had choked the blank nonsense out of me, for I done him a wrong an' I
wasn't man enough to own up. An' that's what started me in all this hell
business I've been chasin' ever since."

The doctor took him by the arm and walked him out of the room. "Take
Miss Robertson home," he said to Tommy as he passed.

An hour later he appeared, pale and as nearly exhausted as his iron
nerve and muscle would allow him to be. "I say, Margaret, this thing is
wonderful! There's no explaining it by any physical or mental law that
I know." Then, after a pause, he added, with an odd thrill of tenderness
in his voice, "I believe we shall hear good things of 'Mexico' yet."

And so they did, but that is another tale.

XXII

THE HEART'S REST

There is no sweeter spot in all the west Highlands of Scotland than the
valley that runs back from that far penetrating arm of the sea, Loch
Fyne, to Craigraven. There, after a succession of wild and gloomy glens,
one comes upon a sweet little valley, sheltered from the east and north
winds and open to the warm western sea and to the long sunny days of
summer. It is a valley full of balmy airs, fragrant with the scents of
sea and heather, and shut in from the roar and rush of the great world,
just over the ragged rim of the craggy hills that guard it. A veritable
heaven on earth for the nerve-racked and brain-wearied, for the
heart-sick and soul-burdened; for it was the pleasure of the lady of
Ruthven Hall, a kindly, homely mansion house that stood at the valley's
head, to bring hither such of her friends or her friends' friends as
needed the healing that soft airs and sunny days, with long quiet hours
filled with love that understands, can give.

To this spot Lady Ruthven herself had been brought, a girl fresh from
the shelter of her English home, the bride of Sir Hector Ruthven; and
here for five happy summers they had come from the strenuous life of
Diplomatic Service to find rest. Here, too, came Sir Hector, when his
work was done, still a young man, to rest under the yews in the little
churchyard near the Hall, leaving his lady with her little daughter and
her infant son to administer his vast estates. After the first sharp
grief had passed, Lady Ruthven took up her burden and, with patient
courage, bore it for the sake of the dead first, and then for the sake
of the living. Round her son, growing into sturdy young manhood, her
heart's roots wound themselves, striking deep into his lif