piteously into his face.

And now the noise reached them of hurrying footsteps in front. People
were coming towards them from the house. Lanterns were approaching
them. In another moment they were in the court. All was astir. The
whole household seemed gathered there, and in the middle of the yard
stood the mare Betsy, saddled but riderless, her empty wool-creels
strapped to her sides.

"Thank Heaven, here is Ralph," said Willy. He was standing bareheaded,
with the bridle in his hand.

"Bless thee!" cried Mrs. Ray as her son came up to her. "Here is the
mare back home, my lad, but where is thy father?"

"The roads are bad to-night, mother," Ralph said, with a violent
effort to control the emotion that was surging up to his throat.

"God help us, Ralph; you can't mean that!" said Willy, catching his
brother's drift.

"Give me the lantern, boy," said Ralph to a young cowherd that stood
near. "Rotha, my lass, take mother into the house." Then he stepped up
to where his mother stood petrified with dismay, and kissed her
tenderly. He had rarely done so before. The good dame understood him
and wept. Rotha put her arms about the mother's neck and kissed her
too, and helped her in.

Willy was unmanned. "You don't mean that you know that father--"

He could say no more. Ralph had raised the lantern to the level of the
mare's creels to remove the strap that bound them, and the light had
fallen on his face.

"Ralph, is he hurt--much hurt?"

"He is--dead!"

Willy fell back as one that had been dealt a blow.

"God help me! O God, help me!" he cried.

"Give me the reins," said Ralph, "and be here when I come back. I
can't be long. Keep the door of the kitchen shut--mother is there. Go
into his room, and see that all is ready."

"No, no, I can't do that." Willy was shuddering visibly.

"Remain here, at least, and give no warning when I return."

"Take me with you, Ralph; I can't stay here alone."

"Take the lantern, then," said Ralph.

And the brothers walked, with the mare between them, to where the path
was, under the shadow of the trees. What shadow had fallen that night
on their life's path, which Time might never raise? Again and again
the horse slipped its foot on the frozen road. Again and again Willy
would have stopped and turned back; but he went on-he dared not to
leave his brother's side. The dog howled in front of them. They
reached the spot at last.

Angus Ray lay there, his face downwards. The m