ear from the old man. He will
say nothing to harm her."

But he did not tell her that he had already heard the story of Allison's
marriage from her own lips. And not knowing this, after considering the
matter, his mother decided to say nothing, believing that it would not
be well for Allison's peace of mind to know that the sad story of her
life had been told to them.

And even if she had wished to do so, it would not have been easy to find
a chance to speak. For Allison was shy of Mrs Beaton at this time, and
went no more to see her in the gloaming, as she had sometimes done of
late, and was not at ease with her when they met.

For she said to herself, that Mrs Beaton might know, or might suspect
that her son had of late been giving too many of his thoughts to one of
whom they knew nothing; and though she was not to blame, Mrs Beaton
might still blame her for her son's folly.

Allison was indeed troubled. Since the night on which Crombie had so
startled her, she had never been quite at rest. She had striven to be
reasonable and to put away her fears; but there never came a step to the
door, that she did not pause from her work to listen for the words that
might be spoken. She looked on every unfamiliar face that came into the
kirk, or that she passed on the street or in the lanes, with a momentary
terror, lest she should meet the eyes of one whom her enemy had sent in
search of her.

She had said to herself many times, "I will wait quietly. I will stay
where I am, and I will not yield to my fears."

But when Mrs Esselmont spoke to her, and a way of escape appeared, she
knew that she had been sore afraid, and that she could not long have
borne the strain which had been upon her.

"Six days!" she said to herself, as she came down from Firhill that
night, in the darkness. "Only six days and nights, and I shall be away,
and safe for a year at least; and then!--but I will not look beyond the
year. I will care for the child, and be at peace."

As for John, he had written to his mother that he was to be sent north
on business that might keep him there some days. He did not tell where
he was going, and she did not hear again for a good while after that.
When he did write he said nothing about his journey or its results, as
he was usually in the way of doing, and he said nothing about coming
home. His mother's heart was sore for her son. No word concerning
Allison Bain had passed between them, but she knew