+and he would sit softly talking in the firelight, with little John
+musing quietly between them, and Flora asleep on her uncle's lap. Then
+Jenny would come gently in and out and say tenderly, "Hadna the bairns
+better come awa to their beds?" and the old man would answer, "Bide a
+bit, Jenny, woman," for he thought every such hour was building up a
+counter influence against the snare of strong drink.
+
+But there is no voice in human nature that can say authoritatively,
+"_Return!_" David felt all the sweet influences with which he was
+surrounded, but, it must be admitted, they were sometimes an
+irritation to him. His business troubles, and his disagreements with
+his partner, were increasing rapidly; for Robert--whose hopes were set
+on America--was urging him to close the mill before their liabilities
+were any larger. He refused to believe longer in the future making
+good what they had lost; and certainly it was uphill work for David to
+struggle against accumulating bills, and a partner whose heart was not
+with him.
+
+One night at the close of the year, David did not come home to dinner,
+and John and the children ate it alone. He was very anxious, and he
+had not much heart to talk; but he kept the two eldest with him until
+little Flora's head dropped, heavy with sleep, on his breast. Then a
+sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he sent them, almost
+hurriedly, away. He had scarcely done so when there was a shuffling
+noise in the hall, the parlor-door was flung open with a jar, and
+David staggered towards him--_drunk_!
+
+In a moment, John's natural temper conquered him; he jumped to his
+feet, and said passionately, "How daur ye, sir? Get out o' my house,
+you sinfu' lad!" Then, with a great cry he smote his hands together
+and bowed his head upon them, weeping slow, heavy drops, that came
+each with a separate pang. His agony touched David, though he scarcely
+comprehended it. Not all at once is the tender conscience seared, and
+the tender heart hardened.
+
+"Uncle," he said in a maudlin, hesitating way, which it would be a sin
+to imitate--"Uncle John, I'm not drunk, I'm in trouble; I'm in
+trouble, Uncle John. Don't cry about me. I'm not worth it."
+
+Then he sank down upon the sofa, and, after a few more incoherent
+apologies, dropped into a deep sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+John sat and looked at his fallen idol with a vacant, tear-stained
+face. He tried to pray a few words at intervals, but he was not yet
+able to gird up his soul and wrestle with this grief. When Jenny came
+in she was shocked at the gray, wretched look with which her master
+pointed to the shameful figure on the sofa. Nevertheless, she went
+gently to it, raised the fallen head to the pillow, and then went and
+got a blanket to cover the sleeper, muttering,
+
+"Poor fellow! There's nae need to let him get a pleurisy, ony gate.
+Whatna for did ye no tell me, deacon? Then I could hae made him a cup
+o' warm tea."
+
+She spoke as if she was angry, not at David, but at John; and, though
+it was only the natural instinct of a woman defending what she dearly
+loved, John gave it a different meaning, and it added to his
+suffering.
+
+"You are right, Jenny, woman," he said humbly, "it is my fault. I
+mixed his first glass for him."
+
+"Vera weel. Somebody aye mixes the first glass. Somebody mixed your
+first glass. That is a bygane, and there is nae use at a' speiring
+after it. How is the lad to be saved? That is the question now."
+
+"O Jenny, then you dare to hope for his salvation?"
+
+"I would think it far mair sinfu' to despair o' it. The Father has twa
+kinds o' sons, deacon. Ye are ane like the elder brother; ye hae
+'served him many years and transgressed not at any time his
+commandment;' but this dear lad is his younger son--still his son,
+mind ye--and he'll win hame again to his Father's house. What for not?
+He's the bairn o' many prayers. Gae awa to your ain room, deacon; I'll
+keep the watch wi' him. He'd rather see me nor you when he comes to
+himsel'."
+
+Alas! the watch begun that night was one Jenny had very often to keep
+afterwards. David's troubles gathered closer and closer round him, and
+the more trouble he had the deeper he drank. Within a month after that
+first shameful homecoming the firm of Callendar & Leslie went into
+sequestration. John felt the humiliation of this downcome in a far
+keener way than David did. His own business record was a stainless
+one; his word was as good as gold on Glasgow Exchange; the house of
+John Callendar & Co. was synonymous with commercial integrity. The
+prudent burghers who were his nephew's creditors were far from
+satisfied with the risks David and Robert Leslie had taken, and they
+did not scruple to call them by words which hurt John Callendar's
+honor like a sword-thrust. He did not doubt that many blamed him for
+not interfering in his nephew's extravagant business methods; and he
+could not explain to these people how peculiarly he was situated with
+regard to David's affairs; nor, indeed, would many of them have
+understood the fine delicacy which had dictated John's course.
+
+It was a wretched summer every way. The accountant who had charge of
+David's affairs was in no hurry to close up a profitable engagement,
+and the creditors, having once accepted the probable loss, did not
+think it worth while to deny themselves their seaside or Highland
+trips to attend meetings relating to Callendar & Leslie. So there was
+little progress made in the settlement of affairs all summer, and
+David was literally out of employment. His uncle's and his children's
+presence was a reproach to him, and Robert and he only irritated each
+other with mutual reproaches. Before autumn brought back manufacturers
+and merchants to their factories and offices David had sunk still
+lower. He did not come home any more when he felt that he had drunk
+too much. He had found out houses where such a condition was the
+natural and the most acceptable one--houses whose doors are near to
+the gates of hell.
+
+This knowledge shocked John inexpressibly, and in the depth of his
+horror and grief he craved some human sympathy.
+
+"I must go and see Dr. Morrison," he said one night to Jenny.
+
+"And you'll do right, deacon; the grip o' his hand and the shining o'
+his eyes in yours will do you good; forbye, you ken weel you arena fit
+to guide yoursel', let alane Davie. You are too angry, and angry men
+tell many a lie to themsel's."
+
+There is often something luminous in the face of a good man, and Dr.
+Morrison had this peculiarity in a remarkable degree. His face seemed
+to radiate light; moreover, he was a man anointed with the oil of
+gladness above his fellows, and John no sooner felt the glow of that
+radiant countenance on him than his heart leaped up to welcome it.
+
+"Doctor," he said, choking back his sorrow, "doctor, I'm fain to see
+you."
+
+"John, sit down. What is it, John?"
+
+"It's David, minister."
+
+And then John slowly, and weighing every word so as to be sure he
+neither over-stated nor under-stated the case, opened up his whole
+heart's sorrow.
+
+"I hae suffered deeply, minister; I didna think life could be such a
+tragedy."
+
+"A tragedy indeed, John, but a tragedy with an angel audience. Think
+of that. Paul says 'we are a spectacle unto men and angels.' Mind how
+you play your part. What is David doing now?"
+
+"Nothing. His affairs are still unsettled."
+
+"But that wont do, John. Men learn to do ill by doing what is next to
+it--nothing. Without some duty life cannot hold itself erect. If a man
+has no regular calling he is an unhappy man and a cross man, and I
+think prayers should be offered up for his wife and children and a'
+who have to live with him. Take David into your own employ at once."
+
+"O minister, that I canna do! My office has aye had God-fearing,
+steady men in it, and I canna, and--"
+
+"'And that day Jesus was guest in the house of a man that was a
+sinner.' John, can't you take a sinner as a servant into your office?"
+
+"I'll try it, minister."
+
+"And, John, it will be a hard thing to do, but you must watch David
+constantly. You must follow him to his drinking-haunts and take him
+home; if need be, you must follow him to warse places and take him
+home. You must watch him as if all depended on your vigilance, and you
+must pray for him as if nothing depended on it. You hae to conquer on
+your knees before you go into the world to fight your battle, John.
+But think, man, what a warfare is set before you--the saving of an
+immortal soul! And I'm your friend and helper in the matter; the lad
+is one o' my stray lambs; he belongs to my fold. Go your ways in God's
+strength, John, for this grief o' yours shall be crowned with
+consolation."
+
+It is impossible to say how this conference strengthened John
+Callendar. Naturally a very choleric man, he controlled himself into a
+great patience with his erring nephew. He watched for him like a
+father; nay, more like a mother's was the thoughtful tenderness of his
+care. And David was often so touched by the love and forbearance shown
+him, that he made passionate acknowledgments of his sin and earnest
+efforts to conquer it. Sometimes for a week together he abstained
+entirely, though during these intervals of reason he was very trying.
+His remorse, his shame, his physical suffering, were so great that he
+needed the most patient tenderness; and yet he frequently resented
+this tenderness in a moody, sullen way that was a shocking contrast to
+his once bright and affectionate manner.
+
+So things went on until the close of the year. By that time the
+affairs of the broken firm had been thoroughly investigated, and it
+was found that its liabilities were nearly L20,000 above its assets.
+Suddenly, however, bundle wools took an enormous rise, and as the
+stock of "Callendar & Leslie" was mainly of this kind, they were
+pushed on the market, and sold at a rate which reduced the firm's
+debts to about L17,000. This piece of good fortune only irritated
+David; he was sure now that if Robert had continued the fight they
+would have been in a position to clear themselves. Still, whatever
+credit was due the transaction was frankly given to David. It was his
+commercial instinct that had divined the opportunity and seized it,
+and a short item in the "Glasgow Herald" spoke in a cautiously
+flattering way of the affair.
+
+Both John and David were greatly pleased at the circumstance. David
+also had been perfectly sober during the few days he had this stroke
+of business in hand, and the public acknowledgment of his service to
+the firm's creditors was particularly flattering to him. He came down
+to breakfast that morning as he had not come for months. It was a
+glimpse of the old Davie back again, and John was as happy as a child
+in the vision. Into his heart came at once Dr. Morrison's assertion
+that David must have some regular duty to keep his life erect. It was
+evident that the obligation of a trust had a controlling influence
+over him.
+
+"David," he said cheerfully, "you must hae nearly done wi' that first
+venture o' yours. The next will hae to redeem it; that is all about
+it. Everything is possible to a man under forty years auld."
+
+"We have our final meeting this afternoon, uncle. I shall lock the
+doors for ever to-night."
+
+"And your debts are na as much as you expected."
+
+"They will not be over L17,000, and they may be considerably less. I
+hope to make another sale this morning. There are yet three thousand
+bundles in the stock."
+
+"David, I shall put L20,000 in your ain name and for your ain use,
+whatever that use may be, in the Western Bank this morning. I think
+you'll do the best thing you can do to set your name clear again. If
+you are my boy you will."
+
+"Uncle John, you cannot really mean that I may pay every shilling I
+owe, and go back on the Exchange with a white name? O uncle, if you
+should mean this, what a man you would make of me!"
+
+"It is just what I mean to do, Davie. Is na all that I have yours and
+your children's? But oh, I thank God that you hae still a heart that
+counts honor more than gold. David, after this I wont let go one o'
+the hopes I have ever had for you."
+
+"You need not, uncle. Please God, and with his help, I will make every
+one of them good."
+
+And he meant to do it. He never had felt more certain of himself or
+more hopeful for the future than when he went out that morning. He
+touched nothing all day, and as the short, dark afternoon closed in,
+he went cheerfully towards the mill, with his new check-book in his
+pocket and the assurance in his heart that in a few hours he could
+stand up among his fellow-citizens free from the stain of debt.
+
+His short speech at the final meeting was so frank and manly, and so
+just and honorable to his uncle, that it roused a quiet but deep
+enthusiasm. Many of the older men had to wipe the mist from their
+glasses, and the heaviest creditor stood up and took David's hand,
+saying, "Gentlemen, I hae made money, and I hae saved money, and I hae
+had money left me; but I never made, nor saved, nor got money that
+gave me such honest pleasure as this siller I hae found in twa honest
+men's hearts. Let's hae in the toddy and drink to the twa Callendars."
+
+Alas! alas! how often is it our friends from whom we ought to pray to
+be preserved. The man meant kindly; he was a good man, he was a
+God-fearing man, and even while he was setting temptation before his
+poor, weak brother, he was thinking "that money so clean and fair and
+unexpected should be given to some holy purpose." But the best of us
+are the slaves of habit and chronic thoughtlessness. All his life he
+had signalled every happy event by a libation of toddy; everybody else
+did the same; and although he knew David's weakness, he did not think
+of it in connection with that wisest of all prayers, "Lead us not into
+temptation."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+David ought to have left then, but he did not; and when his uncle's
+health was given, and the glass of steaming whiskey stood before him,
+he raised it to his lips and drank. It was easy to drink the second
+glass and the third, and so on. The men fell into reminiscence and
+song, and no one knew how many glasses were mixed; and even when they
+stood at the door they turned back for "a thimbleful o' raw speerit to
+keep out the cold," for it had begun to snow, and there was a chill,
+wet, east wind.
+
+Then they went; and when their forms were lost in the misty gloom, and
+even their voices had died away, David turned back to put out the
+lights, and lock the mill-door for the last time. Suddenly it struck
+him that he had not seen Robert Leslie for an hour at least, and while
+he was wondering about it in a vague, drunken way, Robert came out of
+an inner room, white with scornful anger, and in a most quarrelsome
+mood.
+
+"You have made a nice fool of yoursel', David Callendar! Flinging awa
+so much gude gold for a speech and a glass o' whiskey! Ugh!"
+
+"You may think so, Robert. The Leslies have always been 'rievers and
+thievers;' but the Callendars are of another stock."
+
+"The Callendars are like ither folk--good and bad, and mostly bad.
+Money, not honor, rules the warld in these days; and when folk have
+turned spinners, what is the use o' talking about honor! Profit is a
+word more fitting."
+
+"I count mysel' no less a Callendar than my great-grandfather, Evan
+Callendar, who led the last hopeless charge on Culloden. If I am a
+spinner, I'll never be the first to smirch the roll o' my house with
+debt and dishonesty, if I can help it."
+
+"Fair nonsense! The height of nonsense! Your ancestors indeed! Mules
+make a great to-do about their ancestors having been horses!"
+
+David retorted with hot sarcasm on the freebooting Leslies, and their
+kin the Armstrongs and Kennedys; and to Scotchmen this is the very
+sorest side of a quarrel. They can forgive a bitter word against
+themselves perhaps, but against their clan, or their dead, it is an
+unpardonable offence. And certainly Robert had an unfair advantage; he
+was in a cool, wicked temper of envy and covetousness. He could have
+struck himself for not having foreseen that old John Callendar would
+be sure to clear the name of dishonor, and thus let David and his
+L20,000 slip out of his control.
+
+David had drunk enough to excite all the hereditary fight in his
+nature, and not enough to dull the anger and remorse he felt for
+having drunk anything at all. The dreary, damp atmosphere and the
+cold, sloppy turf of Glasgow Green might have brought them back to the
+ordinary cares and troubles of every-day life, but it did not. This
+grim oasis in the very centre of the hardest and bitterest existences
+was now deserted. The dull, heavy swash of the dirty Clyde and the
+distant hum of the sorrowful voices of humanity in the adjacent
+streets hardly touched the sharp, cutting accents of the two
+quarrelling men. No human ears heard them, and no human eyes saw the
+uplifted hands and the sway and fall of Robert Leslie upon the smutty
+and half melted snow, except David's.
