nationality, only a few feet
of clay separating the white man's grave from that of his Indian foe.

'It matters little,' said Moncrieff. 'where one rests,

"For still and peaceful is the grave,
Where, life's vain tumults past,
The appointed house, by Heaven's decree,
Receives us all at last."'

Both Dugald and Archie made excellent patients, and Flora and Aileen the
best of nurses. But _the_ nurse over even these was old Jenny. She was
hospital superintendent, and saw to all the arrangements, even making the
poultices and spreading the salves and plasters with her own hands.

'My mither's a ma_rr_vel at he_rr_bs!' said Moncrieff over and over again,
when he saw the old lady busy at work.

There was one patient, and only one, whom old Jenny did not nurse. This
was Duncan himself. For him Townley did all his skill could suggest, and
was seldom two consecutive hours away from the room where he lay.

In spite of all this it was evident that the ex-poacher was sinking fast.

Then came a day when Moncrieff, Archie, and myself were called into the
dying man's apartment, and heard him make the fullest confession of all
his villainy, and beg for our forgiveness with the tears roiling down his
wan, worn face.

Yes, we forgave him willingly.

May Heaven forgive him too!

At the time of his confession he was strong enough to read over and sign
the document that Townley placed before him. He told Townley too the
addresses of the men who had assisted him in the old vault at the ruined
kirk in Coila.

And Duncan had seemed brighter and calmer for several days after this. But
he told us he had no desire to live now.

Then, one morning the change came, and so he sank and died.

* * * * *

It was several months before we could make up our minds to leave 'Our Home
in the Silver West.' Indeed, there was considerable preparation to be made
for the long homeward voyage that was before us; besides, Townley had no
inclination to hurry matters now that he felt sure of victory.

Victory was not even yet a certainty, however. The estate of Coila was
well worth fighting for. Was there not the possibility, the bare
possibility, that the solicitors or advocates of Le Roi, or the M'Rae, who
now held the castle and glen, might find some fatal flaw in the evidence
which Townley had spent so much time and care in working out a