othes, and tucked them about the
sufferer.

Her son turned his face full upon hers, and their eyes met.

"Dunnet look at me like that," she said, trying to escape his gaze.
"What's comin' ower thee, my lad, that thou looks so, and talks so?"

"What's coming over me, mother? Shall I tell thee? It's Death that's
coming over me; that's what it is, mother--Death!"

"Dunnet say that, Joey."

The old woman threw her apron over her head and sobbed.

Garth looked at her, with never a tear in his wide eyes.

"Mother," said the poor fellow again in his weak, cracked
voice,--"mother, did you ever pray?"

Mrs. Garth uncovered her head. Her furrowed face was wet. She rocked
herself and moaned.

"Ey, lad, I mind that I did when I was a wee bit of a girl. I had rosy
cheeks then, and my own auld mother wad kiss me then. Ey, it's true.
We went to church on a Sunday mornin' and all the bells ringin'. Ey, I
mind that, but it's a wa', wa' off, my lad, it's a wa', wa' off."

The day was gaunt and dreary. Toward nightfall the wind arose, and
sometimes its dismal wail seemed to run around the house. The river,
too, now swollen and turbulent, that flowed beneath the neighboring
bridge, added its voice of lamentation as it wandered on and on to the
ocean far away.

In the blacksmith's cottage another wanderer was journeying yet faster
to a more distant ocean. The darkness closed in. Garth was tossing on
his bed. His mother was rocking herself at his side. All else was
still.

Then a step was heard on the shingle without, and a knock came to the
door. The blacksmith struggled to lift his head and listen. Mrs. Garth
paused in her rocking and ceased to moan.

"Who ever is it?" whispered Garth.

"Let them stay where they are, whoever it be," his mother mumbled,
never shifting from her seat. The knock came again.

"Nay, mother, nay; it is too late to--"

He had said no more when the latch was lifted, and Rotha Stagg walked
into the room.

"I've come to help to nurse you, if you please," she said, addressing
the sick man.

Garth looked steadily at her for a moment, every feature quivering.
Shame, fear, horror--any sentiment but welcome--was written on his
face. Then he straggled to twist his poor helpless body away; his
head, at least, he turned from her to the wall.

"It wad look better of folk if they'd wait till they're axt," muttered
Mrs. Garth, with downcast eyes.

Rotha unpinned the shawls that had wrapped her from th