Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-06-29

|
have eaten the bread of another's banking.
| Elspie is a bonniettass, and an honest, but
would never haEe faught to say TO an
ancient grayaeard Of an Englishman"
Never yet did, get the chance to say
yea or nay, Umphfay spurway: But its
better late than NEVER" said the lass Ell
spie, speaking from the doorway where Sir
James had stayed her. She was brisk
lass, with no i'll in her that ever I saw.
well, listen here, Elspie.' cried the En-
| glishman,- dating with her. tell US all
whether you will have me or my man
| likely of his facerti
For a married man or for lad to
COURT, asked the lass, looking from one to
For a married man. of course" said
Sir James, before the Englishman had time
/ to speak, sr
Then I choose Imphray spurway, the
bare downsittings"
"a wise lass" said Sir James; I'VE
couldna do better, unaphray."
| But even as he spoke 1 saw his jaw drop
and he stared at the door. at which ap-
peared the face of the young man VINO
had pursued us the day on the muir Of
set his hand 20 his sword. The face of the
young man was flushed with wrath CT
| W1ne l know not which.
| Come in hither, Janet" he cried to some
at the drink. Ye will see the whole pack
| together that have disinherited me-the
canttng priest, the lying E,nglisher and
the old hound himself. The devil rive them
all! May their cups choke them!'
| ana with these wicked words Philip
Standsfield strobe upon the stone pavement
or the inn. He was a tall young man, but
with face surfeited with passion and
blotched with evil living. Behind him, with
neering laugh, there entered young
siattern of woman, buxom of feature. in
| in her eyes.
See. there they stand, Janet" cried he,
ana FOR groat / would send them all
to hell and swing for them in the Grass
| Mercat."
Philip" said Sir James, gripping the
table to steady himself, for all his nlirth
mad gone from him and left him gray to
the lips Philip, my lad, have come to
forgive you, and to see gin We will lead a
new life. Dinna-dinna begin by breaking
my heart. Send away that woman, that
| has made We live like a beast. Think on
your wife that greets for you by her
| lone"
What more he would have said I know
not, but the woman broke out furiously
| upon him, asking who he was that he
should take her good name, saying that
she was an honest mans wife and much
| else.
said We AN honest mans honest wife,? +"
said Sir James. And he looked very direct
| at her she spoke.
| The woman turned away if she could
not bear the question and the eyes of all
| that Were In the house. She made as
though she would go to the fireside by
which sat James Marr's wife with her
daughter Elspie standing beside her. But
| they gathered the skirts of their kirtles
about them and swept off into an inner
| room. So the woman came back shame
| facedly to the side of her paramount who
stood browbeating ALL the Eng
lishman, who slipped contentedly at his
! ale and smiling in. way that was a vast
I admiration to me to behold.
1t was not, perhaps. the wisest time to
give a man advice, but nevertheless, be-
| cause knew not whether indeed / should
see him again. l rose from my place and
exhorted him to repent and put away his
| sin; for that his father was ready to for
give him and receive him again. as in the
days before his first going from home.
| out upon you canting hound!' he cried,
breaking in on me: Il tell you plainly,
| gin l had muckle as siXpence in the
day. l would never trouble my father
more"
Come to dinner and worship tonight.
| and we shall see If We cannot make new
| thing of it, your father and you and /.
We have come from Edinburgh for that
| purpose"
But the more mention that was made of
| his fathers kindness. the fiercer was the
| son against him. which made his sin like
the sin against the Holy Ghost, as 1 have
| so often eXpounded.
| cried. Think We l would go to his table
to have him grin at me like sleeps head
| in a tongs. Ye dog with band-strings,
| what are ye concerned in the matter? Do
ye understand to whom ye speak?"
Then Umphray Spufway whipped a pair
of pistols out of his pocket, and laid them
| Bonded on the table.
| There has been enough and to spare of
i'll talk" he said; get out of this house
without another uncivil word, Philip Stand
field. or 1 will make hole in you, you
| debauched man and blasphemer of your
| father. And you, Janet Johnston, shall be
| whipped at the cart-tail from here to Nor
han-aye, if 1 have to lay on the lashes
| mvselfv
| So snarlinp and counter srarIinp with
| changed countenances. more like those Of
| beast than human kind, Philip Standstied
and the wepch went out vowing vengeance
| upon all. Then there comes into my
tale that night of great fear, which grips
me yet in the telling of it. 1t was a bitter
night of frost at the changing of the moon.
| A horror of great darkness fell upon the
earth. Yet there was also, what is not so
| common a night of cold, a soughing
| and wandering wind that whispered by
whites, going and coming uncertainty
among the stepped gables of the house of
| New Minis.
CHAPTER III.-THE NIGHT OF DREAD
Sir James and I took supper that Sat
urday night in his own dining hall, where
we found fire on and the table set For
1t had been the first of his concern when
we came to the house of James MARI to
send a messenger to the mansion house to
warn them of our arrival.
| But this very anxious care of his brou ght
| trouble upon him. For SO soon as we en-
tered the hall, I heard shrill voice call
| to Sir James from an upper ROOM He
went within. leaving one Spofforth his
| servitor. to take me to the supper cham
Der. Then 1 heard the sharp tongue which
| took to be that of the Lady Standstield
berate Sir James because that he had not
| come straight to his own home, but had
gone to a change house with a guest. What
Sir James said in reply I could not hear.
Nor, indeed, did I hold it to be my duty
to listen over carefully. for the excuse
which man makes to his wife concerns
| himself alone. and even the church claims
no authority over such privileged commun-
ications. In little space Sir James came
| within the chamber and partook of supper
with me, speaking clear and soberly as
| was his went upon certain books of ser
mons which he loved to read, such being
his taste. But of his family, or of the sor-
row concerning his son, he spake fur
| Their word.
Then, so soon the clock had chapped
| ten, he rose and called in the servants to
worship, which at his request 1 took, pray
ing about the space of three-quarters of
an hour, and never better in my life, as is
| great comfort to me now to think upon.
| After this, without a word spoken, he rose.
| 1 would have returned to speak of other
things but he checked me with a solemn
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