t garden of graves over which St. Regulus tower
keeps stately watch. How beautiful it looked, with the clear sky shining
through its open arch, and the brilliant moonlight, bright as day almost,
but softer, flooding every alley of that peaceful spot! It quieted even
the noisy party who were bent on climbing the tower, to catch a view,
such as is rarely equaled, of the picturesque old city and its beautiful
bay.

"A 'comfortable place to sleep in,' as some one once said to me in a
Melbourne church-yard. But 'east or west, home is best.--I think, Bob,
I shall leave it in my will that you are to bury me at St. Andrews.'"

"Nonsense, Uncle Robert! You are not to talk of dying. And you are to
come with us up to the top of the tower. Miss Williams, will you come
too?"

"No, I think she had better not," said Uncle Robert, decisively. "She
will stay here, and I will keep her company."

So the young people all vanished up the tower, and the two elders walked
silently side by side the quiet graves--by the hearts which had ceased
beating, the hands which, however close they lay, would never clasp one
another any more.

"Yes, St. Andrews is a pleasant place," said Robert Roy at last. "I
spoke in jest, but I meant in earnest; I have no wish to leave it again.
And you," he added, seeing that she answered nothing--"what plans have
you? Shall you stay on at the cottage till these young people are
married?"

"Most likely. We are all fond of the little house."

"No wonder. They say a wandering life after a certain number of years
unsettles a man forever; he rests nowhere, but goes on wandering to the
end. But I feel just the contrary. I think I shall stay permanently at
St. Andrews. You will let me come about your cottage, 'like a tame cat,'
as that foolish fellow owned he had called me--will you not?"

"Certainly."

But at the same time she felt there was a strain beyond which she could
not bear. To be so near, yet so far; so much to him, and yet so little.
She was conscious of a wild desire to run away somewhere--run away and
escape it all; of a longing to be dead and buried, deep in the sea, up
away among the stars.

"Will those young people be very long, do you think?"

At the sound of her voice he turned to look at her, and saw that she was
deadly pale, and shivering from head to foot.

"This will never do. You must 'come under my plaidie,' as the children
say, and I will take you home at once. Boys!"