, 1888-12-09

81 am not Joking" ne answered, seri-
ously. 81 could not jest about so grave
n matter as death. But, Bradford, 1
diedl At A o'clock this morning my
room. If you will listen respectfully I'll
talk of it."
took a drink of ale. In spite of my
self l could not help seeing that hideous
figure in the other room. 1t appeared
now like Campbell's skeleton clad in his
gown.
He did not begin his story at once, but
sat wrapped in profound thought, while
the wind soughed dismally and his pipe
went out UNDECIDED. 1t was not until /
aroused him from his ~rcverie that he
spoke.
II don't know why l feel like talking
of myself to you" he said, ''for you are
full of gibes and ridicule; but l like you,
lad, and although have chosen to live u
hermits life, / sometimes grow weary of
silence and solitude, and hunger a bit for
human sympathy.
Il was born in Dunblane, and began
life in humble circumstances. My
father died when / was a BARN, and my
mother was too poor to give me an easy
life, though she gave me n bit of school
ing. On Saturdays / worked in the
bishops library, where l earned a little
money by busting and climbing for the
librarian. After my mother died l went
to live with n great singer. Twas a good
scholar, II he made me his secretary.
When / had been with him a little while.
l went to the opera to hear him sing,
n this experience turned my head. /
wished to be a singer, too. i heard him
practicing, and l practiced. / was his
imitator, his emulator, his parrot. And
l could sing. l knew well that l had the
talent, the fervor, the patience and the
enthusiasm of IN artist. Oh. man, man!
/ had the vanity, too, of all stage struck
lunatics, and was sure / would be a mas
ter.
my employer heard me sing, and Of
fered to teach me. l was 25 years old
when l was offered my first engagement
to sing in public.
"You probably remember the Bishops
Walk in Dunblane. 1t runs close to the
River Allan, and was named for the
bishop, Robert Leighton. / used to be
very fond of that walk, n one spring
morning / found n woman in it who
liked 1t also-as bright and blithc n
woman as ever trod upon Scottish
heather. not pretend to be n connois
seur of feminine loveliness, but l know
hat Mailie Morrison was beautiful. Her
ayes were blue md sweet, her hair brown
and bonnie and her throat was like snow.
Bradford, / can't make you see her as
bllB lOOhtu COlllIlH uONH lle IlSIlODb
Walk with her hands full of primroses,
and her cheeks surprising them. The
lass was straight and trim and strong,
and there was q deal of shy sweetness
looking from under the broad brim of
her hat.
"AfterI knew her my life was changed.
My greatest object had been to become a
famous singer, but now that ambition
was secondary. l wanted to marry Mai
lie Morrison.
"Her father was not willing that !
should visit her, but / cared little, since /
found my lass in the fields by the ruins
of the Cathedral of st. Blame, and ever
and again in the. Bishops Walk. But by
and by ! had reason to leave Dunblanc.
| needed to study more, and my manager
offered TO take me to Italy, where, he
said, l could take lessons in the great
Conservatives and still carr my living
with him. Mailie Morrison consented to
marry me and go with me If we could
gain her fathers consent.
Morrison was a Covenanter and q
man of such iron will that he was an I'M
pleasant opponent to tackle. He was
bitterly ~prejudiced against public singers.
He hated the theatre, and openly pro
nounced it the gateway of hell. Besides
his aversion to my profession, he had an
other and more personal grudge against
me. He had been up for mayor of the
place, and blamed me for his defeat. i
had tried my prentice hand at journal
ism, and Ind written some fierce things
against his party. But l could not think
he would long oppose my suit for two
such reasons.
II had reckoned without my host. He
hated me. He would have reioiced if
hell had opened and taken me in. What?
|, a singer, marry the daughter of so
great a man as hei Lord, man, he'd
have sooner trusted her to old Belize
dashed himself into n terrible fury. He
said that l had written such n pack of
lies about him he had lost his election,
my lass took her Bible for guidance,
and found nothing in it to Justify her
wedding without her fathers consent.
1t said: Children, obey your parents in
the Lord, %cr this is right, and to her
simple mind nothing could be palmer
h a her duty. Certainly she could find
no passage commanding obedience to
her lover. Her father told her that if
we married he would curse us and our
children.
II besought her not TO yield to his I'M
reasonable prejudice, but she stood in
the Bishops Walk, white MS a ghost, and
babe me good-by. / told her she had
not the heart of n woman or she could
not send me away.
81 did not go to Italy, for my ambition
had vanished. How could 1 sing with
such n heavy heart? 1 chose the life of
a ~recluse. | came to Montreal and
scratched out such a living as my pen
would yield.
Morrison was so mortified by his po-
litical defeat that he could not bide in
Dunblane. He and his daughter went to
live in Pittsburg. 1 learned of this
through a Dunblane newspaper.
"As yesterday was my birthday, Brad
ford, | made some resolutions. / re-
solved hat l would waste no more time.
For ten years / have bided in this house,
hugging n foolish hope that Mailie Nor
rison might some day wish to recall me,
and knowing that it would be easy to
trace me here, But last night 1 resolved
to go away and complete my study of
music. l told myself that maybe the
lass was married and had forgotten the
Bishops Walk.
ut was midnight when ] went to bed.
This old house seemed desolate, and /
could not sleep. Iheard the clock strike
2, 3 and A, n then-man, 1 annot de-
scribe it. but l had the most horrible
sensation ] ever experienced, Nothing
but death could give it. A sweat was
on my lips and forehead. My breath