.

"Hello, old man!" he shouted, catching sight of Martin and running
towards him with hands outstretched, "You are welcome"--he grasped
his hands and held them fast--"you are welcome to this Glen, and to me
welcome as Heaven to a Hell-bound soul."

"Maclise," he cried, turning to the master, "this letter," waving it in
his hand, "is like a reprieve to a man on the scaffold." Maclise stood
gazing in amazement at him.

"They accused me of crime!"

"Of crime, Mr. Allan?" Maclise stiffened in haughty surprise.

"Yes, of base crime!"

"But this letter completely clears him," cried Martin eagerly.

Maclise turned upon him with swift scorn, "There was no need, for anyone
in this Glen whatever." The Highlander's face was pale, and in his light
blue eyes gleamed a fierce light.

Martin flashed a look upon the girl standing so proudly erect beside
her brother, and reflecting in her face and eyes the sentiments of the
schoolmaster.

"By Jove! I believe you," cried Martin with conviction, "it is not
needed here, but--but there are others, you know."

"Others?" said the Highlander with fine scorn, "and what difference?"

The Glen folk needed no clearing of their chief, and the rest of the
world mattered not.

"But there was myself," said Allan. "Now it is gone, Maclise, and I can
give my hand once more without fear or shame."

Maclise took the offered hand almost with reverence, and, removing his
bonnet from his head, said in a voice, deep and vibrating with emotion,

"Neffer will a man of the Glen count it anything but honour to take
thiss hand."

"Thank you, Maclise," cried Allan, keeping his grip of the master's
hand. "Now you can tell the Glen."

"You will not be going to leave us now?" said Maclise eagerly.

"Yes, I shall go, Maclise, but," with a proud lift of his head, "tell
them I am coming back again."

And with that message Maclise went to the Glen. From cot to cot and from
lip to lip the message sped, that Mr. Allan was himself again, and that,
though on the morrow's morn he was leaving the Glen, he himself had
promised that he would return.

That evening, as the gloaming deepened, the people of the Glen gathered,
as was their wont, at their cottage doors to listen to old piper
Macpherson as he marched up and down the highroad. This night, it was
observed, he no longer played that most heart-breaking of all
Scottish laments, "Lochaber No More." He had passed up to the no less
heart-thrilling, but