son about Mysie, but might
leave him to find out the truth when, free of a dying body, he would
be better able to bear it. That very night he set off on foot for
Rothieden. There was no coach from Aberdeen till eight the following
morning, and before that he would be there.

It was a dreary journey without Ericson. Every turn of the road reminded
him of him. And Ericson too was going a lonely unknown way.

Did ever two go together upon that way? Might not two die together and
not lose hold of each other all the time, even when the sense of the
clasping hands was gone, and the soul had withdrawn itself from the
touch? Happy they who prefer the will of God to their own even in this,
and would, as the best friend, have him near who can be near--him who
made the fourth in the fiery furnace! Fable or fact, reader, I do not
care. The One I mean is, and in him I hope.

Very weary was Robert when he walked into his grandmother's house.

Betty came out of the kitchen at the sound of his entrance.

'Is Mr. Ericson--?'

'Na; he's nae deid,' she answered. 'He'll maybe live a day or twa, they
say.'

'Thank God!' said Robert, and went to his grandmother.

'Eh, laddie!' said Mrs. Falconer, the first greetings over, 'ane 's
ta'en an' anither 's left! but what for 's mair nor I can faddom.
There's that fine young man, Maister Ericson, at deith's door; an' here
am I, an auld runklet wife, left to cry upo' deith, an' he winna hear
me.'

'Cry upo' God, grannie, an' no upo' deith,' said Robert, catching at the
word as his grandmother herself might have done. He had no such unfair
habit when I knew him, and always spoke to one's meaning, not one's
words. But then he had a wonderful gift of knowing what one's meaning
was.

He did not sit down, but, tired as he was, went straight to The Boar's
Head. He met no one in the archway, and walked up to Ericson's room.
When he opened the door, he found the large screen on the other side,
and hearing a painful cough, lingered behind it, for he could not
control his feelings sufficiently. Then he heard a voice--Ericson's
voice; but oh, how changed!--He had no idea that he ought not to listen.

'Mary,' the voice said, 'do not look like that. I am not suffering. It
is only my body. Your arm round me makes me so strong! Let me lay my
head on your shoulder.'

A brief pause followed.

'But, Eric,' said Mary's voice, 'there is one that loves you better than
I do.'

'If there is,' returned E