t had said to Jamie, "You'll come and sit wi' me,
laddie, and gie me the full story o' your bloody defeat, and we'll
mak' a consultation anent the best way o' mending it."

"This is glorious!" cried Cluny, as he stood alone with Christine in
the firelit room. "I have you all to mysel'! Oh, you woman of all the
world, what have you to say to me this night?"

"What do you want me to say, Cluny?"

"Tell me that you'll go before the Domine with me, in the morning."

"Now, Cluny, if you are going to begin that trouble again, I will not
stay with you."

"Trouble, trouble? What trouble? Is it a trouble to be my wife?"

"I have told you before, I could not marry you till the right time
came."

"It is the right time now! It has to be! I'll wait no longer!"

"You will wait forever, if you talk that way to me."

"I'll take my ain life, Christine, rayther than hae it crumbled awa'
between your cruel fingers and lips! aye writing, and saying, 'at the
proper time'! God help me! When is the proper time?"

"When my mither is better, and able to care for hersel', and look
after feyther and the house."

"Is she any better than she was?"

"Na, I'm feared she is worse."

"She is maybe dying."

"I am feared she is."

"Then if I wait till she dies----"

"Be quiet, Cluny! How dare you calculate anything for my life, on my
mither's death? Do you think I would walk from her grave to the altar
to marry you? I would hae to lose every gude sense, and every good
feeling I have, ere I could be sae wicked."

"Do you mean that after your mither's death, you will still keep me
waiting?"

"You know right well, Cluny, what our folk would say, if I didna
observe the set time of mourning."

"Great Scot! That's a full year!"

"Ay. If a bairn dies in our village, its folk wear blacks for a year.
Would I grudge a year's respect for my mither's memory? Forbye there
would be my poor heart-broken feyther, and a' his needs and griefs."

"And the bairn, too, I suppose?"

"Ay, you're right. The bairn is in our keeping, till he is fourteen.
Then he goes to Domine Trenaby."

"I hope the next storm will mak' an end o' me! I'm a broke man, in
every worth-while. I hae money to mak' a home, but I canna hae a home
without a wife, and the wife promised me puts one mountain after
another in the way, that no man can win over"--and he passionately
clasped and unclasped his hands, while tears, unrecognized, flowed
freely, and somewhat relieved th