+
+Yes; David saw him fall, and heard with a strange terror the peculiar
+thud and the long moan that followed it. It sobered him at once and
+completely. The shock was frightful. He stood for a moment looking at
+the upturned face, and then with a fearful horror he stooped and
+touched it. There was no response to either entreaties or movement,
+and David was sure after five minutes' efforts there never would be.
+Then his children, his uncle, his own life, pressed upon him like a
+surging crowd. His rapid mind took in the situation at once. There was
+no proof. Nobody had seen them leave together. Robert had certainly
+left the company an hour before it scattered; none of them could know
+that he was waiting in that inner room. With a rapid step he took his
+way through Kent street into a region where he was quite unknown, and
+by a circuitous route reached the foot of Great George street.
+
+He arrived at home about eight o'clock. John had had his dinner, and
+the younger children had gone to bed. Little John sat opposite him on
+the hearthrug, but the old man and the child were both lost in
+thought. David's face at once terrified his uncle.
+
+"Johnnie," he said, with a weary pathos in his voice, "your father
+wants to see me alane. You had best say 'Gude-night,' my wee man."
+
+The child kissed his uncle, and after a glance into his father's face
+went quietly out. His little heart had divined that he "must not
+disturb papa." David's eyes followed him with an almost overmastering
+grief and love, but when John said sternly, "Now, David Callendar,
+what is it this time?" he answered with a sullen despair,
+
+"It is the last trouble I can bring you. I have killed Robert Leslie!"
+
+The old man uttered a cry of horror, and stood looking at his nephew
+as if he doubted his sanity.
+
+"I am not going to excuse mysel', sir. Robert said some aggravating
+things, and he struck me first; but that is neither here nor there. I
+struck him and he fell. I think he hit his head in falling; but it was
+dark and stormy, I could not see. I don't excuse mysel' at all. I am
+as wicked and lost as a man can be. Just help me awa, Uncle John, and
+I will trouble you no more for ever."
+
+"Where hae you left Robert?"
+
+"Where he fell, about 300 yards above Rutherglen Bridge."
+
+"You are a maist unmerciful man! I ne'er liked Robert, but had he been
+my bitterest enemy I would hae got him help if there was a chance for
+life, and if not, I would hae sought a shelter for his corpse."
+
+Then he walked to the parlor door, locked it, and put the key in his
+pocket.
+
+"As for helping you awa, sir, I'll ne'er do it, ne'er; you hae sinned,
+and you'll pay the penalty, as a man should do."
+
+"Uncle, have mercy on me."
+
+"Justice has a voice as weel as mercy. O waly, waly!" cried the
+wretched old man, going back to the pathetic Gaelic of his childhood,
+"O waly, waly! to think o' the sin and the shame o' it. Plenty o'
+Callendars hae died before their time, but it has been wi' their faces
+to their foes and their claymores in their hands. O Davie, Davie! my
+lad, my lad! My Davie!"
+
+His agony shook him as a great wind shakes the tree-tops, and David
+stood watching him in a misery still keener and more hopeless. For a
+few moments neither spoke. Then John rose wearily and said,
+
+"I'll go with you, David, to the proper place. Justice must be
+done--yes, yes, it is just and right."
+
+Then he lifted up his eyes, and clasping his hands, cried out,
+
+"But, O my heavenly Father, be merciful, be merciful, for love is the
+fulfilling of the law. Come, David, we hae delayed o'er long."
+
+"Where are you going, uncle?"
+
+"You ken where weel enough."
+
+"Dear uncle, be merciful. At least let us go see Dr. Morrison first.
+Whatever he says I will do."
+
+"I'll do that; I'll be glad to do that; maybe he'll find me a road out
+o' this sair, sair strait. God help us all, for vain is the help o'
+man."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+When they entered Dr. Morrison's house the doctor entered with them.
+He was wet through, and his swarthy face was in a glow of excitement.
+A stranger was with him, and this stranger he hastily took into a room
+behind the parlor, and then he came back to his visitors.
+
+"Well, John, what is the matter?"
+
+"Murder. Murder is the matter, doctor," and with a strange, quiet
+precision he went over David's confession, for David had quite broken
+down and was sobbing with all the abandon of a little child. During
+the recital the minister's face was wonderful in its changes of
+expression, but at the last a kind of adoring hopefulness was the most
+decided.
+
+"John," he said, "what were you going to do wi' that sorrowfu' lad?"
+
+"I was going to gie him up to justice, minister, as it was right and
+just to do; but first we must see about--about the body."
+
+"That has, without doot, been already cared for. On the warst o'
+nights there are plenty o' folk passing o'er Glasgow Green after the
+tea-hour. It is David we must care for now. Why should we gie him up
+to the law? Not but what 'the law is good, if a man use it lawfully.'
+But see how the lad is weeping. Dinna mak yoursel' hard to a broken
+heart, deacon. God himsel' has promised to listen to it. You must go
+back hame and leave him wi' me. And, John," he said, with an air of
+triumph, as they stood at the door together, with the snow blowing in
+their uplifted faces, "John, my dear old brother John, go hame and
+bless God; for, I tell you, this thing shall turn out to be a great
+salvation."
+
+So John went home, praying as he went, and conscious of a strange
+hopefulness in the midst of his grief. The minister turned back to the
+sobbing criminal, and touching him gently, said,
+
+"Davie, my son, come wi' me."
+
+David rose hopelessly and followed him. They went into the room where
+they had seen the minister take the stranger who had entered the house
+with them. The stranger was still there, and as they entered he came
+gently and on tiptoe to meet them.
+
+"Dr. Fleming," said the minister, "this is David Callendar, your
+patient's late partner in business; he wishes to be the poor man's
+nurse, and indeed, sir, I ken no one fitter for the duty."
+
+So Dr. Fleming took David's hand, and then in a low voice gave him
+directions for the night's watch, though David, in the sudden hope and
+relief that had come to him, could scarcely comprehend them. Then the
+physician went, and the minister and David sat by the bedside alone.
+Robert lay in the very similitude and presence of death, unconscious
+both of his sufferings and his friends. Congestion of the brain had
+set in, and life was only revealed by the faintest pulsations, and by
+the appliances for relief which medical skill thought it worth while
+to make.
+
+"'And sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death,'" said the
+doctor solemnly. "David, there is your work."
+
+"God knows how patiently and willingly I'll do it, minister. Poor
+Robert, I never meant to harm him."
+
+"Now listen to me, and wonder at God's merciful ways. Auld Deacon
+Galbraith, who lives just beyond Rutherglen Bridge, sent me word this
+afternoon that he had gotten a summons from his Lord, and he would
+like to see my face ance mair before he went awa for ever. He has been
+my right hand in the kirk, and I loved him weel. Sae I went to bid him
+a short Gude-by--for we'll meet again in a few years at the maist--and
+I found him sae glad and solemnly happy within sight o' the heavenly
+shore, that I tarried wi' him a few hours, and we ate and drank his
+last sacrament together. He dropped my hand wi' a smile at half-past
+six o'clock, and after comforting his wife and children a bit I turned
+my face hameward. But I was in that mood that I didna care to sit i' a
+crowded omnibus, and I wanted to be moving wi' my thoughts. The
+falling snow and the deserted Green seemed good to me, and I walked on
+thinking o'er again the deacon's last utterances, for they were wise
+and good even beyond the man's nature. That is how I came across
+Robert Leslie. I thought he was dead, but I carried him in my arms to
+the House o' the Humane Society, which, you ken, isna one hundred
+yards from where Robert fell. The officer there said he wasna dead,
+sae I brought him here and went for the physician you spoke to. Now,
+Davie, it is needless for me to say mair. You ken what I expect o'
+you. You'll get no whiskey in this house, not a drop o' it. If the
+sick man needs anything o' that kind, I shall gie it wi' my ain hand;
+and you wont leave this house, David, until I see whether Robert is to
+live or die. You must gie me your word o' honor for that."
+
+"Minister, pray what is my word worth?"
+
+"Everything it promises, David Callendar. I would trust your word
+afore I'd trust a couple o' constables, for a' that's come and gane."
+
+"Thank you, thank you, doctor! You shall not trust, and be deceived. I
+solemnly promise you to do my best for Robert, and not to leave your
+house until I have your permission."
+
+The next morning Dr. Morrison was at John Callendar's before he sat
+down to breakfast. He had the morning paper with him, and he pointed
+out a paragraph which ran thus: "Robert Leslie, of the late firm of
+Callendar & Leslie, was found by the Rev. Dr. Morrison in an
+unconscious condition on the Green last night about seven o'clock. It
+is supposed the young gentleman slipped and fell, and in the fall
+struck his head, as congestion of the brain has taken place. He lies
+at Dr. Morrison's house, and is being carefully nursed by his late
+partner, though there is but little hope of his recovery."
+
+"Minister, it wasna you surely wha concocted this lie?"
+
+"Nobody has told a lie, John. Don't be overrighteous, man; there is an
+unreasonableness o' virtue that savors o' pride. I really thought
+Robert had had an accident, until you told me the truth o' the matter.
+The people at the Humane Society did the same; sae did Dr. Fleming. I
+suppose some reporter got the information from one o' the latter
+sources. But if Robert gets well, we may let it stand; and if he
+doesna get well, I shall seek counsel o' God before I take a step
+farther. In the meantime David is doing his first duty in nursing him;
+and David will stay in my house till I see whether it be a case o'
+murder or not."
+
+For three weeks there was but the barest possibility of Robert's
+recovery. But his youth and fine constitution, aided by the skill of
+his physician and the unremitting care of his nurse, were at length,
+through God's mercy, permitted to gain a slight advantage. The
+discipline of that three weeks was a salutary though a terrible one to
+David. Sometimes it became almost intolerable; but always, when it
+reached this point, Dr. Morrison seemed, by some fine spiritual
+instinct, to discover the danger and hasten to his assistance. Life
+has silences more pathetic than death's; and the stillness of that
+darkened room, with its white prostrate figure, was a stillness in
+which David heard many voices he never would have heard in the crying
+out of the noisy world.
+
+What they said to him about his wasted youth and talents, and about
+his neglected Saviour, only his own heart knew. But he must have
+suffered very much, for, at the end of a month, he looked like a man
+who had himself walked through the valley and shadow of death. About
+this time Dr. Morrison began to drop in for an hour or two every
+evening; sometimes he took his cup of tea with the young men, and then
+he always talked with David on passing events in such a way as to
+interest without fatiguing the sick man. His first visit of this kind
+was marked by a very affecting scene. He stood a moment looking at
+Robert and then taking David's hand, he laid it in Robert's. But the
+young men had come to a perfect reconciliation one midnight when the
+first gleam of consciousness visited the sick man, and Dr. Morrison
+was delighted to see them grasp each other with a smile, while David
+stooped and lovingly touched his friend's brow.
+
+"Doctor, it was my fault," whispered Robert. "If I die, remember that.
+I did my best to anger Davie, and I struck him first. I deserved all I
+have had to suffer."
+
+After this, however, Robert recovered rapidly, and in two months he
+was quite well.
+
+"David," said the minister to him one morning, "your trial is nearly
+over. I have a message from Captain Laird to Robert Leslie. Laird
+sails to-night; his ship has dropped down the river a mile, and Robert
+must leave when the tide serves; that will be at five o'clock."
+
+For Robert had shrunk from going again into his Glasgow life, and had
+determined to sail with his friend Laird at once for New York. There
+was no one he loved more dearly than David and Dr. Morrison, and with
+them his converse had been constant and very happy and hopeful. He
+wished to leave his old life with this conclusion to it unmingled with
+any other memories.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+So that evening the three men went in a coach to the Broomilaw
+together. A boat and two watermen were in waiting at the bridge-stair,
+and though the evening was wet and chilly they all embarked. No one
+spoke. The black waters washed and heaved beneath them, the myriad
+lights shone vaguely through the clammy mist and steady drizzle, and
+the roar of the city blended with the stroke of the oars and the
+patter of the rain. Only when they lay under the hull of a large ship
+was the silence broken. But it was broken by a blessing.
+
+"God bless you, Robert! The Lord Jesus, our Redeemer, make you a gude
+man," said Dr. Morrison fervently, and David whispered a few broken
+words in his friend's ear. Then Captain Laird's voice was heard, and
+in a moment or two more they saw by the light of a lifted lantern
+Robert's white face in the middle of a group on deck.
+
+"Farewell!" he shouted feebly, and Dr. Morrison answered it with a
+lusty, "God speed you, Robert! God speed the good ship and all on
+board of her!"
+
+So they went silently back again, and stepped into the muddy,
+dreamlike, misty streets, wet through and quite weary with emotion.
+
+"Now gude-night, David. Your uncle is waiting dinner for you. I hae
+learned to love you vera much."
+
+"Is there anything I can do, doctor, to show you how much I love and
+respect you?"
+
+"You can be a good man, and you can let me see you every Sabbath in
+your place at kirk. Heaven's gate stands wide open on the Sabbath day,
+David; sae it is a grand time to offer your petitions."
+
+Yes, the good old uncle was waiting, but with that fine instinct which
+is born of a true love he had felt that David would like no fuss made
+about his return. He met him as if he had only been a few hours away,
+and he had so tutored Jenny that she only betrayed her joy by a look
+which David and she understood well.
+
+"The little folks," said John, "have a' gane to their beds; the day
+has been that wet and wearisome that they were glad to gae to sleep
+and forget a' about it."
+
+David sat down in his old place, and the two men talked of the Russian
+war and the probable storming of the Alamo. Then John took his usual
+after-dinner nap, and David went up stairs with Jenny and kissed his
+children, and said a few words to them and to the old woman, which
+made them all very happy.
+
+When he returned to the parlor his uncle was still sleeping, and he
+could see how weary and worn he had become.
+
+"So patient, so generous, so honorable, so considerate for my
+feelings," said the young man to himself. "I should be an ingrate
+indeed if I did not, as soon as he wakes, say what I know he is so
+anxious to hear."
+
+With the thought John opened his eyes, and David nodded and smiled
+back to him. How alert and gladly he roused himself! How cheerily he
+said,
+
+"Why, Davie, I hae been sleeping, I doot. Hech, but it is gude to see
+you, lad."
+
+"Please God, uncle, it shall always be gude to see me. Can you give me
+some advice to-night?" "I'll be mair than glad to do it."
+
+"Tell me frankly, Uncle John, what you think I ought to do. I saw
+Robert off to America to-night. Shall I follow him?"
+
+"Davie, mind what I say. In the vera place where a man loses what he
+values, there he should look to find it again. You hae lost your good
+name in Glasgow; stay in Glasgow and find it again."
+
+"I will stay here then. What shall I do?"
+
+"You'll go back to your old place, and to your old business."
+
+"But I heard that Deacon Strang had bought the looms and the lease."
