Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-09-14

away from her. He was little bewildered.
| In her sudden excess OF gratitude, when she
took both his hands in hers, she had come
quite close to him, and the scent OF sandal
wood necklace that she wore seemed to
touch him as with touch of herself. He
knew those fragrant beads; more than once
he had perceived the slight and subtle
odor as she passed him, or as be helped her
on with her cloak, and he had come to asso.
ciate it with her, as if it were part of her,
some breathing thing, that could touch
and thrill. And this time it had come SO
near
But that bewilderment of the senses
lasted only for q moment. Maisrie Bethune
was not near 70 him at all; she was worlds
and worlds away. 1t was not a mere Whit
of perfume that could bring her near to
him. Always to him she appeared to be
strangely unapproachabIe and remote.
Perhaps it was the loneliness of her po-
sition, perhaps it was the uncertainty OF her
future, and those vague possibilities OF
which her grandfather had spoken, or per-
haps it was tine reverence of undivided and
unselfsh love on his part; but at all events
she seemed to live in sort OF sacred and
mysterious isolation-to be surrounded by a
spell which he dared not seek to break by
were regarding his with sufficient trankness
and friendliness and more than friendli-
ness, now as she spoke.
"This afternoon we called on Mr.. Car
michael" said Maisrie, "Mr. Carmichael Of
the Edinburgh Chronicle. He told Us some
one had offered to repay the money he had
advanced to my grandfather on account OF
that American book; and though he did not
mention any name, do you think did not
know who it was, Vincent? Be sure l
knew-in momentl And you never said
word about it! might never have known
but for this accldent-I might never have
had the chance of thanking you-as-as L
should like to do now-only-only it isn't
quite easy to say everything one feels"
"Oh, but that is nothing at all, MaisrieP'
said he, coming quickly to her rescue.
"You have nothing to thank me for
nothing! 1t is true l made the offer; but it
was not accepted; and why should I say
anything about it to you?"
"Ah, but the intention is enough" said
she for she knew nothing about his having
paid Lord Musselburgh the e5O). "And
you cannot prevent my being very, very
grateful to you for such thoughtfulness and
kindness. To save my grandfather's self
respect-to prevent him being mIsunder-
stood by-by strangers-because-because
he is so forgetful; do you think, Vincent, I
cannot see your motive, and be very, very
grateful? And never saying word, tool
You should have told me, Vincent! But 1
suppose that was still further kindness-you
thought might be embarrassed-and not
able to thank you - which is just the
case"
"0h, Maisrie. don't make a fuss about
nothingP he protested.
81 know whether it is nothing or not"
said she. proudly. "And-and perhaps if
you had lived as we have lived-wandering
from place to place-you would set more
store by an act of friendship. Friends are
little to you-you have too many ofthem-"
"Oh, Maisrie, don't talk like thatr' he
said. "You make me ashamed. What
have 1 dOne?-nothing! wish there was
some real thing 1 could do to prove my
friendship for your grandfather and your
self-then you might see"
Haven't you proved it every day, every
hour almost, since ever we have known you?"
she saId. in rather low voice.
"Ah, well, perhaps there may come a
chance" said he; and then be stopped
short; for here was old George Bethune,
with half dozen volumes under his arm,
and himself all eagerness and garrulity
about his new undertaking.
At the little dinner that evening in the
restaurant, there was quite an unusual ami
nation, and that not solely because this was
the 9th of November. and they were pro-
posing to go out later on and look at the
illuminations in the principal thorough
fares. Vincent thought be had never seen
Maisrie Bethun, appear so lighthearted and
happy; and she was particularly kind to
him; when she regarded him, there still
seemed to be mild gratitude shining in the
clear and eloquent deeps Of her eyes. Graft
tude for what!-he asked himself with
touch of scorn. 1t was but an ordinary act
OF acquaintanceship; why should this beauti-
full, sensitive, proud-spirited creature, have
to debase herself to thank him for such a
trife? He felt ashamed of himself. 1t was
earning gratitude by false pretences. The
very kindness shining there in her eyes was
a sort of reproach: What had he done to
deserve it? All, if she only knew what he
was ready to de-when occasion offered!
And never before had he seen Maisrie so
bravely confident about any of her grand
fathers literary projects.
"You see, Vincent" she said, as if he
needed any convincing, when she was salts
fedl sin the end it will make far more
interesting book than the Scotch-American
one; and in the meantime there will be the
series of articles appearing from week to
week, to attract attention to the subject.
And then, although grandfather says I
take low and mercenary view of literature,
all the same 1 am glad he is to be we'll
paid for the articles; and there are to be as
many as he likes; and when they are com.
pleted, then comes the publication of the
book, which should be as interesting to Mr..
Carmichael, or Lord Musselburgh, or any
one, as the Scotch-American volume
And grandfather is going to begin at once;
and am asking him whether I cannot be
of any use to him, in the humbIest way. A
glossary, grandfather; you must have a
glossary of the Scotch words; couldn't
compile that for you?"
81 have been wondering" the old man
said, absently. and without answering her
question, "sInce l came into this room,
whether it would be possible to classify
them into ballads of action and ballads OF
the supernatural. 1 imagine the former
belong more to the south country, and that
most of the latter had their origin in the
north. And yet even in the Battle of Otter
burn the Douglas says:
But have dreamed dreary dream,
Ayout the Isle o'Skye-
saw deId man win fight,
And think that man was /.
Well, that may have been an interpola-
ton; at all events, it is Highland touch;
the strong, brisk, matter-of-fact Border
ballad has seldom anything of that kind in
it. The bold Buccleuch and Kinmont
Willie were too much in the saddle to
have time for wraiths. You remember,
Maisrie, when they brought word to the
I \
captive in Carlisle Castle?--
He has ta'en the table WI his hand
He CARED the red wine spring on HE
Now a curse upon my head he cried,
But avenged on Lord Scroop Pl bel
Ois my basnet a widows curcb,