nt shot through him as he fully
grasped what it meant.

"You are angry and bitter, sir," he said, though calmly, "and are saying
things which you will regret. There has been nothing underhanded. That
I have long loved Miss Ellis, I am proud to say; but until this present
time no word has passed between us, and I have never, as you know,
addressed her as a lover."

"Oh yes, you say so," cried Ellis angrily. "You talked finely enough
the other day, but what about now? So this is the way in which you
carry out your high principles, deluding a silly child into coming here
for this clandestine interview, and making her--a baby as she is, and
not knowing her own mind--believe that you are a perfect hero, and
entangling her with your soft speeches into I don't know what promises."

"It is not true, sir," said John Grange sadly.

"How do I know it is not true, sir? Bah! It is true! I come here and
find you and this shameless girl locked in each other's arms."

"Father!" cried Mary, snatching away her hand, and before Ellis could
arrest her, going back to John Grange's side to lay that hand upon his
shoulder, "I cannot stand here and listen to your cruel, unjust words;
John Grange is not to blame, it was my doing entirely."

"Shame upon you, then!"

"No, it is no shame," she cried proudly. "You force me to defend myself
before another, and I will speak out now before the man who has for long
enough pestered me with his attentions, and whom, during these past few
days, you have made your friend and encouraged to come home; let him
hear then that I feel it no shame to say I love John Grange very dearly,
and that I would not let him leave here, weak, suffering, and in the
dark, without knowing that his love was returned."

Then, bending down, she took John Grange's hand, and raised it to her
lips.

"Good-bye!" she said softly.

"Mary!" cried her father, beside himself now with rage; and he once more
snatched her away.

"Yes, father, I am ready," she said quietly; "and you, who are always so
good and just, will tell John Grange that you have cruelly misjudged
him, before he goes."

But James Ellis did not then, for drawing his child's arm through his
own, he hurried her away from the bothy, and home in silence to the
cottage, where she flung herself sobbing in her mother's arms, and
crouched there, listening, while the angry man walked up and down,
relieving himself of all he had seen.

Mrs Ellis's pleasant