Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-12-21

Balloray to me-of. the possibility of it.
and this would SET his brain working in
hundred different directions. He might
think they were coming to lake me away
from him-perhaps to do me some harm
or he might imagine that I had humbled
myself before them, to make friends with
them, and that would trouble him more than
anything else; you cannot tel! what wild
fancies might not get into his head, So
there must not be word said about Miss
Bethune, Vincent"
"Of course you know best, Maisrie," said
he. And still he did not let her go. What
was he to say next, to detain her? It was SO
long since he had heard her voice! "When
you go upstairs, Maisrie, wish you would
look at the book of ballads that is lying on
the table. There are some lines marked
you will see bit of paper to tell you the
page. Do you know what that means?
Your grandfather thought that he might not
have strength enough left to speak to me
when came; and so this was to be a message
to me. Isn't it strange that in the face of so
serious an illness he should be thinking
about ballad; but you know better than
anyone that ballads are as real to your
grandfather as the actual things around him.
And want you to look at that message. I
have told your grandfather that he may de-
pend on me"
She went upstairs; he passed out into the
golden glow of the afternoon. He seemed
to see an open grave there, and small knot
of people, himself the chief mourner.
And then, after the simple and solemn
ceremony, he saw himself leave the sad
Enclosure and go away back through the un-
lovely street, rather fearing what lay before
him. For how was he to attempt to console
the solitary girl awaiting there in her
despair and her tears?
As he walked slowly and aimlessly back
to the inn, he began to think he had been q
| little too hard on those relatives of his.
Death, or even the menace of death, was q
solvent of many things: it made all antago-
nisms, animosities, indignation appear so
trivial and unworthy. He could not but re-
'ssmber that it was not through any selfish
ness those relatives of his had acted (unless
some small trace of family ambition were a
minor motive); what they had done, they
had done, as they imagined, to serve him;
there might have been errors of judgment,
but no i'll will on their part. And now, In
| this terrible crisis, if he were to write to
Lady Musselburgh-write in all con-
ciliation and kindness-and tell her
| how Maisrie Bethune was situated,
would she not allow her heart to answer?
She was woman: she professed to be a
Christian. And if the worst befell, or even
the worst were threatened, surely she would
come at once to Scotland, and make what
little amends were now within her power.
He would write his aunt long and urgent
letter-appealing to her own better nature
and asking to be allowed to summon her.
| by telegram, if there were need. He would
even humble and abase himseli-for Mais-
rie's sake.
But when he got back to the inn he found
that all these somber representations were,
happily, not Immediately called for. On
the contrary, Maisrie came running down
to say that her grandfather had been asleep,
or apparently asleep, and that, when he
woke up, he seemed much refreshed, with
his memory grown infinitely clearer. He
was especially proud that he could remem-
Der the verses about Allander Water. He
wanted Vincent to go up to him at once.
And you must please him, Vincent" she
said, breathlessly, "by promising to- do
everything to help him with the book.
Promise whatever he wishes, but be sure
you don't mention that Miss Bethune was
here-don't say a word about that-or any
thing about Balloray."
(To be concluded nezt Sunddy)