ed totally absorbed in _committing_ the
Shorter Catechism, as if the Shorter Catechism was a sin, which perhaps
it was not. But, to his surprise, which he pretended to be considerably
greater than it really was, the girl was absent.

"Where is Ann Anderson?" were the first words he condescended to utter.

"Gane hame," cried two of the little prisoners.

"Gone home!" echoed the master in a tone of savage incredulity;
although not only was it plain that she was gone, but he must have
known well enough, from former experience, how her escape had been
effected.

"Yes," said Forbes; "it was me made her go. I put her out at the
window. And I broke the window," he added, knowing that it must soon be
found out, "but I'll get it mended on Monday."

Malison turned as white as a sheet with venomous rage. Indeed, the
hopelessness of the situation had made Alec speak with too much
nonchalance.

Anxious to curry favour, the third youngster now called out,

"Sandy Forbes gart her gang an' fess a loaf o' white breid."

Of this bread, the wretched informer had still some of the crumbs
sticking to his jacket--so vitiating is the influence of a reign of
terror. The bread was eaten, and the giver might be betrayed in the
hope of gaining a little favour with the tyrant.

"Alexander Forbes, come up."

Beyond this point I will not here prosecute the narrative.

Alec bore his punishment with great firmness, although there were few
beholders, and none of them worth considering. After he had spent his
wrath, the master allowed them all to depart without further reference
to the Shorter Catechism.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Sunday following was anything but a day of repose for Annie--she
looked with such frightful anticipation to the coming Monday. Nor was
the assurance with which Alec Forbes had sent her away, and which she
was far from forgetting, by any means productive of unmingled
consolation; for, in a conflict with such a power of darkness as Mr
Malison, how could Alec, even if sure to be victorious as any knight of
old story, come off without injury terrible and not to be contemplated!
Yet, strange to tell--or was it really strange?--as she listened to the
evening sermon, a sermon quietly and gently enforcing the fate of the
ungodly, it was not with exultation at the tardy justice that would
overtake such men as Murdock Malison or Robert Bruce, nor yet with pity
for their fate, that she listened; but with anxious hear