me from them that loved me? Aye, lad, and till this week I never
overcame it."

"Weel may I want to save ye, bairn," added the Highlander tenderly, "for
it was the thocht of a' ye riskit for the like of me at the three roads
that made me consider wi' mysel' that I've aiblins been turning my back
a' my wilfu' life on love that's bigger than a man's deservings. It's
near done now, and it'll never lie in my poor power so much as rightly
to thank ye. It's strange that a man should set store by a good name
that he doesna deserve; but if any blessings of mine could bring ye
good, they're yours, that saved an old soldier's honour, and let him die
respectit in his regiment."

"Oh, M'Alister, let me fetch one of the chaplains to write a letter to
fetch your father," cried John Broom.

"The minister's been here this morning," said the Highlander, "and I've
tell't him mair than I've tell't you. And he's jest directed me to put
my sinful trust in the Father of us a'. I've sinned heaviest against
_Him_, laddie, but His love is stronger than the lave."

John Broom remained by his friend, whose painful fits of coughing, and
of gasping for breath, were varied by intervals of seeming stupor. When
a candle had been brought in and placed near the bed, the Highlander
roused himself and asked,--

"Is there a Bible on yon table? Could ye read a bit to me, laddie?"

There is little need to dwell on the bitterness of heart with which John
Broom confessed,--

"I can't read big words, M'Alister."

"Did ye never go to school?" said the Scotchman.

"I didn't learn," said the poor boy; "I played."

"Aye, aye. Weel, ye'll learn, when ye gang hame," said the Highlander,
in gentle tones.

"I'll never get home," said John Broom, passionately. "I'll never
forgive myself. I'll never get over it, that I couldn't read to ye when
ye wanted me, M'Alister."

"Gently, gently," said the Scotchman. "Dinna daunt yoursel' owermuch wi'
the past, laddie. And for me--I'm not that presoomtious to think I can
square up a misspent life as a man might compound wi's creditors. 'Gin
HE forgi'es me, He'll forgi'e; but it's not a prayer up or a chapter
doun that'll stan' between me and the Almighty. So dinna fret yoursel',
but let me think while I may."

And so, far into the night, the Highlander lay silent, and John Broom
watched by him.

It was just midnight when he partly raised himself, and cried,--

"Whisht, laddie! do ye hear the pipes?"

The dying