ce, and sank away, leaving it pale. It was not
that she thought once of her own condition, with her hair loose on her
shoulders, but, able only to conjecture what had brought him thither,
she could not but regard Robert's presence with dismay. She stood with
her ivory brush in her right hand uplifted, and a great handful of hair
in her left. She was soon relieved, however, although what with his
contemplated intercession, the dim vision of Mary's lovely face
between the masses of her hair, and the lavender odour that filled the
room--perhaps also a faint suspicion of impropriety sufficient to
give force to the rest--Robert was thrown back into the abyss of his
mother-tongue, and out of this abyss talked like a Behemoth.

'Robert!' said Mary, in a tone which, had he not been so eager after his
end, he might have interpreted as one of displeasure.

'Ye maun hearken till me, mem.--Whan I was oot at Bodyfauld,' he began
methodically, and Mary, bewildered, gave one hasty brush to her handful
of hair and again stood still: she could imagine no connection between
this meeting and their late parting--'Whan I was was oot at Bodyfauld ae
simmer, I grew acquant wi' a bonnie lassie there, the dochter o' Jeames
Hewson, an honest cottar, wi' Shakspeare an' the Arabian Nichts upo' a
skelf i' the hoose wi' 'im. I gaed in ae day whan I wasna weel; an' she
jist ministert to me, as nane ever did but yersel', mem. An' she was
that kin' an' mither-like to the wee bit greitin' bairnie 'at she had
to tak care o' 'cause her mither was oot wi' the lave shearin'! Her face
was jist like a simmer day, an' weel I likit the luik o' the lassie!--I
met her again the nicht. Ye never saw sic a change. A white face, an'
nothing but greitin' to come oot o' her. She ran frae me as gin I had
been the de'il himsel'. An' the thocht o' you, sae bonnie an' straucht
an' gran', cam ower me.'

Yielding to a masterful impulse, Robert did kneel now. As if sinner, and
not mediator, he pressed the hem of her garment to his lips.

'Dinna be angry at me, Miss St. John,' he pleaded, 'but be mercifu' to
the lassie. Wha's to help her that can no more luik a man i' the face,
but the clear-e'ed lass that wad luik the sun himsel' oot o' the lift
gin he daured to say a word against her. It's ae woman that can uphaud
anither. Ye ken what I mean, an' I needna say mair.'

He rose and turned to leave the room.

Bewildered and doubtful, Miss St. John did not know what to answe