at," he added with a concentration of family sentiment in the
emphasis of it, "they'll not do."

CHAPTER XXXII

It was late afternoon when the train from the West deposited Hugh Finlay
upon the Elgin platform, the close of one of those wide, wet, uncertain
February days when the call of spring is on the wind though spring
is weeks away. The lights of the town flashed and glimmered down the
streets under the bare swaying maple branches. The early evening was
full of soft bluster; the air was conscious with an appeal of nature,
vague yet poignant. The young man caught at the strange sympathy that
seemed to be abroad for his spirit. He walked to his house, courting it,
troubled by it. They were expecting him that evening at Dr Drummond's,
and there it was his intention to go. But on his way he would call for
a moment to see Advena Murchison. He had something to tell her. It would
be news of interest at Dr Drummond's also; but it was of no consequence,
within an hour or so, when they should receive it there, while it was
of great consequence that Advena should hear it at the earliest
opportunity, and from him. There is no weighing or analysing the burden
of such a necessity as this. It simply is important: it makes its own
weight; and those whom it concerns must put aside other matters until
it has been accomplished. He would tell her: they would accept it for a
moment together, a moment during which he would also ascertain whether
she was well and strong, with a good chance of happiness--God protect
her--in the future that he should not know. Then he would go on to Dr
Drummond's.

The wind had risen when he went out again; it blew a longer blast,
and the trees made a steady sonorous rhythm in it. The sky was full of
clouds that dashed upon the track of a failing moon; there was portent
everywhere, and a hint of tumult at the end of the street. No two ways
led from Finlay's house to his first destination. River Street made
an angle with that on which the Murchisons lived--half a mile to the
corner, and three-quarters the other way. Drops drove in his face as he
strode along against the wind, stilling his unquiet heart, that leaped
before him to that brief interview. As he took the single turning he
came into the full blast of the veering, irresolute storm. The street
was solitary and full of the sound of the blown trees, wild and
uplifting. Far down the figure of a woman wavered before the wind across
the zone of a