hurried retreat of the surveyors was described to him in somewhat graphic language by one of those concerned in causing it, he struck his clenched fist in the palm of his other hand, and cried, "Weel saired! There! that's what comes o' yer new He had all but broken his promise, as he had already broken his faith, to Malcolm, when his wife laid her hand on his mouth and stopped the issuing word. He started with sudden conviction, and stood for a moment in absolute terror at sight of the precipice down which he had been on the point of falling, then straightway excusing himself to his conscience on the ground of non-intent, was instantly angrier with Malcolm than before. He could not reflect that the disregarded cause of the threatened sin was the greater sin of the two. The breach of that charity which thinketh no evil may be a graver fault than a hasty breach of promise. took refuge in resentment, and to support his hard judgment put false and cruel interpretations on whatever befell. So that, with love and anger and wrong unacknowledged, his heart was full of bitter ness. "It's a' the drumblet (muddied, troub led) luve o' 'im!" said Annie to herself. "Puir fallow! gien only Ma'colm wad come hame an' lat him ken he's no the villain he taks him for! I'll no believe mysel' 'at the laad I kissed like my ain mither's son afore he gaed awa' wad turn like that upo''s maist the meenute he wat oot o' sicht, an' a' for a feow words aboot a fulish playactin'. Lord bliss us a'! markisses is men! We'll see, Peter, my man," she said, when the neighbor took her leave, “whether the wife, though she hasna been to the ill place - an' that's surely Lon'on- canna tell the true frae the fause full better nor her man 'at kens sae muckle mair nor she wants to ken! Lat sit an' lat see." Peter had not been improving since his return from London. He found less satis- Blue Peter made no reply; but perhaps faction in his religious exercises; was not the deepest depth in his fall was that he unfrequently clouded in temper, occasion-feared his wife might be right, and he ally even to sullenness; referred things oftener than formerly to the vileness of the human nature, but was far less willing than before to allow that he might himself be wrong; while somehow the Bible had no more the same plenitude of relation to the wants of his being, and he rose from the reading of it unrefreshed. Men asked each other what had come to Blue Peter, but no one could answer the question. For himself, he attributed the change which he could not but recognize, although | he did not understand it, to the withdrawing of the spirit of God, in displeasure that he had not merely allowed himself to be inveigled into a playhouse, but, far worse, had enjoyed the wickedness he saw there. When his wife reasoned that God knew he had gone in ignorance, trusting his friend, "What's that to him," he cried, "wha judges richteous judgment? What's a' oor puir meeserable excuzes i' the een 'at can see throu' the wa's o' the hert? Ignorance is no innocence." Thus he lied for God, pleading his cause on the principles of hell. But the eye of his wife was single, and her body full of light therefore to her it was plain that neither the theatre nor his conscience concerning it was the cause of the change: it had to do with his feelings toward Malcolm. He wronged his friend in his heart-half knew it, but would not own it. Fearing to search himself, he have one day to stand ashamed before both her and his friend. But there are marvellous differences in the quality of the sins of different men, and a noble nature like Peter's would have to sink far indeed to be beyond a ready redemption. Still, there was one element mingling with his wrongness whose very triviality increased the difficulty of long-delaying repentance: he had been not a little proud at finding himself the friend of a marquis. From the first they had been friends, when the one was a youth and the other a child, and had been out together in many a stormy and dangerous sea. More than once or twice, driven from the churlish ocean to the scarce less inhospitable shore, they had lain all night in each other's arms to keep the life awake within their frozen garments. And now this marquis spoke English to him! It rankled. All the time Blue Peter was careful to say nothing to injure Malcolm in the eyes of his former comrades. His manner when his name was mentioned, however, he could not honestly school to the convey-ance of the impression that things were as they had been betwixt them. Folk marked the difference, and it