mason, rising to his full height with slow
labour after the day's toil, "it wad be cruel to gar _him_ repent. It
wad be ower sair upon him. Better kill him. The bitterness o' sic
repentance wad be ower terrible. It wad be mair nor he cud bide. It wad
brak his hert a'thegither.--Na, na, he has nae chance."

The last sentence was spoken quickly and with attempted carelessness as
he resumed his seat.

"Hoo ken ye that?" asked Cupples.

"There's no sic word i' the Scriptur'."

"Do ye think He maun tell _us_ a' thing?"

"We hae nae richt to think onything that He doesna tell's."

"I'm nae sae sure o' that, Thomas. Maybe, whiles, he doesna tell's a
thing jist to gar's think aboot it, and be ready for the time whan he
will tell's."

Thomas was silent for a few moments. Then with a smile--rather a grim
one--he said,

"Here's a curious thing, no.--There's neyther o' you convertit, and yet
yer words strenthen my hert as gin they cam frae the airt (region)
aboon."

But his countenance changed, and he added hastily,

"It's a mark o' indwellin' sin. To the law and to the testimony--Gang
awa' and lat me to my prayers."

They obeyed; for either they felt that nothing but his prayers would
do, or they were awed, and dared not remain.

Mr Cupples could wait. Thomas could not.

The Forlorn Hope of men must storm the walls of Heaven.

Amongst those who sit down at the gate till one shall come and open it,
are to be found both the wise and the careless children.

CHAPTER LXXXIX.

Mr Cupples returned to his work, for the catalogue had to be printed.

The weeks and months passed on, and the time drew nigh when it would be
no folly to watch the mail-coach in its pride of scarlet and gold, as
possibly bearing the welcome letter announcing Alec's return. At
length, one morning, Mrs Forbes said:

"We may look for him every day now, Annie."

She did not know with what a tender echo her words went roaming about
in Annie's bosom, awaking a thousand thought-birds in the twilight land
of memory, which had tucked their heads under their wings to sleep, and
thereby to live.

But the days went on and the hope was deferred. The rush of the
_Sea-horse_ did not trouble the sands of the shallow bar, or sweep,
with fiercely ramping figure-head, past the long pier-spike, stretching
like the hand of welcome from the hospitable shore. While they fancied
her full-breasted sails, swelled as with sighs for home, bowing lordly