+
+"He bought them for me, for us, I mean. I will tell you how that came
+about. One day when I was cross, and sair put out wi' your affairs,
+Davie, Dr. Morrison came into my office. I'm feared I wasna glad to
+see him; and though I was ceevil enough, the wise man read me like a
+book. 'John,' says he, 'I am not come to ask you for siller to-day,
+nor am I come to reprove you for staying awa from the service o' God
+twice lately. I am come to tell you that you will hae the grandest
+opportunity to-day, to be, not only a man, but a Christ-man. If you
+let the opportunity slip by you, I shall feel sairly troubled about
+it.'
+
+"Then he was gone before I could say, 'What is it?' and I wondered and
+wondered all day what he could hae meant. But just before I was ready
+to say, 'Mr. MacFarlane, lock the safe,' in walks Deacon Strang. He
+looked vera downcast and shamefaced, and says he, 'Callendar, you can
+tak your revenge on me to-morrow, for a' I hae said and done against
+you for thirty years. You hold twa notes o' mine, and I canna meet
+them. You'll hae to protest and post them to-morrow, and that will
+ruin me and break my heart.'
+
+"David, I had to walk to the window and hide my face till I could
+master mysel', I was that astonished. Then I called out, 'Mr.
+MacFarlane, you hae two notes o' Deacon Strang's, bring them to me.'
+When he did sae, I said, 'Well, deacon, we a' o' us hae our ain
+fashes. How long time do you want, and we'll renew these bits o'
+paper?'
+
+"And the thing was done, Davie, and done that pleasantly that it made
+me feel twenty years younger. We shook hands when we parted, and as we
+did sae, the deacon said, 'Is there aught I can do to pleasure you or
+David?' and a' at once it struck me about the sales o' the looms and
+lease. Sae I said, 'Yes, deacon, there is something you can do, and
+I'll be vera much obligated to you for the same. Davie is sae tied
+down wi' Robert's illness, will you go to the sale o' Callendar &
+Leslie's looms and lease, and buy them for me? You'll get them on
+better terms than I will.' And he did get them on excellent terms,
+Davie; sae your mill is just as you left it--for Bailie Nicol, wha
+took it at the accountant's valuation, never opened it at all. And you
+hae twenty months' rent paid in advance, and you hae something in the
+bank I expect."
+
+"I have L3,600, uncle."
+
+"Now, I'll be your partner this time. I'll put in the business L4,000,
+but I'll hae it run on a solid foundation, however small that
+foundation may be. I'll hae no risks taken that are dishonest risks;
+I'll hae a broad mark made between enterprise and speculation; and
+above a', I'll hae the right to examine the books, and see how things
+are going on, whenever I wish to do sae. We will start no more looms
+than our capital will work, and we'll ask credit from no one."
+
+"Uncle John, there is not another man in the world so generous and
+unselfish as you are."
+
+"There are plenty as good men in every congregation o' the Lord; if
+there wasna they would scatter in no time. Then you are willing, are
+you? Gie me your hand, Davie. I shall look to you to do your best for
+baith o' us."
+
+"I have not drunk a drop for two months, uncle. I never intend to
+drink again."
+
+"I hae given it up mysel'," said the old man, with an affected
+indifference that was pathetic in its self-abnegation. "I thought twa
+going a warfare together might do better than ane alone. Ye ken Christ
+sent out the disciples by twa and twa. And, Davie, when you are hard
+beset, just utter the name of Christ down in your heart, and see how
+much harder it is to sin."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+The arrangement had been a very pleasant one, every way, but somehow
+John did not feel as if David had as much outside help as he needed.
+The young man was not imaginative; an ideal, however high, was a far
+less real thing to David than to old John. He pondered during many
+sleepless hours the advisability of having David sign the pledge.
+David had always refused to do it hitherto. He had a keen sense of
+shame in breaking a verbal promise on this subject; but he had an
+almost superstitious feeling regarding the obligation of anything he
+put his name to; and this very feeling made John hesitate to press the
+matter. For, he argued, and not unwisely, "if David should break this
+written obligation, his condition would seem to himself irremediable,
+and he would become quite reckless."
+
+In the morning this anxiety was solved. When John came down to
+breakfast, he found David walking about the room with a newspaper in
+his hand, and in a fever heat of martial enthusiasm. "Uncle," he
+cried, "O Uncle John, such glorious news! The Alamo is taken. Colin
+Campbell and his Highlanders were first at the ramparts, and Roy and
+Hector Callendar were with them. Listen?" and he threw the passion and
+fervor of all his military instincts into the glowing words which
+told, how in a storm of fire and shot, Sir Colin and his Highland
+regiment had pushed up the hill; and how when the Life Guards were
+struggling to reach their side, the brave old commander turned round
+and shouted, "We'll hae nane but Hieland bonnets here!" "O Uncle John,
+what would I not have given to have marched with Roy and Hector behind
+him? With such a leader I would not turn my back on any foe."
+
+"David, you have a far harder fight before you, and a far grander
+Captain."
+
+"Uncle, uncle, if I could see my foe; if I could meet him face to face
+in a real fight; but he steals into my heart, even by my nostrils, and
+unmans me, before I am aware."
+
+John rang the bell sharply, and when Jenny came, he amazed her by
+saying, "Bring me here from the cellar three bottles of whiskey." He
+spoke so curt and determined that for once Jenny only wondered, and
+obeyed.
+
+"That will do, my woman." Then he turned to David, and putting one
+bottle on the table said, "There is your foe! Face your enemy, sir!
+Sit down before him morning, noon, and night. Dare him to master you!
+Put this bottle on the table in your ain room; carry this in your hand
+to your office, and stand it before your eyes upon your desk. If you
+want a foe to face and to conquer, a foe that you can see and touch,
+here is one mighty enough to stir the bravest soul. And, if you turn
+your back on him you are a coward; a mean, poor-hearted coward, sir.
+And there ne'er was a coward yet, o' the Callendar blood, nor o' the
+Campbell line! Your Captain is nane less than the Son o' God. Hear
+what he says to you! 'To him that overcometh! To him that overcometh!'
+O Davie, you ken the rest!" and the old man was so lifted out of and
+above himself, that his face shone and his keen gray eyes scintillated
+with a light that no market-place ever saw in them.
+
+David caught the holy enthusiasm; he seized the idea like a visible
+hand of God for his help. The black bottle became to him the
+materialization of all his crime and misery. It was a foe he could
+see, and touch, and defy. It seemed to mock him, to tempt him, to beg
+him just to open the cork, if only to test the strength of his
+resolutions.
+
+Thank God he never did it. He faced his enemy the first thing in the
+morning and the last thing at night. He kept him in sight through the
+temptations of a business day. He faced him most steadily in the
+solitude of his own room. There, indeed, his most dangerous struggles
+took place, and one night John heard him after two hours of restless
+hurried walking up and down, throw open his window, and dash the
+bottle upon the pavement beneath it. That was the last of his hard
+struggles; the bottle which replaced the one flung beyond his reach
+stands to-day where it has stood for nearly a quarter of a century,
+and David feels now no more inclination to open it than if it
+contained strychnine.
+
+This is no fancy story. It is a fact. It is the true history of a
+soul's struggle, and I write it--God knows I do--in the strong hope
+that some brave fellow, who is mastered by a foe that steals upon him
+in the guise of good fellowship, or pleasure, or hospitality, may
+locate his enemy, and then face and conquer him in the name of Him who
+delivers his people from their sins. I do not say that all natures
+could do this. Some may find safety and final victory in flight, or in
+hiding from their foe; but I believe that the majority of souls would
+rise to a warfare in which the enemy was confronting them to face and
+fight, and would conquer.
+
+I have little more to say of David Callendar. It was the story of his
+fall and his redemption I intended to write. But we cannot separate
+our spiritual and mortal life; they are the warp and woof which we
+weave together for eternity. Therefore David's struggle, though a
+palpable one in some respects, was, after all, an intensely spiritual
+one; for it was in the constant recognition of Christ as the Captain
+of his salvation, and in the constant use of such spiritual aids as
+his Bible and his minister gave him, that he was enabled to fight a
+good fight and to come off more than conqueror in a contest wherein so
+many strive and fail.
+
+David's reformation had also a very sensible influence on his business
+prosperity. He has won back again now all, and far more than all, he
+lost, and in all good and great works for the welfare of humanity
+David Callendar is a willing worker and a noble giver. The new firm of
+John and David Callendar acquired a world-wide reputation. It is still
+John and David Callendar, for when the dear old deacon died he left
+his interest in it to David's eldest son, a pious, steady young fellow
+for whom nobody ever mixed a first glass. But God was very kind to
+John in allowing him to see the full harvest of his tender love, his
+patience, and his unselfishness. Out of his large fortune he left a
+noble endowment for a church and college in his native town, making
+only two requests concerning its management: first, that no whiskey
+should ever go within the college walls: second, that all the children
+in the town might have a holiday on the anniversary of his death;
+"for," said he, "I have aye loved children, and I would fain connect
+the happiness of childhood with the peace o' the dead."
+
+Dr. Morrison lived long enough to assist in filling in the grave of
+his old friend and helper, but attained unto the beginning of peace
+and glory soon afterwards. And I have often pictured to myself the
+meeting of those two upon the hills of God. The minister anticipated
+it, though upon his dying bed his great soul forgot all
+individualities, and thought only of the church universal, and his
+last glowing words were, "For Jerusalem that is above is free, which
+is the mother of us all."
+
+Robert Leslie has done well in America, and no man is a more warm and
+earnest advocate of "the faith once delivered to the saints." I read a
+little speech of his some time ago at the dedication of a church, and
+it greatly pleased me.
+
+"Many things," he said, "have doubtless been improved in this age, for
+man's works are progressive and require improvement; but who," he
+asked, "can improve the sunshine and the flowers, the wheat and the
+corn? And who will give us anything worthy to take the place of the
+religion of our fathers and mothers? And what teachers have come
+comparable to Christ, to David, Isaiah, and Paul?"
+
+Jenny only died a year ago. She brought up David's children admirably,
+and saw, to her great delight, the marriage of Flora and young Captain
+Callendar. For it had long been her wish to go back to Argyleshire
+"among her ain folk and die among the mountains," and this marriage
+satisfied all her longings. One evening they found her sitting in her
+open door with her face turned towards the cloud-cleaving hills. Her
+knitting had fallen upon her lap, her earthly work was done for ever,
+and she had put on the garments of the eternal Sabbath. But there was
+a wonderful smile on her simple, kindly face. Soul and body had parted
+with a smile. Oh, how happy are those whom the Master finds waiting
+for him, and who, when he calls, pass gently away!
+
+  "Up to the golden citadel they fare,
+    And as they go their limbs grow full of might;
+  And One awaits them at the topmost stair,
+    One whom they had not seen, but knew at sight."
+
+
+
+
+Andrew Cargill's Confession.
+
+
+
+
+ANDREW CARGILL'S CONFESSION.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Between Sinverness and Creffel lies the valley of Glenmora.
+Sca Fells and Soutra Fells guard it on each hand, and the long,
+treacherous sweep of Solway Frith is its outlet. It is a region of
+hills and moors, inhabited by a people of singular gravity and
+simplicity of character, a pastoral people, who in its solemn high
+places have learned how to interpret the voices of winds and
+watersand to devoutly love their God.
+
+Most of them are of the purest Saxon origin; but here and there one
+meets the massive features and the blue bonnet of the Lowland Scots,
+descendants of those stern Covenanters who from the coasts of Galloway
+and Dumfries sought refuge in the strength of these lonely hills. They
+are easily distinguished, and are very proud of their descent from
+this race whom
+
+  "God anointed with his odorous oil
+    To wrestle, not to reign."
+
+Thirty years ago their leader and elder was Andrew Cargill, a man of
+the same lineage as that famous Donald Cargill who was the Boanerges
+of the Covenant, and who suffered martyrdom for his faith at the town
+of Queensferry. Andrew never forgot this fact, and the stern, just,
+uncompromising spirit of the old Protester still lived in him. He was
+a man well-to-do in the world, and his comfortable stone house was one
+of the best known in the vale of Glenmora.
+
+People who live amid grand scenery are not generally sensitive to it,
+but Andrew was. The adoring spirit in which he stood one autumn
+evening at his own door was a very common mood with him. He looked
+over the moors carpeted with golden brown, and the hills covered with
+sheep and cattle, at the towering crags, more like clouds at sunset
+than things of solid land, at the children among the heather picking
+bilberries, at the deep, clear, purple mist that filled the valley,
+not hindering the view, but giving everything a strangely solemn
+aspect, and his face relaxed into something very like a smile as he
+said, "It is the wark o' my Father's hand, and praised be his name."
+
+He stood at his own open door looking at these things, and inside his
+wife Mysie was laying the supper-board with haver bread and cheese and
+milk. A bright fire blazed on the wide hearth, and half a dozen
+sheep-dogs spread out their white breasts to the heat. Great settles
+of carved oak, bedded deep with fleeces of long wool, were on the
+sides of the fireplace, and from every wall racks of spotless deal,
+filled with crockery and pewter, reflected the shifting blaze.
+
+Suddenly he stepped out and looked anxiously towards the horizon on
+all sides. "Mysie, woman," said he, "there is a storm coming up from
+old Solway; I maun e'en gae and fauld the ewes wi' their young
+lammies. Come awa', Keeper and Sandy."
+
+The dogs selected rose at once and followed Andrew with right
+good-will. Mysie watched them a moment; but the great clouds of mist
+rolling down from the mountains soon hid the stalwart figure in its
+bonnet and plaid from view, and gave to the dogs' fitful barks a
+distant, muffled sound. So she went in and sat down upon the settle,
+folding her hands listlessly on her lap, and letting the smile fall
+from her face as a mask might fall. Oh, what a sad face it was then!
+
+She sat thus in a very trance of sorrow until the tears dropped
+heavily and slowly down, and her lips began to move in broken
+supplications. Evidently these brought her the comfort she sought, for
+erelong she rose, saying softly to herself, "The lost bit o' siller
+was found, and the strayed sheep was come up wi', and the prodigal won
+hame again, and dootless, dootless, my ain dear lad will no be lost
+sight o'."
+
+By this time the storm had broken, but Mysie was not uneasy. Andrew
+knew the hills like his own ingle, and she could tell to within five
+minutes how long it would take him to go to the fauld and back. But
+when it was ten minutes past his time Mysie stood anxiously in the
+open door and listened. Her ears, trained to almost supernatural
+quickness, soon detected above the winds and rain a sound of
+footsteps. She called a wise old sheep-dog and bid him listen. The
+creature held his head a moment to the ground, looked at her
+affirmatively, and at her command went to seek his master.
+
+In a few moments she heard Andrew's peculiar "hallo!" and the joyful
+barking of the dog, and knew that all was right. Yet she could not go
+in; she felt that something unusual had happened, and stood waiting
+for whatever was coming. It was a poor, little, half-drowned baby.
+Andrew took it from under his plaid, and laid it in her arms, saying,
+
+"I maun go now and look after the mither. I'll need to yoke the cart
+for her; she's past walking, and I'm sair feared she's past living;
+but you'll save the bit bairn, Mysie, nae doot; for God disna smite
+aften wi' baith hands."
+
+"Where is she, Andrew?"
