akes he, like the apostle Paul, would have gladly
undergone what he dreaded for them. He went to see his mother; said
"Hoo are ye, mem?" sat down; never opened his lips, except to utter a
few commonplaces; rose and left her--a little comforted. Nor can
anything but human sympathy alleviate the pain while it obscures not
the presence of human grief. Do not remind me that the divine is
better. I know it. But why?--Because the divine is the highest--the
creative human. The sympathy of the Lord himself is the more human that
it is divine.

And in Annie's face, as she ministered to her friend, shone,
notwithstanding her full share in the sorrow, a light that came not
from sun or stars--as it were a suppressed, waiting light. And Mrs
Forbes felt the holy influences that proceeded both from her and from
Thomas Crann.

How much easier it is to bear a trouble that comes upon a trouble than
one that intrudes a death's head into the midst of a merry-making! Mrs
Forbes scarcely felt it a trouble when she received a note from Robert
Bruce informing her that, as he was on the point of removing to another
place which offered great advantages for the employment of the little
money he possessed, he would be obliged to her to pay as soon as
possible the hundred pounds she owed him, along with certain arrears of
interest specified. She wrote that it was impossible for her at
present, and forgot the whole affair. But within three days she
received a formal application for the debt from a new solicitor. To
this she paid no attention, just wondering what would come next. After
about three months a second application was made, according to legal
form; and in the month of May a third arrived, with the hint from the
lawyer that his client was now prepared to proceed to extremities;
whereupon she felt for the first time that she must do something.

She sent for James Dow.

"Are you going to the market to-day, James?" she asked.

"'Deed am I, mem."

"Well, be sure and go into one of the tents, and have a good dinner."

"'Deed, mem, I'll do naething o' the sort. It's a sin and a shame to
waste gude siller upo' broth an' beef. I'll jist pit a piece
(of oatcake) in my pooch, and that'll fess me hame as well's a' their
kail. I can bide onything but wastrie."

"It's very foolish of you, James."

"It's yer pleesur to say sae, mem."

"Well, tell me what to do about that."

And she handed him the letter.

James took it and read it slowly.