rms, with a patch of whiteness here and there, having a
weird suggestion of death. He heard the burn running over the stones;
fifty years ago he had made a dam that lasted till winter. The hooting
of an owl made him start; one had frightened him as a boy so that he ran
home to his mother--she died thirty years ago. The smell of ripe corn
filled the air; it would soon be cut and garnered. He could see the dim
outlines of his house, all dark and cold; no one he loved was beneath
the roof. The lighted window in Saunders' cottage told where a man hung
between life and death, but love was in that home. The futility of life
arose before this lonely man, and overcame his heart with an
indescribable sadness. What a vanity was all human labour, what a
mystery all human life.

[Illustration]

But while he stood, subtle change came over the night, and the air
trembled round him as if one had whispered. Drumsheugh lifted his head
and looked eastwards. A faint grey stole over the distant horizon, and
suddenly a cloud reddened before his eyes. The sun was not in sight, but
was rising, and sending forerunners before his face. The cattle began
to stir, a blackbird burst into song, and before Drumsheugh crossed the
threshold of Saunders' house, the first ray of the sun had broken on a
peak of the Grampians.

MacLure left the bedside, and as the light of the candle fell on
the doctor's face, Drumsheugh could see that it was going well with
Saunders.

"He's nae waur; an' it's half six noo; it's ower sune tae say mair, but
a'm houpin' for the best. Sit doon and take a sleep, for ye're needin'
't, Drumsheugh, an', man, ye hae worked for it."

As he dozed off, the last thing Drumsheugh saw was the doctor sitting
erect in his chair, a clenched fist resting on the bed, and his eyes
already bright with the vision of victory.

He awoke with a start to find the room flooded with the morning
sunshine, and every trace of last night's work removed.

The doctor was bending over the bed, and speaking to Saunders.

"It's me, Saunders, Doctor MacLure, ye ken; dinna try tae speak or move;
juist let this drap milk slip ower--ye 'ill be needin' yir breakfast,
lad--and gang tae sleep again."

[Illustration: "A CLENCHED FIST RESTING ON THE BED"]

Five minutes, and Saunders had fallen into a deep, healthy sleep, all
tossing and moaning come to an end. Then MacLure stepped softly across
the floor, picked up his coat and waistcoat, and went out at t