+
+"'Mang the Druids' stanes, Mysie, and that's an ill place for a
+Christian woman to die. God forbid it!" he muttered, as he lit a
+lantern and went rapidly to the stable; "an evil place! under the vera
+altar-stane o' Satan. God stay the parting soul till it can hear a
+word o' his great mercy!"
+
+With such a motive to prompt him, Andrew was not long in reaching the
+ruins of the old Druidical temple. Under a raised flat stone, which
+made a kind of shelter, a woman was lying. She was now insensible, and
+Andrew lifted her carefully into the cart. Perhaps it was some
+satisfaction to him that she did not actually die within such
+unhallowed precincts; but the poor creature herself was beyond such
+care. When she had seen her child in Mysie's arms, and comprehended
+Mysie's assurance that she would care for it, all anxiety slipped away
+from her. Andrew strove hard to make her understand the awful
+situation in which she was; but the girl lay smiling, with upturned
+eyes, as if she was glad to be relieved of the burden of living.
+
+"You hae done your duty, gudeman," at length said Mysie, "and now you
+may leave the puir bit lassie to me; I'll dootless find a word o'
+comfort to say to her."
+
+"But I'm feared, I am awfu' feared, woman, that she is but a prodigal
+and an--"
+
+"Hush, gudeman! There is mercy for the prodigal daughter as weel as
+for the prodigal son;" and at these words Andrew went out with a dark,
+stern face, while she turned with a new and stronger tenderness to the
+dying woman.
+
+"God is love," she whispered; "if you hae done aught wrang, there's
+the open grave o' Jesus, dearie; just bury your wrang-doing there."
+She was answered with a happy smile. "And your little lad is my lad
+fra this hour, dearie!" The dying lips parted, and Mysie knew they had
+spoken a blessing for her.
+
+Nothing was found upon the woman that could identify her, nothing
+except a cruel letter, which evidently came from the girl's father;
+but even in this there was neither date nor locality named. It had no
+term of endearment to commence with, and was signed simply, "John
+Dunbar." Two things were, however, proven by it: that the woman's
+given name was Bessie, and that by her marriage she had cut herself
+off from her home and her father's affection.
+
+So she was laid by stranger hands within that doorless house in the
+which God sometimes mercifully puts his weary ones to sleep. Mysie
+took the child to her heart at once, and Andrew was not long able to
+resist the little lad's beauty and winning ways. The neighbors began
+to call him "wee Andrew;" and the old man grew to love his namesake
+with a strangely tender affection.
+
+Sometimes there was indeed a bitter feeling in Mysie's heart, as she
+saw how gentle he was with this child and remembered how stern and
+strict he had been with their own lad. She did not understand that the
+one was in reality the result of the other, the acknowledgement of his
+fault, and the touching effort to atone, in some way, for it.
+
+One night, when wee Andrew was about seven years old, this wrong
+struck her in a manner peculiarly painful. Andrew had made a most
+extraordinary journey, even as far as Penrith. A large manufactory had
+been begun there, and a sudden demand for his long staple of white
+wool had sprung up. Moreover, he had had a prosperous journey, and
+brought back with him two books for the boy, AEsop's Fables and
+Robinson Crusoe.
+
+When Mysie saw them, her heart swelled beyond control. She remembered
+a day when her own son Davie had begged for these very books and been
+refused with hard rebukes. She remembered the old man's bitter words
+and the child's bitter tears; but she did not reflect that the present
+concession was the result of the former refusal, nor yet that the
+books were much easier got and the money more plentiful than thirty
+years previous. When wee Andrew ran away with his treasures to the
+Druids' stones, Mysie went into the shippen, and did her milking to
+some very sad thoughts.
+
+She was poisoning her heart with her own tears. When she returned to
+the "houseplace" and saw the child bending with rapt, earnest face
+over the books, she could not avoid murmuring that the son of a
+strange woman should be sitting happy in Cargill spence, and her own
+dear lad a banished wanderer. She had come to a point when rebellion
+would be easy for her. Andrew saw a look on her face that amazed and
+troubled him: and yet when she sat so hopelessly down before the fire,
+and without fear or apology
+
+      "Let the tears downfa',"
+
+he had no heart to reprove her. Nay, he asked with a very unusual
+concern, "What's the matter, Mysie, woman?"
+
+"I want to see Davie, and die, gudeman!"
+
+"You'll no dare to speak o' dying, wife, until the Lord gies you
+occasion; and Davie maun drink as he's brewed."
+
+"Nay, gudeman, but you brewed for him; the lad is drinking the cup you
+mixed wi' your ain hands."
+
+"I did my duty by him."
+
+"He had ower muckle o' your duty, and ower little o' your indulgence.
+If Davie was wrang, ither folk werena right. Every fault has its
+forefault."
+
+Andrew looked in amazement at this woman, who for thirty and more
+years had never before dared to oppose his wishes, and to whom his
+word had been law.
+
+"Davie's wrang-doing was weel kent, gude-wife; he hasted to sin like a
+moth to a candle."
+
+"It's weel that our faults arena written i' our faces."
+
+"I hae fallen on evil days, Mysie; saxty years syne wives and bairns
+werena sae contrarie."
+
+"There was gude and bad then, as now, gudeman."
+
+Mysie's face had a dour, determined look that no one had ever seen on
+it before. Andrew began to feel irritated at her. "What do you want,
+woman?" he said sternly.
+
+"I want my bairn, Andrew Cargill."
+
+"Your bairn is i' some far-awa country, squandering his share o'
+Paradise wi' publicans and sinners."
+
+"I hope not, I hope not; if it werena for this hope my heart would
+break;" and then all the barriers that education and habit had built
+were suddenly overthrown as by an earthquake, and Mysie cried out
+passionately, "I want my bairn, Andrew Cargill! the bonnie bairn that
+lay on my bosom, and was dandled on my knees, and sobbed out his
+sorrows i' my arms. I want the bairn you were aye girding and
+grumbling at! that got the rod for this, and the hard word and the
+black look for that! My bonnie Davie, wha ne'er had a playtime nor a
+story-book! O gudeman, I want my bairn! I want my bairn!"
+
+The repressed passion and sorrow of ten long years had found an outlet
+and would not be controlled. Andrew laid down his pipe in amazement
+and terror, and for a moment he feared his wife had lost her senses.
+He had a tender heart beneath his stern, grave manner, and his first
+impulse was just to take the sobbing mother to his breast and promise
+her all she asked. But he did not do it the first moment, and he could
+not the second. Yet he did rise and go to her, and in his awkward way
+try to comfort her. "Dinna greet that way, Mysie, woman," he said; "if
+I hae done amiss, I'll mak amends."
+
+That was a great thing for Andrew Cargill to say; Mysie hardly knew
+how to believe it. Such a confession was a kind of miracle, for she
+judged things by results and was not given to any consideration of the
+events that led up to them. She could not know, and did not suspect,
+that all the bitter truths she had spoken had been gradually forcing
+themselves on her husband's mind. She did not know that wee Andrew's
+happy face over his story-books, and his eager claim for sympathy, had
+been an accusation and a reproach which the old man had already humbly
+and sorrowfully accepted. Therefore his confession and his promise
+were a wonder to the woman, who had never before dared to admit that
+it was possible Andrew Cargill should do wrong in his own household.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+The confidence that came after this plain speaking was very sweet and
+comforting to both, although in their isolation and ignorance they
+knew not what steps to take in order to find Davie. Ten years had
+elapsed since he had hung for one heart-breaking moment on his
+mother's neck, and bid, as he told her, a farewell for ever to the
+miserable scenes of his hard, bare childhood. Mysie had not been able
+to make herself believe that he was very wrong; dancing at pretty Mary
+Halliday's bridal and singing two or three love-songs did not seem to
+the fond mother such awful transgressions as the stern, strict
+Covenanter really believed them to be, though even Mysie was willing
+to allow that Davie, in being beguiled into such sinful folly, "had
+made a sair tumble."
+
+However, Davie and his father had both said things that neither could
+win over, and the lad had gone proudly down the hill with but a few
+shillings in his pocket. Since then there had been ten years of
+anxious, longing grief that had remained unconfessed until this night.
+Now the hearts of both yearned for their lost son. But how should they
+find him? Andrew read nothing but his Bible and almanac; he had no
+conception of the world beyond Kendal and Keswick. He could scarcely
+imagine David going beyond these places, or, at any rate, the coast of
+Scotland. Should he make a pilgrimage round about all those parts?
+
+Mysie shook her head. She thought Andrew had better go to Keswick and
+see the Methodist preacher there. She had heard they travelled all
+over the world, and if so, it was more than likely they had seen Davie
+Cargill; "at ony rate, he would gie advice worth speiring after."
+
+Andrew had but a light opinion of Methodists, and had never been
+inside the little chapel at Sinverness; but Mysie's advice, he
+allowed, "had a savor o' sense in it," and so the next day he rode
+over to Keswick and opened his heart to John Sugden, the
+superintendent of the Derwent Circuit. He had assured himself on the
+road that he would only tell John just as much as was necessary for
+his quest; but he was quite unable to resist the preacher's hearty
+sympathy. There never were two men more unlike than Andrew Cargill and
+John Sugden, and yet they loved each other at once.
+
+"He is a son o' consolation, and dootless ane o' God's chosen," said
+Andrew to Mysie on his return.
+
+"He is a far nobler old fellow than he thinks he is," said John to his
+wife when he told her of Andrew's visit.
+
+John had advised advertising for Davie in "The Watchman;" for John
+really thought this organ of the Methodist creed was the greatest
+paper in existence, and honestly believed that if Davie was anywhere
+in the civilized world "The Watchman" would find him out. He was so
+sure of it that both Mysie and Andrew caught his hopeful tone, and
+began to tell each other what should be done when Davie came home.
+
+Poor Mysie was now doubly kind to wee Andrew. She accused herself
+bitterly of "grudging the bit lammie his story-books," and persuaded
+her husband to bring back from Keswick for the child the "Pilgrim's
+Progress" and "The Young Christian." John Sugden, too, visited them
+often, not only staying at Cargill during his regular appointments,
+but often riding over to take a day's recreation with the old
+Cameronian. True, they disputed the whole time. John said very
+positive things and Andrew very contemptuous ones; but as they each
+kept their own opinions intact, and were quite sure of their grounds
+for doing so, no words that were uttered ever slackened the grip of
+their hands at parting.
+
+One day, as John was on the way to Cargill, he perceived a man sitting
+among the Druids' stones. The stranger was a pleasant fellow, and
+after a few words with the preacher he proposed that they should ride
+to Sinverness together. John soon got to talking of Andrew and his
+lost son, and the stranger became greatly interested. He said he
+should like to go up to Andrew's and get a description of Davie,
+adding that he travelled far and wide, and might happen to come across
+him.
+
+The old man met them at the door.
+
+"My sight fails, John," he said, "but I'd hae kent your step i' a
+thousand. You too are welcome, sir, though I ken you not, and doubly
+welcome if you bring God's blessing wi' you."
+
+The stranger lifted his hat, and Andrew led the way into the house.
+John had been expected, for haver bread and potted shrimps were on the
+table, and he helped himself without ceremony, taking up at the same
+time their last argument just where he had dropped it at the gate of
+the lower croft. But it had a singular interruption. The sheep-dogs
+who had been quietly sleeping under the settle began to be strangely
+uneasy. Keeper could scarcely be kept down, even by Andrew's command,
+and Sandy bounded towards the stranger with low, rapid barks that made
+John lose the sense of the argument in a new thought. But before he
+could frame it into words Mysie came in.
+
+"See here, John," she cried, and then she stopped and looked with
+wide-open eyes at the man coming towards her. With one long, thrilling
+cry she threw herself into his arms.
+
+"Mother! mother! darling mother, forgive me!"
+
+John had instantly gone to Andrew's side, but Andrew had risen at once
+to the occasion. "I'm no a woman to skirl or swoon," he said, almost
+petulantly, "and it's right and fit the lad should gie his mither the
+first greeting."
+
+But he stretched out both hands, and his cheeks were flushed and his
+eyes full when Davie flung himself on his knees beside him.
+
+"My lad! my ain dear lad!" he cried, "I'll see nae better day than
+this until I see His face."
+
+No one can tell the joy of that hour. The cheese curds were left in
+the dairy and the wool was left at the wheel, and Mysie forget her
+household, and Andrew forgot his argument, and the preacher at last
+said,
+
+"You shall tell us, Davie, what the Lord has done for you since you
+left your father's house."
+
+"He has been gude to me, vera gude. I had a broad Scot's tongue in my
+head, and I determined to go northward. I had little siller and I had
+to walk, and by the time I reached Ecclefechan I had reason enough to
+be sorry for the step I had taken. As I was sitting by the fireside o'
+the little inn there a man came in who said he was going to Carlisle
+to hire a shepherd. I did not like the man, but I was tired and had
+not plack nor bawbee, so I e'en asked him for the place. When he heard
+I was Cumberland born, and had been among sheep all my life, he was
+fain enough, and we soon 'greed about the fee.
+
+"He was a harder master than Laban, but he had a daughter who was as
+bonnie as Rachel, and I loved the lass wi' my whole soul, and she
+loved me. I ne'er thought about being her father's hired man. I was
+aye Davie Cargill to mysel', and I had soon enough told Bessie all
+about my father and mither and hame. I spoke to her father at last,
+but he wouldna listen to me. He just ordered me off his place, and
+Bessie went wi' me.
+
+"I know now that we did wrang, but we thought then that we were right.
+We had a few pounds between us and we gaed to Carlisle. But naething
+went as it should hae done. I could get nae wark, and Bessie fell into
+vera bad health; but she had a brave spirit, and she begged me to
+leave her in Carlisle and go my lane to Glasgow. 'For when wark an'
+siller arena i' one place, Davie,' she said, 'then they're safe to be
+in another.'
+
+"I swithered lang about leaving her, but a good opportunity came, and
+Bessie promised me to go back to her father until I could come after
+her. It was July then, and when Christmas came round I had saved money
+enough, and I started wi' a blithe heart to Ecclefechan. I hadna any
+fear o' harm to my bonnie bit wifie, for she had promised to go to her
+hame, and I was sure she would be mair than welcome when she went
+without me. I didna expect any letters, because Bessie couldna write,
+and, indeed, I was poor enough wi' my pen at that time, and only wrote
+once to tell her I had good wark and would be for her a New Year.
+
+"But when I went I found that Bessie had gane, and none knew where. I
+traced her to Keswick poor-house, where she had a little lad; the
+matron said she went away in a very weak condition when the child was
+three weeks old, declaring that she was going to her friends. Puir,
+bonnie, loving Bessie; that was the last I ever heard o' my wife and
+bairn."
+
+Mysie had left the room, and as she returnee with a little bundle
+Andrew was anxiously asking, "What was the lassie's maiden name,
+Davie?"
+
+"Bessie Dunbar, father."
+
+"Then this is a wun'erful day; we are blessed and twice blessed, for I
+found your wife and bairn, Davie, just where John Sugden found you,
+'mang the Druids' stanes; and the lad has my ain honest name and is
+weel worthy o' it."
