San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-01-07

ter than she should be, l supposed it was
some trip of his own that Mr.. Henry was dis
sembling. was the more impressed when
the truth came out.
1t was up a wynd OFF a side street in St
Brides that Jessie had her lodging. The
place was very i'll inhabited, mostly by the
free trading sort. There was a man with
broken head at the entry; half way up, in
tavern, fellows were roaring and singing,
though it was not yet in the day. Alto
gether | had never seen a worse neighbor-
mood even in the great city of Edinburgh,
and was in two minds to go back. Jessie'S
room was of u piece with her surroundings
and herself no better. She would not give
me the receipt (which Mr. Henry had told
me to demand, for he was very methodicaD
until she had sent out for spirits and | had
pledged her i'll glass; and all the time she
carried on in a light headed, reckless way,
now aping the manners of a lady, now
breaking into unseemly mirth, now making
coquettish advances that oppressed me to the
ground. OF the money she spoke more tragi.
cally.
Its blood money" said she, II take it for
that, blood money for the betrayed. See
what I'm brought down to! ALI, if the
bonnie lad were back again, it would be
changed days. But he's deid-he's lynn deid
amang the Hieland hills-the bonnie lad, the
bonnie ladl"
She had rapt manner of crying on the
bonnie lad, clasping her hands and casting up
her eyes, that think she must have learned
of strolling players; and | thought her sor-
row very much of an atfectation, and that
she dwelled upon the business because her
shame was now all she had to be proud Of
| will not say did not pity her, but it was a
loathing pity at the best, and her last change
of manner wiped it out This was when she
had had enough of me for an audience, and
I'D set her name at last to the receipt
There" says she, and taking the most un
womanly oaths upon her tongue, babe me
begone and carry it to the Judas who had
sent me. 1t was the first time had heard
the name applied to Mr. Henry; | was stag
gered besides at her sudden vehemence of
word and manner, and got forth from the
room, under this shower of curses, like a
beaten dog. But even then was not quit,
for the vixen threw up her window and
leaning FORTH continued to revile me as !
went up the wynd the free traders, coming
to the tavern door, joined in the mockery
and one had even the inhumanity to set upon
me a very savage, small dog, which bit me
in the ankle This was strong lesson, had
required one, to avoid i'll company, and rode
home in much pain from the bite and consid
cradle Indignation Of mind
Mr. Henry was in the stewards room, af-
fecting employment, but | could see he was
only impatient to hear of my errand.
We'll, says he, as soon as | came in, and
when | had told him something of what
passed. and that Jessie seemed an undeserv.
ing woman and far from grateful: "She is
no friend to me-" he said; "but indeed, Mac.
cellar, have few friends to boast of; and
Jessie has some cause to be unjust. need
not dissemble what all the country knows
she was not very well used by one of our
family This was the first time had heard
him refer to the master, even diStantly; and
| think he found his tongue rebellious, even
for that much; but presently he resumed:
This Is why would have nothing said. 1t
would give pain to Mrs Henry-and to my
father" he added with another flush.
Mr.. Henry" said |, IF you will take a
freedom at my hands, | would tell you to let
that woman be- What service is your money
to the like of her! She has no sObriety and
no economy, rs for gratitude, you will as
soon get milk from whinstOne; and if you
will pretermit your bounty, it will make no
change at all but just to save the ankles of
your messengers"
Mr. Henry smiled But | am grieved
ebout your ankle" said he, the next moment,
with proper gravity.
'Aud observe,"I continued, II give you
this advice upon consideration; and yet my
heart was touched for the woman in the be-
ginning
why, there it is, you seer said Mr.. rren
~ And you are to remember that l knew
her once very decent lass Besides which,
although speak little of my family, think
much of its repute"
And with that he broke up the talk, which
was the first we had together in such conf
dence But the same afternoon | had the
proof that his father was perfectly acquaint-
ed with the business, and that it was only
from his wife that Mr.. Henry kept it secret
II fear you had painful errand today"
says my lord to me, ''for which, as it enters
in no way among your duties, | wish to thank
you, and To remind you at the same time in
case Mr.. Henry should have neglected. how
very desirable it is that no word of it should
reach my daughter. Reflections on the dead
Mr.. Mackellar, are doubly painful"
Anger glowed in my heart, and | could
have told my lord to his face how little he
had to do, bolstering up the image of the
dead in Mrs. Henrys heart, and how much
better he were employed to shatter that false
idol For by this time saw very well how
the land lay between my patron and his wife
My pen is clear enough to tell plain tale,
but to render the effect of an infinity of
small things, not one great enough in itself to |
be narrated, and to translate the story of |
looks, and the message of voices when they |
are saying no great matter, and to put in |