ch the dimness of the late twilight
could not conceal. Robert hesitated no longer, but followed her,
heedless of the louder expostulations of MacGregor. She was speeding
away down the street, but he took longer strides than she, and was
almost up with her, when she drew her shawl closer about her head, and
increased her pace.

'Jessie!' said Robert, in a tone of expostulation. But she made no
answer. Her head sunk lower on her bosom, and she hurried yet faster. He
gave a long stride or two and laid his hand on her shoulder. She stood
still, trembling.

'Jessie, dinna ye ken me--Robert Faukner? Dinna be feart at me. What's
the maitter wi' ye, 'at ye winna speik till a body? Hoo's a' the fowk at
hame?'

She burst out crying, cast one look into Robert's face, and fled. What
a change was in that face? The peach-colour was gone from her cheek; it
was pale and thin. Her eyes were hollow, with dark shadows under them,
the shadows of a sad sunset. A foreboding of the truth arose in his
heart, and the tears rushed up into his eyes. The next moment the
eidolon of Mary St. John, moving gracious and strong, clothed in worship
and the dignity which is its own defence, appeared beside that of Jessie
Hewson, her bowed head shaken with sobs, and her weak limbs urged to
ungraceful flight. As if walking in the vision of an eternal truth, he
went straight to Captain Forsyth's door.

'I want to speak to Miss St. John, Isie,' said Robert.

'She'll be doon in a minit.'

'But isna yer mistress i' the drawin'-room?--I dinna want to see her.'

'Ow, weel,' said the girl, who was almost fresh from the country, 'jist
rin up the stair, an' chap at the door o' her room.'

With the simplicity of a child, for what a girl told him to do must be
right, Robert sped up the stair, his heart going like a fire-engine.
He had never approached Mary's room from this side, but instinct or
something else led him straight to her door. He knocked.

'Come in,' she said, never doubting it was the maid, and Robert entered.

She was brushing her hair by the light of a chamber candle. Robert was
seized with awe, and his limbs trembled. He could have kneeled before
her--not to beg forgiveness, he did not think of that--but to worship,
as a man may worship a woman. It is only a strong, pure heart like
Robert's that ever can feel all the inroad of the divine mystery of
womanhood. But he did not kneel. He had a duty to perform. A flush rose
in Miss St. John's fa