went to swell the general feeling that Malcolm had done ill to forsake a seafaring life for one upon which all fishermen must look down with contempt. Some in the Seaton went so far in their enmity as even to hint an explanation of his conduct in the truth | had, she rated him soundly, and sent him of the discarded scandal which had laid home saying with the prophet Jonah, “Do Lizzy's child at his door. I not well to be angry?" for that also he But amongst them was one who, having placed to Malcolm's account. Nor was wronged him thus, and been convinced of his home any more a harbor for his riven her error, was now so fiercely his partisan boat, seeing his wife only longed for the as to be ready to wrong the whole town return of him with whom his spirit chode : in his defence: that was Meg Partan, she regarded him as an exiled king, one properly Mistress Findlay, Lizzy's mother. | day to reappear and justify himself in the Although the daughter had never con- eyes of all, friends and enemies. fessed, the mother had yet arrived at the right conclusion concerning the father of her child-how, she could hardly herself have told, for the conviction had grown by accretion: a sign here and a sign there, impalpable save to maternal sense, had led her to the truth; and now, if any one had a word to say against Malcolm, he had better not say it in the presence of the Partaness. One day Blue Peter was walking home from the upper town of Portlossie, not with the lazy gait of the fisherman off work, poised backward with hands in trouser-pockets, but stooping care-laden with listless swinging arms. Thus Meg Partan met him, and of course attributed his dejection to the factor: "Deil hae 'im for an upsettin' rascal 'at hasna pride eneuch to haud him ohn lickit the gentry's shune! The man maun be fey! I houp he may, an' I wuss I saw the beerial o' 'im makin' for the kirkyaird. It's nae ill to wuss weel to a' body 'at wad be left! His nose is turnt twise the color i' the last twa month. He'll be drinkin' byous. Gien only Ma'colm MacPhail had been at hame to haud him in order!" 66 Peter said nothing, and his silence, to one who spoke out whatever came, seemed fuller of restraints and meanings than it was. She challenged it at once: Noo, what mean ye by sayin' naething, Peter? Guid kens it's the warst thing man or woman can say o' onybody to haud their tongue. It's a thing I never was blamed wi' mysel', an' I wadna du't." "That's verra true," said Peter. "The mair weicht's intill't whan I layt 't to the door o' anither," persisted Meg. "Peter, gien ye hae onything again' my freen', Ma'colm MacPhail, oot wi't like a man, an' no playac' the gunpoother plot ower again. Ill wull's the warst poother ye can lay i' the boddom o' ony man's boat. But say 'at ye like, I s' uphaud Ma'colm again' the haill poustie o' ye. Gien he was but here! I say 't again, honest laad!" But she could not rouse Peter to utterance, and losing what little temper she CHAPTER XLVIII. TORTURE. THOUGH unable to eat any breakfast, Malcolm persuaded himself that he felt nearly as well as usual when he went to receive his mistress's orders. Florimel had had enough of horseback, indeed, for several days to come, and would not ride. So he saddled Kelpie, and rode to Chelsea to look after his boat. To get rid of the mare, he rang the stable-bell at Mr. Lenorme's and the gardener let him in. As he was putting her up, the man told him that the housekeeper had heard from his master. Malcolm went to the house to learn what he might, and found to his surprise, that if he had gone on the Continent he was there no longer, for the letter, which contained only directions concerning some of his pictures, was dated from Newcastle, and bore the Durham postmark of a week ago. Malcolm remembered that he had heard Lenorme speak of Durham Cathedral, and in the hope that he might be spending some time there, begged the housekeeper to allow him to go to the study to write to her master. When he entered, however, he saw something that made him change his plan, and having written, instead of sending the letter, as he had intended, enclosed to the postmaster at Durham, he left it upon an easel. It contained merely an earnest entreaty to be made and kept acquainted with his movements, that he might at once let him know if anything should occur that he ought to be informed concerning. He found all on board the yacht in shipshape, only Davy was absent. Travers explained that he sent him on shore for a few hours every day. He was a sharp boy, he said, and the more he saw the more useful he would be, and as he never gave him any money, there was no risk of his mistaking his hours. "When do you expect him?" asked Malcolm. "At four o'clock," answered Travers. "It is four now," said Malcolm. A shrill whistle came from the Chelsea shore. "And there's Davy," said Travers. Malcolm got into the dinghy and rowed ashore. 