+
+"See here, Davie," and Mysie tenderly touched the poor faded dress and
+shawl, and laid the wedding-ring in his palm. As she spoke wee Andrew
+came across the yard, walking slowly, reading as he walked. "Look at
+him, Davie! He's a bonnie lad, and a gude are; and oh, my ain dear
+lad, he has had a' things that thy youth wanted."
+
+It pleased the old man no little that, in spite of his father's loving
+greeting, wee Andrew stole away to his side.
+
+"You see, Davie," he urged in apology, "he's mair at hame like wi'
+me."
+
+And then he drew the child to him, and let his whole heart go out now,
+without check or reproach, to "Davie's bairn."
+
+"But you have not finished your story, Mr. Cargill," said John, and
+David sighed as he answered,
+
+"There is naething by the ordinar in it. I went back to the warks I
+had got a footing in, the Glencart Iron Warks, and gradually won my
+way to the topmost rungs o' the ladder. I am head buyer now, hae a
+gude share i' the concern, and i' money matters there's plenty folk
+waur off than David Cargill. When I put my father's forgiveness, my
+mither's love, and my Bessie's bonnie lad to the lave, I may weel say
+that 'they are weel guided that God guides.' A week ago I went into
+the editor's room o' the Glasgow Herald,' and the man no being in I
+lifted a paper and saw in it my father's message to me. It's sma'
+credit that I left a' and answered it."
+
+"What paper, Mr. Cargill, what paper?"
+
+"They ca' it 'The Watchman.' I hae it in my pocket."
+
+"I thought so," said John triumphantly. "It's a grand paper; every one
+ought to have it."
+
+"It is welcome evermore in my house," said Davie.
+
+"It means weel, it means weel," said Andrew, with a great stretch of
+charity, "but I dinna approve o' its doctrines at a', and--"
+
+"It found David for you, Andrew."
+
+"Ay, ay, God uses a' kinds o' instruments. 'The Watchman' isna as auld
+as the Bible yet, John, and it's ill praising green barley."
+
+"Now, Andrew, I think--"
+
+"Tut, tut, John, I'se no sit i' Rome and strive wi' the pope; there's
+naething ill said, you ken, if it's no ill taken."
+
+John smiled tolerantly, and indeed there was no longer time for
+further discussion, for the shepherds from the hills and the farmers
+from the glen had heard of David's return, and were hurrying to
+Cargill to see him. Mysie saw that there would be a goodly company,
+and the long harvest-table was brought in and a feast of
+thanksgiving spread. Conversation in that house could only set one
+way, and after all had eaten and David had told his story again, one
+old man after another spoke of the dangers they had encountered and
+the spiritual foes they had conquered.
+
+Whether it was the speaking, or the sympathy of numbers, or some
+special influence of the Holy Ghost, I know not; but suddenly Andrew
+lifted his noble old head and spoke thus:
+
+"Frien's, ye hae some o' you said ill things o' yoursel's, but to the
+sons o' God there is nae condemnation; not that I hae been althegither
+faultless, but I meant weel, an' the lad was a wilfu' lad, and ye ken
+what the wisest o' men said anent such. Just and right has been my
+walk before you, but--still--" Then, with a sudden passion, and rising
+to his feet, he cried out, "Frien's, I'm a poor sinfu' man, but I'll
+play no mair pliskies wi' my conscience. I hae dootless been a hard
+master, hard and stern, and loving Sinai far beyond Bethlehem. Hard
+was I to my lad, and hard hae I been to the wife o' my bosom, and hard
+hae I been to my ain heart. It has been my ain will and my ain way all
+my life lang. God forgie me! God forgie me! for this night he has
+brought my sins to my remembrance. I hae been your elder for mair than
+forty years, but I hae ne'er been worthy to carry his holy vessels.
+I'll e'en sit i' the lowest seat henceforward."
+
+"Not so," said John. And there was such eager praise, and such warm
+love rose from every mouth, that words began to fail, and as the old
+man sat down smiling, happier than he had ever been before, song took
+up the burden speech laid down; for John started one of those old
+triumphant Methodist hymns, and the rafters shook to the melody, and
+the stars heard it, and the angels in heaven knew a deeper joy.
+Singing, the company departed, and Andrew, standing in the moonlight
+between David and John, watched the groups scatter hither and thither,
+and heard, far up the hills and down the glen, that sweet, sweet
+refrain,
+
+  "Canaan, bright Canaan!
+  Will you go to the land of Canaan?"
+
+After this David stayed a week at Glenmora, and then it became
+necessary for him to return to Glasgow. But wee Andrew was to have a
+tutor and remain with his grandparents for some years at least. Andrew
+himself determined to "tak a trip" and see Scotland and the wonderful
+iron works of which he was never weary of hearing David talk.
+
+When he reached Kendal, however, and saw for the first time the
+Caledonian Railway and its locomotives, nothing could induce him to go
+farther.
+
+"It's ower like the deil and the place he bides in, Davie," he said,
+with a kind of horror. "Fire and smoke and iron bands! I'll no ride at
+the deil's tail-end, not e'en to see the land o' the Covenant."
+
+So he went back to Glenmora, and was well content when he stood again
+at his own door and looked over the bonny braes of Sinverness, its
+simmering becks and fruitful vales. "These are the warks o' His hands,
+Mysie," he said, reverently lifting his bonnet and looking up to
+Creffel and away to Solway, "and you'd ken that, woman, if you had
+seen Satan as I saw him rampaging roun' far waur than any roaring
+lion."
+
+After this Andrew never left Sinverness; but, the past unsighed for
+and the future sure, passed through
+
+  "----an old age serene and bright,
+  And lovely as a Lapland night,"
+
+until, one summer evening, he gently fell on that sleep which God
+giveth his beloved.
+
+  "For such Death's portal opens not in gloom,
+  But its pure crystal, hinged on solid gold,
+  Shows avenues interminable--shows
+  Amaranth and palm quivering in sweet accord
+  Of human mingled with angelic song."
+
+
+
+
+One Wrong Step.
+
+
+
+
+ONE WRONG STEP.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+"There's few folk ken Ragon Torr as I do, mother. He is better at
+heart than thou wad think; indeed he is!"
+
+"If better were within, better wad come out, John. He's been drunk or
+dovering i' the chimney-corner these past three weeks. Hech! but he'd
+do weel i' Fool's Land, where they get half a crown a day for
+sleeping."
+
+"There's nane can hunt a seal or spear a whale like Ragon; thou saw
+him theesel', mother, among the last school i' Stromness Bay."
+
+"I saw a raving, ranting heathen, wi' the bonnie blue bay a sea o'
+blood around him, an' he shouting an' slaying like an old pagan
+sea-king. Decent, God-fearing fisher-folk do their needful wark ither
+gate than yon. Now there is but one thing for thee to do: thou must
+break wi' Ragon Torr, an' that quick an' soon."
+
+"Know this, my mother, a friend is to be taken wi' his faults."
+
+"Thou knows this, John: I hae forty years mair than thou hast, an'
+years ken mair than books. An' wi' a' thy book skill hast thou ne'er
+read that 'Evil communications corrupt gude manners'? Mak up thy mind
+that I shall tak it vera ill if thou sail again this year wi' that
+born heathen;" and with these words Dame Alison Sabay rose up from the
+stone bench at her cottage door and went dourly into the houseplace.
+
+John stood on the little jetty which ran from the very doorstep into
+the bay, and looked thoughtfully over towards the sweet green isle of
+Graemsay; but neither the beauty of land or sea, nor the splendor of
+skies bright with the rosy banners of the Aurora gave him any answer
+to the thoughts which troubled him. "I'll hae to talk it o'er wi'
+Christine," he said decidedly, and he also turned into the house.
+
+Christine was ten years older than her brother John. She had known
+much sorrow, but she had lived through and lived down all her trials
+and come out into the peace on the other side. She was sitting by the
+peat fire knitting, and softly crooning an old Scotch psalm to the
+click of her needles. She answered John's look with a sweet, grave
+smile, and a slight nod towards the little round table, upon which
+there was a plate of smoked goose and some oaten cake for his supper.
+
+"I carena to eat a bite, Christine; this is what I want o' thee: the
+skiff is under the window; step into it, an' do thou go on the bay wi'
+me an hour."
+
+"I havena any mind to go, John. It is nine by the clock, an' to-morrow
+the peat is to coil an' the herring to kipper; yes, indeed."
+
+"Well an' good. But here is matter o' mair account than peat an'
+herring. Wilt thou come?"
+
+"At the end I ken weel thou wilt hae thy way. Mother, here is John,
+an' he is for my going on the bay wi' him."
+
+"Then thou go. If John kept aye as gude company he wouldna be like to
+bring my gray hairs wi' sorrow to the grave."
+
+John did not answer this remark until they had pushed well off from
+the sleeping town, then he replied fretfully, "Yes, what mother says
+is true enough; but a man goes into the warld. A' the fingers are not
+alike, much less one's friends. How can a' be gude?"
+
+"To speak from the heart, John, wha is it?"
+
+"Ragon Torr. Thou knows we hae sat i' the same boat an' drawn the same
+nets for three years; he is gude an' bad, like ither folk."
+
+"Keep gude company, my brother, an' thou wilt aye be counted ane o'
+them. When Ragon is gude he is ower gude, and when he is bad he is
+just beyont kenning."
+
+"Can a man help the kin he comes o'? Have not his forbears done for
+centuries the vera same way? Naething takes a Norseman frae his bed or
+his cup but some great deed o' danger or profit; but then wha can
+fight or wark like them?"
+
+"Christ doesna ask a man whether he be Norse or Scot. If Ragon went
+mair to the kirk an' less to the change-house, he wouldna need to
+differ. Were not our ain folk cattle-lifting Hieland thieves lang
+after the days o' the Covenant?"
+
+"Christine, ye'll speak nae wrang o' the Sabays. It's an ill bird
+'files its ain nest."
+
+"Weel, weel, John! The gude name o' the Sabays is i' thy hands now.
+But to speak from the heart, this thing touches thee nearer than Ragon
+Torr. Thou did not bring me out to speak only o' him."
+
+"Thou art a wise woman, Christine, an' thou art right. It touches
+Margaret Fae, an' when it does that, it touches what is dearer to me
+than life."
+
+"I see it not."
+
+"Do not Ragon an' I sail i' Peter Fae's boats? Do we not eat at his
+table, an' bide round his house during the whole fishing season? If I
+sail no more wi' Ragon, I must quit Peter's employ; for he loves Ragon
+as he loves no ither lad i' Stromness or Kirkwall. The Norse blood we
+think little o', Peter glories in; an' the twa men count thegither
+o'er their glasses the races o' the Vikings, an' their ain generations
+up to Snorro an' Thorso."
+
+"Is there no ither master but Peter Fae? ask theesel' that question,
+John."
+
+"I hae done that, Christine. Plenty o' masters, but nane o' them hae
+Margaret for a daughter. Christine, I love Margaret, an' she loves me
+weel. Thou hast loved theesel', my sister."
+
+"I ken that, John," she said tenderly; "I hae loved, therefore I hae
+got beyont doots, an' learned something holier than my ain way. Thou
+trust Margaret now. Thou say 'Yes' to thy mother, an' fear not."
+
+"Christine thou speaks hard words."
+
+"Was it to speak easy anes thou brought me here? An' if I said, 'I
+counsel thee to tak thy ain will i' the matter,' wad my counsel mak
+bad gude, or wrang right? Paul Calder's fleet sails i' twa days; seek
+a place i' his boats."
+
+"Then I shall see next to naught o' Margaret, an' Ragon will see her
+every day."
+
+"If Margaret loves thee, that can do thee nae harm."
+
+"But her father favors Ragon, an' of me he thinks nae mair than o' the
+nets, or aught else that finds his boats for sea."
+
+"Well an' good; but no talking can alter facts. Thou must now choose
+atween thy mother an' Margaret Fae, atween right an' wrang. God doesna
+leave that choice i' the dark; thy way may be narrow an' unpleasant,
+but it is clear enough. Dost thou fear to walk i' it?"
+
+"There hae been words mair than plenty, Christine. Let us go hame."
+
+Silently the little boat drifted across the smooth bay, and silently
+the brother and sister stood a moment looking up the empty, flagged
+street of the sleeping town. The strange light, which was neither
+gloaming nor dawning, but a mixture of both, the waving boreal
+banners, the queer houses, gray with the storms of centuries, the
+brown undulating heaths, and the phosphorescent sea, made a strangely
+solemn picture which sank deep into their hearts. After a pause,
+Christine went into the house, but John sat down on the stone bench to
+think over the alternatives before him.
+
+Now the power of training up a child in the way it should go asserted
+itself. It became at once a fortification against self-will. John
+never had positively disobeyed his mother's explicit commands; he
+found it impossible to do so. He must offer his services to Paul
+Calder in the morning, and try to trust Margaret Fae's love for him.
+
+He had determined now to do right, but he did not do it very
+pleasantly--it is a rare soul that grows sweeter in disappointments.
+Both mother and sister knew from John's stern, silent ways that he had
+chosen the path of duty, and they expected that he would make it a
+valley of Baca. This Dame Alison accepted as in some sort her desert.
+"I ought to hae forbid the lad three years syne," she said
+regretfully; "aft ill an' sorrow come o' sich sinfu' putting aff.
+There's nae half-way house atween right an' wrang."
+
+Certainly the determination involved some unpleasant explanations to
+John. He must first see old Peter Fae and withdraw himself from his
+service. He found him busy in loading a small vessel with smoked geese
+and kippered fish, and he was apparently in a very great passion.
+Before John could mention his own matters, Peter burst into a torrent
+of invectives against another of his sailors, who, he said, had given
+some information to the Excise which had cost him a whole cargo of
+Dutch specialties. The culprit was leaning against a hogshead, and was
+listening to Peter's intemperate words with a very evil smile.
+
+"How much did ye sell yoursel' for, Sandy Beg? It took the son of a
+Hieland robber like you to tell tales of a honest man's cargo. It was
+an ill day when the Scots cam to Orkney, I trow."
+
+"She'll hae petter right to say tat same 'fore lang time." And Sandy's
+face was dark with a subdued passion that Peter might have known to be
+dangerous, but which he continued to aggravate by contemptuous
+expressions regarding Scotchmen in general.
+
+This John Sabay was in no mood to bear; he very soon took offence at
+Peter's sweeping abuse, and said he would relieve him at any rate of
+one Scot. "He didna care to sail again wi' such a crowd as Peter
+gathered round him."
+
+It was a very unadvised speech. Ragon lifted it at once, and in the
+words which followed John unavoidably found himself associated with
+Sandy Beg, a man whose character was of the lowest order. And he had
+meant to be so temperate, and to part with both Peter and Ragon on the
+best terms possible. How weak are all our resolutions! John turned
+away from Peter's store conscious that he had given full sway to all
+the irritation and disappointment of his feelings, and that he had
+spoken as violently as either Peter, Ragon, or even the half-brutal
+Sandy Beg. Indeed, Sandy had said very little; but the malignant look
+with which he regarded Peter, John could never forget.
