e in his wife's
infectious fears.

"Women are always silly," he argued to himself. "Why should I dread any
danger? The railway is safe as a coach--and yet, that affair of poor
Huskisson! Pooh! what a fool I am!"

But even while he mocked it, the vague presentiment appeared to take
form in his mind; and sitting, the only person awake in the slumbering
house, where no sound broke the stillness, except the falling of a
few cinders, and the occasional noise of a mouse behind the wainscot,
somewhat of the superstitions of his northern youth came over him. His
countenance became grave, and he sank into deep thought.

It is a trite saying, that every man has that in his heart, which, if
known, would make all his fellow-creatures hate him. Was it this evil
spirit which now struggled in Captain Rothesay's breast, and darkened
his face with storms of passion, remorse, or woe? He gave no utterance
to them in words. If any secret there were, he would not trust it even
to the air. But, at times, his mute lips writhed; his cheeks burned, and
grew ghastly. Sometimes, too, he wore a cowed and humble look, as on the
night when his daughter had stood like a pure angel to save him from the
abyss on the brink of which he trod.

She had saved him, apparently. That night's shame had never occurred
again. Slowly, his habits were changing, and his tastes becoming
home-like. But still his lonely hours betokened some secret hidden in
his soul--a secret which, if known, might have accounted for his having
plunged into uproarious excitement or drunken oblivion.

At length, as by a violent effort, Angus Rothesay sat down and began
to write. He wrote for several hours--though frequently his task was
interrupted by long reveries, and by fits of vehement emotion. When he
had finished, he carefully sealed up what he had written, and placed
it in a secret drawer of his desk. Then he threw himself on a sofa, to
sleep, during the brief time that intervened before daybreak.

In the grey of the morning, when he stood despatching a hasty breakfast,
he was startled by a light touch on his arm.

"Little Olive!--why, I thought you were fast asleep."

"I could not sleep when papa was going away; so I rose and dressed. You
will not be angry?"

"Angry?--no!" He stooped down and kissed her, more affectionately even
than was his wont But he was hasty and fidgety, as most men are when
starting on a journey. They were both too busy for more words until the