66 Davy," he said, "I don't want you to be all day on board, but I can't have you be longer away than an hour at a time." 66 Ay, ay, sir," " said Davy. "Now attend to me." "Ay, ay, sir." who could tell what might appear? For in such regions wild beasts range, evil herbs flourish, and demons go about. If in very deed he lived and moved and had his being in God, then assuredly there ought not to be one cranny in his nature, one realm of his consciousness, one wellspring of thought, where the will of God was a stranger. If all were as it should be, then surely there would be no moment, looking back on which he could not at least say, "Do you know Lady Lossie's house?" Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody"No, sir, but I ken hersel." "How is that?" "I hae seen her mair nor twa or three times ridin' wi' yersel' to yon hoose yon'er." "Would you know her again?" 66 Ay wad I-fine that. What for no, sir?" "It's a good way to see a lady across the Thames and know her again." "Ow! but I tuik the spy-glass till her," answered Davy, reddening. "You are sure of her, then?" "I am that, sir." "Then come with me, and I will show you where she lives. I will not ride faster than you can run. But mind you don't look as if you belonged to me." "Na, na, sir. There's fowk takin' nottice. "What do you mean by that?" "There's a wee laddie been efter mysel' twise or thrice." "Did you do anything?" "He wasna big eneuch to lick, sae I jist got him the last time an' pu'd his niz, an' I dinna think he'll come efter me again." To see what the boy could do, Malcolm let Kelpie go at a good trot, but Davy kept up without effort, now shooting ahead, now falling behind, now stopping to look in at a window, and now to cast a glance at a game of pitch-and-toss. No mere passer-by could have suspected that the sailor-boy belonged to the horseman. He dropped him not far from Portland Place, telling him to go and look at the number, but not stare at the house. All the time he had had no return of the sickness, but, although thus actively occupied, had felt greatly depressed. One main cause of this was, however, that he had not found his religion stand him in such stead as he might have hoped. It was not yet what it must be to prove its reality. And now his eyes were afresh opened to see that in his nature and thoughts lay large spaces wherein God ruled not supremedesert places where LIVING AGE. 902 VOL. XVIII. So sweet, we know not we are listening to itThou, the mean while, was blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy! "In that agony o' sickness, as I sat upo' the stair," he said to himself - for still in his own thoughts he spoke his native tongue" whaur was my God in a' my thouchts? I did cry till 'im, I min' weel, but it was my reelin' brain an' no my trustin' hert 'at cried. Aih me! I doobt gien the Lord war to come to me noo, he wadna fin' muckle faith i' my pairt o' the yerth. Aih! I wad like to lat him see something like lippenin'! I would fain trust him till his hert's content. But I doobt it's only speeritual ambeetion, or better wad hae come o' 't by this time. Gien that sickness come again, I maun see, noo 'at I'm forewarned o' my ain wakeness, what I can du. It maun be something better nor last time, or I'll tine hert a'thegither. Weel, maybe I need to be heumblet. The Lord help me!" In the evening he went to the schoolmaster, and gave him a pretty full account of where he had been and what had taken place since last he saw him, dwelling chiefly on his endeavors with Lady Clementina. From Mr. Graham's lodging to the north-eastern gate of the Regent's Park the nearest way led through a certain passage, which, although a thoroughfare to persons on foot, was fittle known. Malcolm had early discovered it, and always used it. Part of this short cut was the yard and back premises of a small publichouse. It was between eleven and twelve as he entered it for the second time that night. Sunk in thought and suspecting no evil, he was struck down from behind and lost his consciousness. When he came to himself he was lying in the public-house, with his head bound up and a doctor standing over him, who asked him if he had been robbed. He searched his pockets and found that his old watch was