+
+This was not his only annoyance. Paul Calder's boats were fully
+manned, and the others had already left for Brassey's Sound. The
+Sabays were not rich; a few weeks of idleness would make the long
+Orkney winter a dreary prospect. Christine and his mother sat from
+morning to night braiding straw into the once famous Orkney Tuscans,
+and he went to the peat-moss to cut a good stock of winter fuel; but
+his earnings in money were small and precarious, and he was so anxious
+that Christine's constant cheerfulness hurt him.
+
+Sandy Beg had indeed said something of an offer he could make "if
+shentlemans wanted goot wages wi' ta chance of a lucky bit for
+themsel's; foive kuineas ta month an' ta affsets. Oigh! oigh!" But
+John had met the offer with such scorn and anger that Sandy had
+thought it worth while to bestow one of his most wicked looks upon
+him. The fact was, Sandy felt half grateful to John for his apparent
+partisanship, and John indignantly resented any disposition to put him
+in the same boat with a man so generally suspected and disliked.
+
+"It might be a come-down," he said, "for a gude sailor an' fisher to
+coil peats and do days' darg, but it was honest labor; an', please
+God, he'd never do that i' the week that wad hinder him fra going to
+the kirk on Sabbath."
+
+"Oigh! she'll jist please hersel'; she'll pe owing ta Beg naething by
+ta next new moon." And with a mocking laugh Sandy loitered away
+towards the seashore.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Just after this interview a little lad put a note in John's hand from
+Margaret Fae. It only asked him to be on Brogar Bridge at eight
+o'clock that night. Now Brogar Bridge was not a spot that any Orcadian
+cared to visit at such an hour. In the pagan temple whose remains
+stood there it was said pale ghosts of white-robed priests still
+offered up shadowy human sacrifices, and though John's faith was firm
+and sure, superstitions are beyond reasoning with, and he recalled the
+eerie, weird aspect of the grim stones with an unavoidable
+apprehension. What could Margaret want with him in such a place and at
+an hour so near that at which Peter usually went home from his shop?
+He had never seen Margaret's writing, and he half suspected Sandy Beg
+had more to do with the appointment than she had; but he was too
+anxious to justify himself in Margaret's eyes to let any fears or
+doubts prevent him from keeping the tryst.
+
+He had scarcely reached the Stones of Stennis when he saw her leaning
+against one of them. The strange western light was over her thoughtful
+face. She seemed to have become a part of the still and solemn
+landscape. John had always loved her with a species of reverence;
+to-night he felt almost afraid of her beauty and the power she had
+over him. She was a true Scandinavian, with the tall, slender, and
+rather haughty form which marks Orcadian and Zetland women. Her hair
+was perhaps a little too fair and cold, and yet it made a noble
+setting to the large, finely-featured, tranquil face.
+
+She put out her hand as John approached, and said, "Was it well that
+thou shouldst quarrel with my father? I thought that thou didst love
+me."
+
+Then John poured out his whole heart--his love for her, his mother's
+demand of him, his quarrel with Ragon and Peter and Sandy Beg. "It has
+been an ill time, Margaret," he said, "and thou hast been long in
+comforting me."
+
+Well, Margaret had plenty of reasons for her delay and plenty of
+comfort for her lover. Naturally slow of pulse and speech, she had
+been long coming to a conclusion; but, having satisfied herself of its
+justice, she was likely to be immovable in it. She gave John her hand
+frankly and lovingly, and promised, in poverty or wealth, in weal or
+woe, to stand truly by his side. It was not a very hopeful
+troth-plighting, but they were both sure of the foundations of their
+love, and both regarded the promise as solemnly binding.
+
+Then Margaret told John that she had heard that evening that the
+captain of the Wick steamer wanted a mate, and the rough Pentland
+Frith being well known to John, she hoped, if he made immediate
+application, he would be accepted. If he was, John declared his
+intention of at once seeing Peter and asking his consent to their
+engagement. In the meantime the Bridge of Brogar was to be their
+tryst, when tryst was possible. Peter's summer dwelling lay not far
+from it, and it was Margaret's habit to watch for his boat and walk up
+from the beach to the house with him. She would always walk over first
+to Brogar, and if John could meet her there that would be well; if
+not, she would understand that it was out of the way of duty, and be
+content.
+
+John fortunately secured the mate's place. Before he could tell
+Margaret this she heard her father speak well of him to the captain.
+"There is nae better sailor, nor better lad, for that matter," said
+Peter. "I like none that he wad hang roun' my bonnie Marg'et; but
+then, a cat may look at a king without it being high treason, I wot."
+
+A week afterwards Peter thought differently. When John told him
+honestly how matters stood between him and Margaret he was more angry
+than when Sandy Beg swore away his whole Dutch cargo. He would listen
+to neither love nor reason, and positively forbid him to hold any
+further intercourse with his daughter. John had expected this, and was
+not greatly discouraged. He had Margaret's promise. Youth is hopeful,
+and they could wait; for it never entered their minds absolutely to
+disobey the old man.
+
+In the meantime there was a kind of peacemaking between Ragon and
+John. The good Dominie Sinclair had met them both one day on the
+beach, and insisted on their forgiving and shaking hands. Neither of
+them were sorry to do so. Men who have shared the dangers of the
+deep-sea fishing and the stormy Northern Ocean together cannot look
+upon each other as mere parts of a bargain. There was, too, a wild
+valor and a wonderful power in emergencies belonging to Ragon that had
+always dazzled John's more cautious nature. In some respects, he
+thought Ragon Torr the greatest sailor that left Stromness harbor, and
+Ragon was willing enough to admit that John "was a fine fellow," and
+to give his hand at the dominie's direction.
+
+Alas! the good man's peacemaking was of short duration. As soon as
+Peter told the young Norse sailor of John's offer for Margaret's hand,
+Ragon's passive good-will turned to active dislike and bitter
+jealousy. For, though he had taken little trouble to please Margaret,
+he had come to look upon her as his future wife. He knew that Peter
+wished it so, and he now imagined that it was also the only thing on
+earth he cared for.
+
+Thus, though John was getting good wages, he was not happy. It was
+rarely he got a word with Margaret, and Peter and Ragon were only too
+ready to speak. It became daily more and more difficult to avoid an
+open quarrel with them, and, indeed, on several occasions sharp, cruel
+words, that hurt like wounds, had passed between them on the public
+streets and quays.
+
+Thus Stromness, that used to be so pleasant to him, was changing fast.
+He knew not how it was that people so readily believed him in the
+wrong. In Wick, too, he had been troubled with Sandy Beg, and a kind
+of nameless dread possessed him about the man; he could not get rid of
+it, even after he had heard that Sandy had sailed in a whaling ship
+for the Arctic seas.
+
+Thus things went on until the end of July. John was engaged now until
+the steamer stopped running in September, and the little sum of ready
+money necessary for the winter's comfort was assured. Christine sat
+singing and knitting, or singing and braiding straw, and Dame Alison
+went up and down her cottage with a glad heart. They knew little of
+John's anxieties. Christine had listened sympathizingly to his trouble
+about Margaret, and said, "Thou wait an' trust; John dear, an' at the
+end a' things will be well." Even Ragon's ill-will and Peter's ill
+words had not greatly frightened them--"The wrath o' man shall praise
+Him," read old Alison, with just a touch of spiritual satisfaction,
+"an' the rest o' the wrath he will restrain."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+It was a Saturday night in the beginning of August, and John was at
+home until the following Monday. He dressed himself and went out
+towards Brogar, and Christine watched him far over the western moor,
+and blessed him as he went. He had not seen Margaret for many days,
+but he had a feeling to-night that she would be able to keep her
+tryst. And there, standing amid the rushes on the lakeside, he found
+her. They had so much to say to each other that Margaret forgot her
+father's return, and delayed so long that she thought it best to go
+straight home, instead of walking down the beach to meet him.
+
+He generally left Stromness about half-past eight, and his supper was
+laid for nine o'clock. But this night nine passed, and he did not
+come; and though the delay could be accounted for in various ways, she
+had a dim but anxious forecasting of calamity in her heart. The
+atmosphere of the little parlor grew sorrowful and heavy, the lamp did
+not seem to light it, her father's chair had a deserted, lonely
+aspect, the house was strangely silent; in fifteen minutes she had
+forgotten how happy she had been, and wandered to and from the door
+like some soul in an uneasy dream.
+
+All at once she heard the far-away shouting of angry and alarmed
+voices, and to her sensitive ears her lover's and her father's names
+were mingled. It was her nature to act slowly; for a few moments she
+could not decide what was to be done. The first thought was the
+servants. There were only two, Hacon Flett and Gerda Vedder. Gerda had
+gone to bed, Hacon was not on the place. As she gathered her energies
+together she began to walk rapidly over the springy heath towards the
+white sands of the beach. Her father, if he was coming, would come
+that way. She was angry with herself for the _if_. Of course he was
+coming. What was there to prevent it? She told herself, Nothing, and
+the next moment looked up and saw two men coming towards her, and in
+their arms a figure which she knew instinctively was her father's.
+
+She slowly retraced her steps, set open the gate and the door, and
+waited for the grief that was coming to her. But however slow her
+reasoning faculties, her soul knew in a moment what it needed. It was
+but a little prayer said with trembling lips and fainting heart; but
+no prayer loses its way. Straight to the heart of Christ it went. And
+the answer was there and the strength waiting when Ragon and Hacon
+brought in the bleeding, dying old man, and laid him down upon his
+parlor floor.
+
+Ragon said but one word, "Stabbed!" and then, turning to Hacon, bid
+him ride for life and death into Stromness for a doctor. Most sailors
+of these islands know a little rude surgery, and Ragon stayed beside
+his friend, doing what he could to relieve the worst symptoms.
+Margaret, white and still, went hither and thither, bringing whatever
+Ragon wanted, and fearing, she knew not why, to ask any questions.
+
+With the doctor came the dominie and two of the town bailies. There
+was little need of the doctor; Peter Fae's life was ebbing rapidly
+away with every moment of time. There was but little time now for
+whatever had yet to be done. The dominie stooped first to his ear, and
+in a few solemn words bid him lay himself at the foot of the cross.
+"Thou'lt never perish there, Peter," he said; and the dying man seemed
+to catch something of the comfort of such an assurance.
+
+Then Bailie Inkster said, "Peter Fae, before God an' his
+minister--before twa o' the town bailies an' thy ain daughter
+Margaret, an' thy friend Ragon Torr, an' thy servants Hacon Flett an'
+Gerda Vedder, thou art now to say what man stabbed thee."
+
+Peter made one desperate effort, a wild, passionate gleam shot from
+the suddenly-opened eyes, and he cried out in a voice terrible in its
+despairing anger, "_John Sabay! John Sabay--stabb-ed--me!
+Indeed--he--did_!"
+
+"Oh, forgive him, man! forgive him! Dinna think o' that now, Peter!
+Cling to the cross--cling to the cross, man! Nane ever perished that
+only won to the foot o' it." Then the pleading words were whispered
+down into fast-sealing ears, and the doctor quietly led away a poor
+heart-stricken girl, who was too shocked to weep and too humbled and
+wretched to tell her sorrow to any one but God.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+The bailies, after hearing the deposition, immediately repaired to
+John Sabay's cottage. It was Saturday night, and no warrant could now
+be got, but the murderer must be secured. No two men bent on such an
+errand ever found it more difficult to execute. The little family had
+sat later than usual. John had always news they were eager to hear--of
+tourists and strangers he had seen in Wick, or of the people the
+steamer had brought to Kirkwall.
+
+He was particularly cheerful this evening; his interview with Margaret
+had been hopeful and pleasant, and Christine had given the houseplace
+and the humble supper-table quite a festival look. They had sat so
+long over the meal that when the bailies entered John was only then
+reading the regular portion for the evening exercise. All were a
+little amazed at the visit, but no one thought for a moment of
+interrupting the Scripture; and the two men sat down and listened
+attentively while John finished the chapter.
+
+Bailie Tulloch then rose and went towards the dame. He was a far-off
+cousin of the Sabays, and, though not on the best of terms with them,
+his relationship was considered to impose the duty particularly on
+him.
+
+"Gude-e'en, if thou comes on a gude errand," said old Dame Alison,
+suspiciously; "but that's no thy custom, bailie."
+
+"I came, dame, to ask John anent Peter Fae."
+
+The dame laughed pleasantly. "If thou had asked him anent Margaret
+Fae, he could tell thee more about it."
+
+"This is nae laughing matter, dame. Peter Fae has been murdered--yes,
+murdered! An' he said, ere he died, that John Sabay did the deed."
+
+"Then Peter Fae died wi' a lie on his lips--tell them that, John," and
+the old woman's face was almost majestic in its defiance and anger.
+
+"I hae not seen Peter Fae for a week," said John. "God knows that,
+bailie. I wad be the vera last man to hurt a hair o' his gray head;
+why he is Margaret's father!"
+
+"Still, John, though we hae nae warrant to hold thee, we are beholden
+to do sae; an' thou maun come wi' us," said Bailie Inkster.
+
+"Wrang has nae warrant at ony time, an' ye will no touch my lad," said
+Alison, rising and standing before her son.
+
+"Come, dame, keep a still tongue."
+
+"My tongue's no under thy belt, Tulloch; but it's weel kenned that
+since thou wranged us thou ne'er liked us."
+
+"Mother, mother, dinna fash theesel'. It's naught at a' but a mistake;
+an' I'll gae wi' Bailie Inkster, if he's feared to tak my word."
+
+"I could tak thy word fain enough, John--"
+
+"But the thing isna possible, Inkster. Besides, if he were missing
+Monday morn, I, being i' some sort a relation, wad be under suspicion
+o' helping him awa."
+
+"Naebody wad e'er suspect thee o' a helping or mercifu' deed, Tulloch.
+Indeed na!"
+
+"Tak care, dame; thou art admitting it wad be a mercifu' deed. I heard
+Peter Fae say that John Sabay stabbed him, an' Ragon Torr and Hacon
+Flett saw John, as I understan' the matter."
+
+"Mother," said John, "do thou talk to nane but God. Thou wilt hae to
+lead the prayer theesel' to-night; dinna forget me. I'm as innocent o'
+this matter as Christine is; mak up thy mind on that."
+
+"God go wi' thee, John. A' the men i' Orkney can do nae mair than they
+may against thee."
+
+"It's an unco grief an' shame to me," said Tulloch, "but the Sabays
+hae aye been a thorn i' the flesh to me, an' John's the last o' them,
+the last o' them!"
+
+"Thou art makin' thy count without Providence, Tulloch. There's mair
+Sabays than Tullochs; for there's Ane for them that counts far beyont
+an' above a' that can be against them. Now, thou step aff my honest
+hearthstane--there is mair room for thee without than within."
