ny bird with a broken
wing."

"If you cannot see, what do you think?"

"I dinna want to think and I dinna want to say. Whaur be ye gaeing
now?"

"On over the moor and down by the Kelpie's Pool."

"Gae on then. I'll watch for ye coming back."

He went on. Something strange had him, drawing him. He came out from
the band of trees upon the swelling open moor, bare and brown save
where the snow laced it. Gold filtered over it; a pale sky arched
above; it was wide, still, and awful--a desert. He saw the light run
down and glint upon the pool. Searchers had ridden across this moor
also, he had been told. He went down at once to the pool and stood by
the kelpie willow. He was not thinking, he was not keenly feeling. He
seemed to stand in open, endless, formless space, and in unfenced
time. A clump of dry reeds rose by his knee, and upon the other side
of these he noticed that a stone had been lifted from its bed. He
stooped, and in the reeds he found an inch-long fragment of ribbon--of
a snood.

He stepped back from the willow. He took off and dropped upon the moor
hat and riding-coat and boots, inner coat and waistcoat. Then he
entered the Kelpie's Pool. He searched it, measure by measure, and at
last he found the body of Elspeth. He drew it up; he loosened and let
fall the stone tied in the plaid that was wrapped around it; he bore
the form out of the pool and laid it upon the bank beyond the willow.
The sunlight showed the whole, the face and figure. The laird of
Glenfernie, kneeling beside it, put back the long drowned hair and
saw, pinned upon the bosom of the gown, the folded letter, wrapped
twice in thicker paper. He took it from her and opened it. The writing
was yet legible.

I hope that I shall not be found. If I am, let this answer
for me. I was unhappy, more unhappy than you can think. Let
no one be blamed. It was one far from here and you will not
know his name. Do not think of me as wicked nor as a
murderess. The unhappy should have pardon and rest. Good-by
to all--good-by!

In the upper corner was written, "For White Farm." That was all.

Glenfernie put this letter into the bosom of his shirt. He then got on
again the clothing he had discarded, and, stooping, put his arms
beneath the lifeless form. He lifted it and bore it from the Kelpie's
Pool and up the moor. He was a man much stronger than the ordinary; he
carried it as though he felt no weight. The icy water of the