gone, but his money left. One of the men CHAPTER XLIX. THE PHILTRE. standing about said he would see him | admirer, the scullery-maid, who, as soon home. He half thought he had seen him as she heard what was the matter, hasbefore, and did not like the look of him, tened to his room. but accepted the offer, hoping to get on the track of something thereby. As soon as they entered the comparative solitude of the park he begged his companion, who had scarcely spoken all the way, to give him his arm, and leaned upon it as if still suffering, but watched him closely. About the middle of the park, where not a creature was in sight, he felt him begin to fumble in his coat-pocket and draw something from it. But when, unresisted, he snatched away his other arm, Malcolm's fist followed it, and the man fell, nor made any resistance while he took from him a short stick loaded with lead, and his own watch, which he found in his waistcoat pocket. Then the fellow rose with appar-in great agitation entered, not following ent difficulty, but the moment he was on bis legs ran like a hare, and Malcolm let him run, for he felt unable to follow him. As soon as he reached home he went to bed, for his head ached severely; but he slept pretty well, and in the morning flattered himself he felt much as usual. But it was as if all the night that horrible sickness had been lying in wait on the stair to spring upon him; for the moment he reached the same spot on his way down, he almost fainted. It was worse than be fore: his very soul seemed to turn sick. But although his heart died within him, somehow, in the confusion of thought and feeling occasioned by intense suffering, it seemed while he clung to the balusters as if with both hands he were clinging to the skirts of God's garment, and through the black smoke of his fainting his soul seemed to be struggling up toward the light of his being. Presently the horrible sense subsided as before, and again he sought to descend the stair and go to Kelpie. But immediately the sickness returned, and all he could do after a long and vain struggle was to crawl on hands and knees up the stairs and back to his room. There he crept upon his bed, and was feebly committing Kelpie to the care of her Maker, when consciousness forsook him. It returned, heralded by frightful pains all over his body, which by-and-by subsiding, he sunk again to the bottom of the black Lethe. Meantime, Kelpie had got so wildly uproarious that Merton tossed her half a truss of hay, which she attacked like an enemy, and ran to the house to get somebody to call Malcolm. After what seemed endless delay the door was opened by his BEFORE he came again to himself Malcolm had a dream, which, although very confused, was in parts more vivid than any he had ever had. His surroundings in it were those in which he actually lay, and he was ill, but he thought it the one illness he had before. His head ached, and he could rest in no position he tried. Suddenly he heard a step he knew better than any other approaching the door of his chamber; it opened, and his grandfather his hands, however, in the fashion usual to blindness, but carrying himself like any sight-gifted man. He went straight to the washstand, took up the water-bottle, and with a look of mingled wrath and horror dashed it on the floor. The same instant a cold shiver ran through the dreamer, and his dream vanished. But instead of waking in his bed, he found himself standing in the middle of the floor, his feet wet, the bottle in shivers about them, and, strangest of all, the neck of the bottle in his hand. He lay down again, grew delirious, and tossed about in the remorseless persecution of centuries. But at length his tormentors left him, and when he came to himself he knew he was in his right mind. It was evening, and some one was sitting near his bed. By the light of the long-snuffed tallow candle he saw the glitter of two great black eyes watching him, and recognized the young woman who had admitted him to the house the night of his return, and whom he had since met once or twice as he came and went. The moment she perceived that he was aware of her presence she threw herself on her knees at his bedside, hid her face and began to weep. The sympathy of his nature rendered yet more sensitive by weakness and suffering, Malcolm laid his hand on her head and sought to comfort her. "Don't be alarmed about me," he said: "I shall soon be all right again." "I can't bear it," she sobbed. "I can't bear to see you like that, and all my fault." "Your fault! What can you mean?" said