l, an' there I mended them until they
were guid enough to wear, an' sent them back. So there was as guid as
the price o' the denner he gave me, an' naethin said. Noo read the
letter an' ye'll see why I'm greetin'. Richard's gone to Ameriky to
perjure his soul. He says it was to gie himsel' up to the law, but
from the letter to Hester it's likely his courage failed him. There's
naethin' to mak' o't but that--an' he sae bonny an' sweet, like his
mither."

Jean Craigmile threw her apron over her head and rocked herself back
and forth, while Ellen set down her cup and reluctantly opened the
letter--many pages, in a long business envelope. She sighed as she
took them out.

"It's a waefu' thing how much trouble an' sorrow a man body brings
intil the world wi' him. Noo there's Richard, trailin' sorrow after
him whaurever he goes."

"But ye mind it came from Katherine first, marryin' wi' Larry Kildene
an' rinnin' awa' wi' him," replied Jean.

"It was Larry huntit her oot whaur she had been brought for safety."

They both sat in silence while Ellen read the letter to the very end.
At last, with a long, indrawn sigh, she spoke.

"It's no like a lad that could write sic a letter, to perjure his
soul. No won'er ye greet, Jean. He's gi'en ye everything he possesses,
wi' one o' the twa pictures in the Salon! Think o't! An' a' he got
fra' the ones he sold, except enough to take him to America. Ye canna'
tak' it."

"No. I ha'e gi'en them to the Englishman wha' has his room. I could
na' tak them." Jean continued to sway back and forth with her apron
over her head.

"Ye ha'e gi'en them awa'! All they pictures pented by yer ain niece's
son! An' twa' acceptit by the Salon! Child, child! I'd no think it o'
ye." Ellen leaned forward in her chair reprovingly, with the letter
crushed in her lap.

"I told him to keep them safe, as he was doin', an' if he got no word
fra' me after sax months,--he was to bide in the room wi' them--they
were his."

"Weel, ye're wiser than I thought ye."

For a long time they sat in silence, until at last Ellen took up the
letter to read it again, and began with the date at the head.

"Jean," she cried, holding it out to her sister and pointing to the
date with shaking finger. "Wull ye look at that noo! Are we both daft?
It's no possible for him to ha' gotten there before that letter was
written to Hester. Look ye, Jean! Look ye! Here 'tis the third day o'
June it was written by his own hand."

"