+
+Then John held his mother's and sister's hands a moment, and there was
+such _virtue_ in the clasp, and such light and trust in their faces,
+that it was impossible for him not to catch hope from them. Suddenly
+Bailie Tulloch noticed that John was in his Sabbath-day clothes. In
+itself this was not remarkable on a Saturday night. Most of the people
+kept this evening as a kind of preparation for the Holy Day, and the
+best clothing and the festival meal were very general. But just then
+it struck the bailies as worth inquiring about.
+
+"Where are thy warking-claes, John--the uniform, I mean, o' that
+steamship company thou sails for--and why hast na them on thee?"
+
+"I had a visit to mak, an' I put on my best to mak it in. The ithers
+are i' my room."
+
+"Get them, Christine."
+
+Christine returned in a few minutes pale-faced and empty-handed. "They
+are not there, John, nor yet i' thy kist."
+
+"I thought sae."
+
+"Then God help me, sister! I know not where they are."
+
+Even Bailie Inkster looked doubtful and troubled at this circumstance.
+Silence, cold and suspicious, fell upon them, and poor John went away
+half-bereft of all the comfort his mother's trust and Christine's look
+had given him.
+
+The next day being Sabbath, no one felt at liberty to discuss the
+subject; but as the little groups passed one another on their way to
+church their solemn looks and their doleful shakes of the head
+testified to its presence in their thoughts. The dominie indeed,
+knowing how nearly impossible it would be for them not to think their
+own thoughts this Lord's day, deemed it best to guide those thoughts
+to charity. He begged every one to be kind to all in deep affliction,
+and to think no evil until it was positively known who the guilty
+person was.
+
+Indeed, in spite of the almost overwhelming evidence against John
+Sabay, there was a strong disposition to believe him innocent. "If ye
+believe a' ye hear, ye may eat a' ye see," said Geordie Sweyn. "Maybe
+John Sabay killed old Peter Fae, but every maybe has a may-not-be."
+And to this remark there were more nods of approval than shakes of
+dissent.
+
+But affairs, even with this gleam of light, were dark enough to the
+sorrowful family. John's wages had stopped, and the winter fuel was
+not yet all cut. A lawyer had to be procured, and they must mortgage
+their little cottage to do it; and although ten days had passed,
+Margaret Fae had not shown, either by word or deed, what was her
+opinion regarding John's guilt or innocence.
+
+But Margaret, as before said, was naturally slow in all her movements,
+so slow that even Scotch caution had begun to call her cruel or
+careless. But this was a great injustice. She had weighed carefully in
+her own mind everything against John, and put beside it his own letter
+to her and her intimate knowledge of his character, and then solemnly
+sat down in God's presence to take such counsel as he should put into
+her heart. After many prayerful, waiting days she reached a conclusion
+which was satisfactory to herself; and she then put away from her
+every doubt of John's innocence, and resolved on the course to be
+pursued.
+
+In the first place she would need money to clear the guiltless and to
+seek the guilty, and she resolved to continue her father's business.
+She had assisted him so long with his accounts that his methods were
+quite familiar to her; all she needed was some one to handle the rough
+goods, and stand between her and the rude sailors with whom the
+business was mainly conducted.
+
+Who was this to be? Ragon Torr? She was sure Ragon would have been her
+father's choice. He had taken all charge of the funeral, and had since
+hung round the house, ready at any moment to do her service. But Ragon
+would testify against John Sabay, and she had besides an unaccountable
+antipathy to his having any nearer relation with her. "I'll ask
+Geordie Sweyn," she said, after a long consultation with her own slow
+but sure reasoning powers; "he'll keep the skippers an' farmers i' awe
+o' him; an' he's just as honest as any ither man."
+
+So Geordie was sent for and the proposal made and accepted. "Thou wilt
+surely be true to me, Geordie?"
+
+"As sure as death, Miss Margaret;" and when he gave her his great
+brawny hand on it, she knew her affairs in that direction were safe.
+
+Next morning the shop was opened as usual, and Geordie Sweyn stood in
+Peter Fae's place. The arrangement had been finally made so rapidly
+that it had taken all Stromness by surprise. But no one said anything
+against it; many believed it to be wisely done, and those who did not,
+hardly cared to express dissatisfaction with a man whose personal
+prowess and ready hand were so well known.
+
+The same day Christine received a very sisterly letter from Margaret,
+begging her to come and talk matters over with her. There were such
+obvious reasons why Margaret could not go to Christine, that the
+latter readily complied with the request; and such was the influence
+that this calm, cool, earnest girl had over the elder woman, that she
+not only prevailed upon her to accept money to fee the lawyer in
+John's defence, but also whatever was necessary for their comfort
+during the approaching winter. Thus Christine and Margaret mutually
+strengthened each other, and both cottage and prison were always the
+better for every meeting.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+But soon the summer passed away, and the storms and snows of winter
+swept over the lonely island. There would be no court until December
+to try John, and his imprisonment in Kirkwall jail grew every day more
+dreary. But no storms kept Christine long away from him. Over almost
+impassable roads and mosses she made her way on the little ponies of
+the country, which had to perform a constant steeple-chase over the
+bogs and chasms.
+
+All things may be borne when they are sure; and every one who loved
+John was glad when at last he could have a fair hearing. Nothing
+however was in his favor. The bailies and the murdered man's servants,
+even the dominie and his daughter could tell but one tale. "Peter Fae
+had declared with his last breath that John Sabay had stabbed him."
+The prosecution also brought forward strong evidence to show that very
+bitter words had passed, a few days before the murder, between the
+prisoner and the murdered man.
+
+In the sifting of this evidence other points were brought out, still
+more convincing. Hacon Flett said that he was walking to Stromness by
+the beach to meet his sweetheart, when he heard the cry of murder, and
+in the gloaming light saw John Sabay distinctly running across the
+moor. When asked how he knew certainly that it was John, he said that
+he knew him by his peculiar dress, its bright buttons, and the glimmer
+of gold braid on his cap. He said also, in a very decided manner, that
+John Sabay passed Ragon Torr so closely that he supposed they had
+spoken.
+
+Then Ragon being put upon his oath, and asked solemnly to declare who
+was the man that had thus passed him, tremblingly answered,
+
+"_John Sabay!_"
+
+John gave him such a look as might well haunt a guilty soul through
+all eternity; and old Dame Alison, roused by a sense of intolerable
+wrong, cried out,
+
+"Know this, there's a day coming that will show the black heart; but
+traitors' words ne'er yet hurt the honest cause."
+
+"Peace, woman!" said an officer of the court, not unkindly.
+
+"Weel, then, God speak for me! an' my thoughts are free; if I daurna
+say, I may think."
+
+In defence Margaret Fae swore that she had been with John on Brogar
+Bridge until nearly time to meet her father, and that John then wore a
+black broadcloth suit and a high hat; furthermore, that she believed
+it utterly impossible for him to have gone home, changed his clothes,
+and then reached the scene of the murder at the time Hacon Flett and
+Ragon Torr swore to his appearance there.
+
+But watches were very uncommon then; no one of the witnesses had any
+very distinct idea of the time; some of them varied as much as an hour
+in their estimate. It was also suggested by the prosecution that John
+probably had the other suit secreted near the scene of the murder.
+Certain it was that he had not been able either to produce it or to
+account for its mysterious disappearance.
+
+The probability of Sandy Beg being the murderer was then advanced; but
+Sandy was known to have sailed in a whaling vessel before the murder,
+and no one had seen him in Stromness since his departure for Wick
+after his dismissal from Peter Fae's service.
+
+No one? Yes, some one had seen him. That fatal night, as Ragon Torr
+was crossing the moor to Peter's house--he having some news of a very
+particular vessel to give--he heard the cry of "Murder," and he heard
+Hacon Flett call out, "I know thee, John Sabay. Thou hast stabbed my
+master!" and he instantly put himself in the way of the flying man.
+Then he knew at once that it was Sandy Beg in John Sabay's clothes.
+The two men looked a moment in each other's face, and Sandy saw in
+Ragon's something that made him say,
+
+"She'll pat Sandy safe ta night, an' that will mak her shure o' ta
+lass she's seeking far."
+
+There was no time for parley; Ragon's evil nature was strongest, and
+he answered, "There is a cellar below my house, thou knows it weel."
+
+Indeed, most of the houses in Stromness had underground passages, and
+places of concealment used for smuggling purposes, and Ragon's lonely
+house was a favorite rendezvous. The vessel whose arrival he had been
+going to inform Peter of was a craft not likely to come into Stromness
+with all her cargo.
+
+Towards morning Ragon had managed to see Sandy and send him out to her
+with such a message as insured her rapid disappearance. Sandy had also
+with him a sum of money which he promised to use in transporting
+himself at once to India, where he had a cousin in the forty-second
+Highland regiment.
+
+Ragon had not at first intended to positively swear away his friend's
+life; he had been driven to it, not only by Margaret's growing
+antipathy to him and her decided interest in John's case and family,
+but also by that mysterious power of events which enable the devil to
+forge the whole chain that binds a man when the first link is given
+him. But the word once said, he adhered positively to it, and even
+asserted it with quite unnecessary vehemence and persistence.
+
+After such testimony there was but one verdict possible. John Sabay
+was declared guilty of murder, and sentenced to death. But there was
+still the same strange and unreasonable belief in his innocence, and
+the judge, with a peculiar stretch of clemency, ordered the sentence
+to be suspended until he could recommend the prisoner to his majesty's
+mercy.
+
+A remarkable change now came over Dame Alison. Her anger, her sense of
+wrong, her impatience, were over. She had come now to where she could
+do nothing else but trust implicitly in God; and her mind, being thus
+stayed, was kept in a strange exultant kind of perfect peace. Lost
+confidence? Not a bit of it! Both Christine and her mother had reached
+a point where they knew
+
+  "That right is right, since God is God,
+    And right the day must win;
+  To doubt would be disloyalty,
+    To falter would be sin."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+Slowly the weary winter passed away. And just as spring was opening
+there began to be talk of Ragon Torr's going away. Margaret continued
+to refuse his addresses with a scorn he found it ill to bear; and he
+noticed that many of his old acquaintances dropped away from him.
+There is a distinct atmosphere about every man, and the atmosphere
+about Ragon people began to avoid. No one could have given a very
+clear reason for doing so; one man did not ask another why; but the
+fact needed no reasoning about, it was there.
+
+One day, when Paul Calder was making up his spring cargoes, Ragon
+asked for a boat, and being a skilful sailor, he was accepted. But no
+sooner was the thing known, than Paul had to seek another crew.
+
+"What was the matter?"
+
+"Nothing; they did not care to sail with Ragon Torr, that was all."
+
+This circumstance annoyed Ragon very much. He went home quite
+determined to leave Stromness at once and for ever. Indeed he had been
+longing to do so for many weeks, but had stayed partly out of bravado,
+and partly because there were few opportunities of getting away during
+the winter.
+
+He went home and shut himself in his own room, and began to count his
+hoarded gold. While thus employed, there was a stir or movement under
+his feet which he quite understood. Some one was in the secret cellar,
+and was coming up. He turned hastily round, and there was Sandy Beg.
+
+"Thou scoundrel!" and he fairly gnashed his teeth at the intruder,
+"what dost thou want here?"
+
+"She'll be wanting money an' help."
+
+Badly enough Sandy wanted both; and a dreadful story he told. He had
+indeed engaged himself at Wick for a whaling voyage, but at the last
+moment had changed his mind and deserted. For somewhere among the
+wilds of Rhiconich in Sutherland he had a mother, a wild,
+superstitious, half-heathen Highland woman, and he wanted to see her.
+Coming back to the coast, after his visit, he had stopped a night at a
+little wayside inn, and hearing some drovers talking of their gold in
+Gallic, a language which he well understood, he had followed them into
+the wild pass of Gualon, and there shot them from behind a rock. For
+this murder he had been tracked, and was now so closely pursued that
+he had bribed with all the gold he had a passing fishing-smack to drop
+him at Stromness during the night.
+
+"She'll gae awa now ta some ither place; 'teet will she! An' she's
+hungry--an' unco dry;" all of which Sandy emphasized by a desperate
+and very evil look.
+
+The man was not to be trifled with, and Ragon knew that he was in his
+power. If Sandy was taken, he would confess all, and Ragon knew well
+that in such case transportation for life and hard labor would be his
+lot. Other considerations pressed him heavily--the shame, the loss,
+the scorn of Margaret, the triumph of all his ill-wishers. No, he had
+gone too far to retreat.
+
+He fed the villain, gave him a suit of his own clothes, and L50, and
+saw him put off to sea. Sandy promised to keep well out in the bay,
+until some vessel going North to Zetland or Iceland, or some Dutch
+skipper bound for Amsterdam, took him up. All the next day Ragon was
+in misery, but nightfall came and he had heard nothing of Sandy,
+though several craft had come into port. If another day got over he
+would feel safe; but he told himself that he was in a gradually
+narrowing circle, and that the sooner he leaped outside of it the
+better.
+
+When he reached home the old couple who hung about the place, and who
+had learned to see nothing and to hear nothing, came to him and
+voluntarily offered a remark.
+
+"Queer folk an' strange folk have been here, an' ta'en awa some claes
+out o' the cellar."
+
+Ragon asked no questions. He knew what clothes they were--that suit of
+John Sabay's in which Sandy Beg had killed Peter Fae, and the rags
+which Sandy had a few hours before exchanged for one of his own
+sailing-suits. He needed no one to tell him what had happened. Sandy
+had undoubtedly bespoke the very vessel containing the officers in
+search of him, and had confessed all, as he said he would. The men
+were probably at this moment looking for him.
+
+He lifted the gold prepared for any such emergency, and, loosening his
+boat, pulled for life and death towards Mayness Isle. Once in the
+rapid "race" that divides it and Olla from the ocean, he knew no boat
+would dare to follow him. While yet a mile from it he saw that he was
+rapidly pursued by a four-oared boat. Now all his wild Norse nature
+asserted itself. He forgot everything but that he was eluding his
+pursuers, and as the chase grew hotter, closer, more exciting, his
+enthusiasm carried him far beyond all prudence.
+
+He began to shout or chant to his wild efforts some old Norse
+death-song, and just as they gained on him he shot into the "race" and
+defied them. Oars were useless there, and they watched him fling them
+far away and stand up with outstretched arms in the little skiff. The
+waves tossed it hither and thither, the boiling, racing flood hurried
+it with terrific force towards the ocean. The tall, massive figure
+swayed like a reed in a tempest, and suddenly the half despairing,
+half defying song was lost in the roar of the bleak, green surges. All
+knew then what had happened.
+
+"Let me die the death o' the righteous," murmured one old man, piously
+veiling his eyes with his bonnet; and then the boat turned and went
+silently back to Stromness.
+
+Sandy Beg was in Kirkwall jail. He had made a clean breast of all his
+crimes, and measures were rapidly taken for John Sabay's enlargement
+and justification. When he came out of prison Christine and Margaret
+were waiting for him, and it was to Margaret's comfortable home he was
+taken to see his mother. "For we are ane household now, John," she
+said tenderly, "an' Christine an' mother will ne'er leave me any
+mair."
