ed aloud, startled by the sight of the young man's
ghastly face and wild eyes.

But Donald did not seem to be aware of his presence. He looked around
the room as if dazed.

"It's true, then!" he cried in a harsh whisper, "it's true."

His eyes were fixed unmeaningly on the elder.

"He was more than a father to me; and I murdered him," he added
distinctly.

Andrew Johnstone rose stiffly and came over to where the boy stood.
"Wheesht, Donald!" he whispered in alarm. "Wheesht, lad, it is the
Lord's will!"

Donald stared at him stupefied. Even half-crazed as he was, there came
to his tossed soul a kind of vague wonder that Splinterin' Andra did
not scourge him with a pitiless condemnation. "I did it," he repeated,
clinging to the one thought he was capable of comprehending. "We were
at the tavern when the boom broke--I murdered him!"

"Come awa', lad, an' sit ye doon here, till Ah tell ye"--Andrew
Johnstone took hold of the boy's shoulder gently. A wonderful change
seemed to have come over the stern old man during the vigil by his
dead; the mantle of Duncan Polite seemed to have fallen upon him.
"Come awa," he whispered.

But Donald flung off the hand fiercely. He turned again to look at his
uncle, and the fire slowly died from his eyes as he gazed at the
beloved face. His strength seemed to suddenly leave him. Andrew
Johnstone stepped towards him fearing he would fall, but with one more
glance at the dead Donald turned and groped his way to the door like
one blind.

The prayers were still going on in the dining-room. Peter McNabb's
deep, resonant voice could now be heard, and Jessie, who had come in
from the kitchen, was standing in a dark corner of the hall waiting to
enter. She was weeping silently, not only for the loss of the old man,
who was very dear to her, but for the grief and the blame it must bring
upon the one she loved the most. She raised her eyes at the sound of
the front door opening and caught a glimpse of his ghastly face and
desperate eyes as Donald slipped out. There was the depth of despair
in his look. All the girl's heart went out to him in love and pity
winged by a terrible fear. He looked like one who might do himself
harm. She forgot their estrangement, forgot that he might love
another, everything but that Donald was in dire distress. She darted
noiselessly to the door. "Don!" she whispered eagerly into the
darkness. A figure was passing out of the gate and turning