l that Robert had
seen, thought, and learned, now that the bitterness of loss had gone by,
the old times and the old friends were dearer. If there was any truth in
the religion of God's will, in which he was a disciple, every moment
of life's history which had brought soul in contact with soul, must be
sacred as a voice from behind the veil. Therefore he could not now rest
until he had gone to see his grandmother.

'Will you come to Rothieden with me, Shargar? I beg your pardon--I
oughtn't to keep up an old nickname,' said Robert, as they sat that
evening with the doctor, over a tumbler of toddy.

'If you call me anything else, I'll cut my throat, Robert, as I told
you before. If any one else does,' he added, laughing, 'I'll cut his
throat.'

'Can he go with me, doctor?' asked Robert, turning to their host.

'Certainly. He has not been to Rothieden since he took his degree. He's
an A.M. now, and has distinguished himself besides. You'll see him in
his uniform soon, I hope. Let's drink his health, Robert. Fill your
glass.'

The doctor filled his glass slowly and solemnly. He seldom drank
even wine, but this was a rare occasion. He then rose, and with equal
slowness, and a tremor in his voice which rendered it impossible to
imagine the presence of anything but seriousness, said,

'Robert, my son, let's drink the health of George Moray, Gentleman.
Stand up.'

Robert rose, and in his confusion Shargar rose too, and sat down again,
blushing till his red hair looked yellow beside his cheeks. The men
repeated the words, 'George Moray, Gentleman,' emptied their glasses,
and resumed their seats. Shargar rose trembling, and tried in vain
to speak. The reason in part was, that he sought to utter himself in
English.

'Hoots! Damn English!' he broke out at last. 'Gin I be a gentleman, Dr.
Anderson and Robert Falconer, it's you twa 'at's made me ane, an' God
bless ye, an' I'm yer hoomble servant to a' etairnity.'

So saying, Shargar resumed his seat, filled his glass with trembling
hand, emptied it to hide his feelings, but without success, rose once
more, and retreated to the hall for a space.

The next morning Robert and Shargar got on the coach and went to
Rothieden. Robert turned his head aside as they came near the bridge
and the old house of Bogbonnie. But, ashamed of his weakness, he turned
again and looked at the house. There it stood, all the same,--a thing
for the night winds to howl in, and follow each other i