t
once to Blackhills, to await in the forsaken house the coming home of
its dead master.

But Doctor Fleming had something to say about the matter. He would not
allow a word to be spoken to her concerning any arrangement which was to
be made.

"You know that you have full power to do as you think fit with regard to
the burial, and all else that may require your oversight. Any reference
which you would be likely to make to Mistress Allison, would be a mere
matter of form, and I will not have her disturbed. Man! ye little ken
how ill able she is to bear what ye would lay upon her. As to her even
hearing a word about going up yonder, it is out of the question. Leave
her in peace for a while, and you will have the better chance of getting
your own way with her later."

"As you say, doctor, it is a mere matter of form. But forms and
ceremonies cannot ay be dispensed with. She might like to have her ain
say, as is the way with women. However, I can wait till later on, as
you advise."

So Allison was left in quiet. Brownrig was carried to his own house,
and for a few days his coffin stood there in the unbroken silence of the
place.

Then his neighbours gathered to his burial, and "gentle and simple"
followed him to his grave. As the long procession moved slowly on, many
a low-spoken word was exchanged between friends concerning the dead man
and his doings during the years he had been in the countryside. His
strong will, his uncertain temper, his faithful service to an easy and
improvident employer, all were discussed and commented upon freely
enough, yet with a certain reticence and forbearance also, since "he had
gone to his account."

It was a pity that he had become so careless about himself of late, they
said. That was the mild way in which they put it, when they alluded to
"the drink" which had been "the death of him." And who was to come
after him? Who was to get the good of what he had left?

Allison Bain's name was spoken also. Had she been wrong to go away?
Had she been right? If she had accepted her lot, might she have saved
him, and lived to be a happy woman in spite of all? Who could say? But
if all was true that his man Dickson was saying, she had helped to save
him at last.

In silence they laid him down within sight of the grave where Allison
had knelt one sorrowful day, and there they left him to his rest.

Allison was worn and spent, but she was a strong woman and she would
soon