+
+Sandy's trial came on at the summer term. He was convicted on his own
+confession, and sentenced to suffer the penalty of his crime upon the
+spot where he stabbed Peter Fae. For some time he sulkily rejected all
+John's efforts to mitigate his present condition, or to prepare him
+for his future. But at last the tender spot in his heart was found.
+John discovered his affection for his half-savage mother, and promised
+to provide for all her necessities.
+
+"It's only ta poun' o' taa, an' ta bit cabin ta shelter her she'll
+want at a'," but the tears fell heavily on the red, hairy hands; "an'
+she'll na tell her fat ill outsent cam to puir Sandy."
+
+"Thou kens I will gie her a' she needs, an' if she chooses to come to
+Orkney--"
+
+"Na, na, she wullna leave ta Hieland hills for naught at a'."
+
+"Then she shall hae a siller crown for every month o' the year,
+Sandy."
+
+The poor, rude creature hardly knew how to say a "thanks;" but John
+saw it in his glistening eyes and heard it in the softly-muttered
+words, "She was ta only are tat e'er caret for Santy Beg."
+
+It was a solemn day in Stromness when he went to the gallows. The
+bells tolled backward, the stores were all closed, and there were
+prayers both in public and private for the dying criminal. But few
+dared to look upon the awful expiation, and John spent the hour in
+such deep communion with God and his own soul that its influence
+walked with him to the end of life.
+
+And when his own sons were grown up to youths, one bound for the sea
+and the other for Marischal College, Aberdeen, he took them aside and
+told them this story, adding,
+
+"An' know this, my lads: the shame an' the sorrow cam a' o' ane
+thing--I made light o' my mother's counsel, an' thought I could do
+what nane hae ever done, gather mysel' with the deil's journeymen, an'
+yet escape the wages o' sin. Lads! lads! there's nae half-way house
+atween right and wrang; know that."
+
+"But, my father," said Hamish, the younger of the two, "thou did at
+the last obey thy mother."
+
+"Ay, ay, Hamish; but mak up thy mind to this: it isna enough that a
+man rins a gude race; he maun also _start at the right time_. This is
+what I say to thee, Hamish, an' to thee, Donald: fear God, an' ne'er
+lightly heed a gude mother's advice. It's weel wi' the lads that carry
+a mother's blessing through the warld wi' them."
+
+
+
+
+Lile Davie.
+
+
+
+
+LILE DAVIE.
+
+
+In Yorkshire and Lancashire the word "lile" means "little," but in the
+Cumberland dales it has a far wider and nobler definition. There it is
+a term of honor, of endearment, of trust, and of approbation. David
+Denton won the pleasant little prefix before he was ten years old.
+When he saved little Willy Sabay out of the cold waters of Thirlmere,
+the villagers dubbed him "Lile Davie." When he took a flogging to
+spare the crippled lad of Farmer Grimsby, men and women said proudly,
+"He were a lile lad;" and when he gave up his rare half-holiday to
+help the widow Gates glean, they had still no higher word of praise
+than "kind lile Davie."
+
+However, it often happens that a prophet has no honor among his own
+people, and David was the black sheep of the miserly household of
+Denton Farm. It consisted of old Christopher Denton, his three sons,
+Matthew, Sam, and David, and his daughter Jennie. They had the
+reputation of being "people well-to-do," but they were not liked among
+the Cumberland "states-men," who had small sympathy for their
+niggardly hospitality and petty deeds of injustice.
+
+One night in early autumn Christopher was sitting at the great black
+oak table counting over the proceeds of the Kendal market, and Matt
+and Sam looked greedily on. There was some dispute about the wool and
+the number of sheep, and Matt said angrily, "There's summat got to be
+done about Davie. He's just a clish-ma-saunter, lying among the ling
+wi' a book in his hand the lee-long day. It is just miff-maff and
+nonsense letting him go any longer to the schoolmaster. I am fair
+jagged out wi' his ways."
+
+"That's so," said Sam.
+
+"Then why don't you gie the lad a licking, and make him mind the sheep
+better? I saw him last Saturday playing sogers down at Thirlston with
+a score or more of idle lads like himsel'." The old man spoke
+irritably, and looked round for the culprit. "I'll lay thee a penny
+he's at the same game now. Gie him a licking when he comes in, son
+Matt."
+
+"Nay, but Matt wont," said Jennie Denton, with a quiet decision. She
+stood at her big wheel, spinning busily, though it was nine o'clock;
+and though her words were few and quiet, the men knew from her face
+and manner that Davie's licking would not be easily accomplished. In
+fact, Jennie habitually stood between Davie and his father and
+brothers. She had nursed him through a motherless babyhood, and had
+always sympathized in his eager efforts to rise above the sordid life
+that encompassed him. It was Jennie who had got him the grudging
+permission to go in the evening to the village schoolmaster for some
+book-learning. But peculiar circumstances had favored her in this
+matter, for neither the old man nor his sons could read or write, and
+they had begun to find this, in their changed position, and in the
+rapid growth of general information, a serious drawback in business
+matters.
+
+Therefore, as Davie could not be spared in the day, the schoolmaster
+agreed for a few shillings a quarter to teach him in the evening. This
+arrangement altered the lad's whole life. He soon mastered the simple
+branches he had been sent to acquire, and then master and pupil far
+outstepped old Christopher's programme, and in the long snowy nights,
+and in the balmy summer ones, pored with glowing cheeks over old
+histories and wonderful lives of great soldiers and sailors.
+
+In fact, David Denton, like most good sons, had a great deal of his
+mother in him, and she had been the daughter of a long line of brave
+Westmoreland troopers. The inherited tendencies which had passed over
+the elder boys asserted themselves with threefold force in this last
+child of a dying woman. And among the sheepcotes in the hills he felt
+that he was the son of the men who had defied Cromwell on the banks of
+the Kent and followed Prince Charlie to Preston.
+
+But the stern discipline of a Cumberland states-man's family is not
+easily broken. Long after David had made up his mind to be a soldier
+he continued to bear the cuffs and sneers and drudgery that fell to
+him, watching eagerly for some opportunity of securing his father's
+permission. But of this there was little hope. His knowledge of
+writing and accounts had become of service, and his wish to go into
+the world and desert the great cause of the Denton economies was an
+unheard-of piece of treason and ingratitude.
+
+David ventured to say that he "had taught Jennie to write and count,
+and she was willing to do his work."
+
+The ignorant, loutish brothers scorned the idea of "women-folk
+meddling wi' their 'counts and wool," and, "besides," as Matt argued,
+"Davie's going would necessitate the hiring of two shepherds; no hired
+man would do more than half of what folk did for their ain."
+
+These disputes grew more frequent and more angry, and when Davie had
+added to all his other faults the unpardonable one of falling in love
+with the schoolmaster's niece, there was felt to be no hope for the
+lad. The Dentons had no poor relations; they regarded them as the one
+thing _not_ needful, and they concluded it was better to give Davie a
+commission and send him away.
+
+Poor Jennie did all the mourning for the lad; his father and brothers
+were in the midst of a new experiment for making wool water-proof, and
+pretty Mary Butterworth did not love David as David wished her to love
+him. It was Jennie only who hung weeping on his neck and watched him
+walk proudly and sorrowfully away over the hills into the wide, wide
+world beyond.
+
+Then for many, many long years no more was heard of "Lile Davie
+Denton." The old schoolmaster died and Christopher followed him. But
+the Denton brothers remained together. However, when men make saving
+money the sole end of their existence, their life soon becomes as
+uninteresting as the multiplication table, and people ceased to care
+about the Denton farm, especially as Jennie married a wealthy squire
+over the mountains, and left her brothers to work out alone their new
+devices and economies.
+
+Jennie's marriage was a happy one, but she did not forget her brother.
+There was in Esthwaite Grange a young man who bore his name and who
+was preparing for a like career. And often Jennie Esthwaite told to
+the lads and lasses around her knees the story of their "lile uncle,"
+whom every one but his own kin had loved, and who had gone away to the
+Indies and never come back again. "Lile Davie" was the one bit of
+romance in Esthwaite Grange.
+
+Jennie's brothers had never been across the "fells" that divided
+Denton from Esthwaite; therefore, one morning, twenty-seven years
+after Davie's departure, she was astonished to see Matt coming slowly
+down the Esthwaite side. But she met him with hearty kindness, and
+after he had been rested and refreshed he took a letter from his
+pocket and said, "Jennie, this came from Davie six months syne, but I
+thought then it would be seeking trouble to answer it."
+
+"Why, Matt, this letter is directed to me! How dared you open and keep
+it?"
+
+"Dared, indeed! That's a nice way for a woman to speak to her eldest
+brother!' Read it, and then you'll see why I kept it from you."
+
+Poor Jennie's eyes filled fuller at every line. He was sick and
+wounded and coming home to die, and wanted to see his old home and
+friends once more.
+
+"O Matt! Matt!" she cried; "how cruel, how shameful, not to answer
+this appeal."
+
+"Well, I did it for the best; but it seems I have made a mistake. Sam
+and I both thought an ailing body dovering round the hearthstone and
+doorstone was not to be thought of--and nobody to do a hand's turn but
+old Elsie, who is nearly blind--and Davie never was one to do a decent
+hand job, let by it was herding sheep, and that it was not like he'd
+be fit for; so we just agreed to let the matter lie where it was."
+
+"Oh, it was a cruel shame, Matt."
+
+"Well, it was a mistake; for yesterday Sam went to Kendall, and there,
+in the Stramon-gate, he met Tom Philipson, who is just home from
+India. And what does Tom say but, 'Have you seen the general yet?'
+and, 'Great man is Gen. Denton,' and, 'Is it true that he is going to
+buy the Derwent estate?' and, 'Wont the Indian Government miss Gen.
+Denton!' Sam wasn't going to let Tom see how the land lay, and Tom
+went off saying that Sam had no call to be so pesky proud; that it
+wasn't him who had conquered the Mahrattas and taken the Ghiznee
+Pass."
+
+Jennie was crying bitterly, and saying softly to herself, "O my brave
+laddie! O my bonnie lile Davie!"
+
+"Hush, woman! No good comes of crying. Write now as soon as you like,
+and the sooner the better."
+
+In a very few hours Jennie had acted on this advice, and, though the
+writing and spelling were wonderful, the poor sick general, nursing
+himself at the Bath waters, felt the love that spoke in every word. He
+had not expected much from his brothers; it was Jennie and Jennie's
+bairns he wanted to see. He was soon afterwards an honored guest in
+Esthwaite Grange, and the handsome old soldier, riding slowly among
+the lovely dales, surrounded by his nephews and nieces, became a
+well-known sight to the villages around.
+
+Many in Thirlston remembered him, and none of his old companions found
+themselves forgotten. Nor did he neglect his brothers. These cautious
+men had become of late years manufacturers, and it was said were
+growing fabulously rich. They had learned the value of the low coppice
+woods on their fell-side, and had started a bobbin-mill which Sam
+superintended, while Matt was on constant duty at the great steam-mill
+on Milloch-Force, where he spun his own wools into blankets and
+serges.
+
+The men were not insensible to the honor of their brother's career;
+they made great capital of it privately. But they were also intensely
+dissatisfied at the reckless way in which he spent his wealth. Young
+David Esthwaite had joined a crack regiment with his uncle's
+introduction and at his uncle's charges, and Jennie and Mary Esthwaite
+had been what the brothers considered extravagantly dowered in order
+that they might marry two poor clergymen whom they had set their
+hearts on.
+
+"It is just sinful, giving women that much good gold," said Matt
+angrily: "and here we are needing it to keep a great business afloat."
+
+It was the first time Matt had dared to hint that the mill under his
+care was not making money, and he was terribly shocked when Sam made a
+similar confession. In fact, the brothers, with all their cleverness
+and industry, were so ignorant that they were necessarily at the mercy
+of those they employed, and they had fallen into roguish hands. Sam
+proposed that David should be asked to look over their affairs and
+tell them where the leakage was: "He was always a lile-hearted chap,
+and I'd trust him, Matt, up hill and down dale, I would."
+
+But Matt objected to this plan. He said David must be taken through
+the mills and the most made of everything, and then in a week or two
+afterwards be offered a partnership; and Matt, being the eldest,
+carried the day. A great festival was arranged, everything was seen to
+the best advantage, and David was exceedingly interested. He lingered
+with a strange fascination among the steam-looms, and Matt saw the
+bait had taken, for as they walked back together to the old homestead
+David said, "You were ever a careful man, Matt, but it must take a
+deal of money--you understand, brother--if you need at any time--I
+hope I don't presume."
+
+"Certainly not. Yes, we are doing a big business--a very good business
+indeed; perhaps when you are stronger you may like to join us."
+
+"I sha'n't get stronger, Matt--so I spoke now."
+
+Sam, in his anxiety, thought Matt had been too prudent; he would have
+accepted Davie's offer at once; but Matt was sure that by his plan
+they would finally get all the general's money into their hands.
+However, the very clever always find some quantity that they have
+failed to take into account. After this long day at the mills General
+Denton had a severe relapse, and it was soon evident that his work was
+nearly finished.
+
+"But you must not fret, Jennie dear," he said cheerfully; "I am indeed
+younger in years than you, but then I have lived a hundred times as
+long. What a stirring, eventful life I have had! I must have lived a
+cycle among these hills to have evened it; and most of my comrades are
+already gone."
+
+One day, at the very last, he said, "Jennie, there is one bequest in
+my will may astonish you, but it is all right. I went to see her a
+month ago. She is a widow now with a lot of little lads around her.
+And I loved her, Jennie--never loved any woman but her. Poor Mary! She
+has had a hard time; I have tried to make things easier."
+
+"You had always a lile heart, Davie; you could do no wrong to any
+one."
+
+"I hope not. I--hope--not." And with these words and a pleasant smile
+the general answered some call that he alone heard, and trusting in
+his Saviour, passed confidently
+
+  "The quicks and drift that fill the rift
+    Between this world and heaven."
+
+His will, written in the kindest spirit, caused a deal of angry
+feeling; for it was shown by it that after his visit to the Denton
+Mills he had revoked a bequest to the brothers of L20,000, because, as
+he explicitly said, "My dear brothers do not need it;" and this
+L20,000 he left to Mary Butterworth Pierson, "who is poor and
+delicate, and does sorely need it." And the rest of his property he
+divided between Jennie and Jennie's bairns.
+
+In the first excitement of their disappointment and ruin, Sam, who
+dreaded his brother's anger, and who yet longed for some sympathetic
+word, revealed to Jennie and her husband the plan Matt had laid, and
+how signally it had failed.
+
+"I told him, squire, I did for sure, to be plain and honest with
+Davie. Davie was always a lile fellow, and he would have helped us out
+of trouble. Oh, dear! oh, dear! that L20,000 would just have put a'
+things right."
+
+"A straight line, lad, is always the shortest line in business and
+morals, as well as in geometry; and I have aye found that to be true
+in my dealings is to be wise. Lying serves no one but the devil, as
+ever I made out."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Scottish sketches, by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCOTTISH SKETCHES ***
+
+***** This file should be named 14494.txt or 14494.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/9/14494/
+
+Produced by Ted Garvin, Amy and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.