Malcolm. "But I did go for the doctor, for all it may be the hanging of me," she sobbed. "Miss Caley said I wasn't to, but I would and I did. They can't say I meant itcan they?" 66 "I don't understand," said Malcolm feebly. The doctor says somebody's been an' p'isoned you," said the girl with a cry that sounded like a mingled sob and howl; "an' he's been a-pokin' of all sorts of things down your poor throat." And again she cried aloud in her agony. "Well, never mind: I'm not dead, you see, and I'll take better care of myself after this. Thank you for being so good to me: you've saved my life." "Ah! you won't be so kind to me when you know all, Mr. MacPhail," sobbed the girl. "It was myself gave you the horrid stuff, but God knows I didn't mean to do you no harm no more than your own mother." "What made you do it, then?" asked Malcolm. "The witch-woman told me to. She said that-that-if I gave it you- you would you would She buried her face in the bed, and so stifled a fresh howl of pain and shame. "And it was all lies lies!" she resumed, lifting her face again, which now flashed with rage, "for I know you'll hate me worse than ever now." "My poor girl, I never hated you," said Malcolm. "No, but you did as bad: you never looked at me. And now you'll hate me out and out. And the doctor says if you die he'll have it all searched into, and Miss Caley she look at me as if she suspect me of a hand in it; and they won't let alone till they've got me hanged for it; and it's all along of love of you; and I tell you the truth, Mr. MacPhail, and you can do anything with me you like I don't care only you won't let them hang me, will you? Oh, please don't!" She said all this with clasped hands and the tears streaming down her face. Malcolm's impulse was of course to draw her to him and comfort her, but something warned him. "Well, you see I'm not going to die just yet," he said as merrily as he could; "and if I find myself going I shall take care the blame falls on the right person. What was the witchwoman like? Sit down on the chair there and tell me all about her." She obeyed with a sigh, and gave him such a description as he could not mistake. He asked where she lived, but the girl had never met her anywhere but in the street, she said. Questioning her very carefully as to Caley's behavior to her, Malcolm was convinced that she had a hand in the affair. Indeed, she had happily more to do with it than even Mrs. Catanach knew, for she had traversed her treatment to the advantage of Malcolm. The midwife had meant the potion to work slowly, but the lady's-maid had added to the pretended philtre a certain ingredient in whose efficacy she had reason to trust; and the combination, while it wrought more rapidly, had yet apparently set up a counteraction favorable to the efforts of the struggling vitality which it stung to an agonized resistance. But Malcolm's strength was now exhausted. He turned faint, and the girl had the sense to run to the kitchen and get him some soup. As he took it her demeanor and regards made him anxious, uncomfortable, embarrassed. It is to any true man a hateful thing to repel a woman: it is such a reflection upon her. "I've told you everything, Mr. MacPhail, and it's gospel truth I've told you," said the girl after a long pause. It was a relief when first she spoke, but the comfort vanished as she went on, and with slow perhaps unconscious movements approached him. “I would have died for you, and here that devil of a woman has been making me kill you! Oh, how I hate her! Now you will never love me -not one tiny little bit forever and ever!" bit There was a tone of despairful entreaty in her words that touched Malcolm deeply. "I am more indebted to you than I can speak or you imagine,” he said. “You have saved me from my worst enemy. Do not tell any other what you have told me, or let any one know that we have talked together. The day will come when I shall be able to show you my gratitude." Something in his tone struck her, even through the folds of her passion. She looked at him a little amazed, and for a moment the tide ebbed. Then came a rush that overmastered her. She flung her hands above her head, and cried, "That means you will do anything but love me!" "I cannot love you as you mean," said Malcolm. "I promise to be your friend, but more is out of my power." A fierce light came in the girl's eyes. But that instant a terrible cry, such as Malcolm had never heard, but which he knew must be Kelpie's, rang through the air, followed by the shouts of men, the tones of fierce execration and the clash |