The herald., 1897-12-19

"At least come in and see my moth
er!" she said. and led the way within.
But when we had gone into the long
oaken chamber, naught of the lady OF
Earlstoun was to be seen. And the
laird himself cried to Mary to enter
tain me till he should speak to his
grteve over at the cottage.
In the living room Of Earlstoun was
peace and the abiding pleasant sense
OF an ordered home. AS soon as she
had shut the door the lass turned upon
me.
you have given up your parish?''
she said, holding her hands before her
with the fingers clasped firmly togeth-
er.
nodded.
"And you are journeying to the West
to Join the Hill-Folk?"
I smiled as looked into her deep and
anxious eyes.
again you have rightly OWNED"
said.
And what stipend are We to get from
them?"
II am to have no stipend. 1t has not
been mentioned between u.s."
20 Quintin-" she cried, her eyes
growing ever larger and darker, till the
pupil seemed to invade the iris and
swallow it up.
| But though waited for her to speak
she said nothing more.
| So I went on to tell her how I was
| going to the West, to spend my life
| along the poor folk there who had been
so long without shepherd.
"And will you-(she paused)-will you
leave us all?"
"Nay," said l. "for this Earlstoun is
ever kindly and a beloved spot to
me. Often when the ways are lone
and dreary, the fol- unfriendly, shall
my heart turn hither And when I an
in Galloway, be sure that will not pass
| you by. Your father hath been a good
and loving friend to me''
"My father" she cried, with a little
outward pout of the lip.
AYE, and you, too, Mistress Mary
You have been all too kind to a broker
man. a man, who, when the few coins
knows not whence he will get his next
golden guinea"
| I was silent for while and only
looked steadily at her. She moved hel
| feet this way and that on the floor un.
| CeTtdlHly. 11CI SIdCS anu ldNOT SpOht
J to me anew.
"As for me, Mary" said. IT need
not tell you that I love you. 1 have
loved you ever since I met you on the
Bennan brae-face. But now more
greatly-more terribly that I love al
together without hope. I had no
meant to speak again. but only to take
your hand once-thus, and get mi
gone!"
She held her fingers out to me and
clasped them in mine. I thought she
was ready to bid me farewell. and tha
she desired not to prolong the pain o.
the interview.
"Fare thee we'll. then, Mary" said I
II have loved the cause because 1t II
the Cause Of the Weak I have loved
the Banner Of Blue. I have loved my
people But none Of them hath thi.
aching. weary heart loved as 1t ha.
loved Mary Gordon. the sweetest mai(
under the sun. I have neither hear
nor right to speak of my love, no.
house nor home to offer. can but go!'
''Tell on" she said. Il little breathless
ly, but never once taking her eye
from my face.
There is no other word to tell
Mary" said I. IT have spoken tn
word and now there remains but t.
turn about and set face forward a
bravely as may be, to shut out tn
pleasant vision, Sc IN for a moment, t,
leave behind forever the hearts de
sire"
"No-no-no!" she interrupted, Jerk
ing her clasped hands quickly down
ward.
TO lay aside the deep, unspoke,
hopes of man who has never love;
woman before"
She came little nearer to me, still
exploring my face with her eyes, as
spoke the last words.
"Did you not, Quintin, are you sure? ?
II never loved before" said I. "be
cause I have loved Mary Gordon from
the beginning, every day and ever,
hour since I was herd boy on th'
hills. Once I was filled with pride ant
the security OF position. But OF thes
the Lord hath stripped me. I am we'll
nigh as poor as when I came into tn,
world. I have nothing now to offer yol
or any woman"
"Nay," she cried, speaking yer!
J quickly and suddenly, laying he
clasped hands on my arm. you are ricl
I-rich. Quintin! Listen, lad! There Il
one that loves you now-who ha
loved you long. Do you not under
stand? Must I, that am a maid, speal
for myself?"
And then she smiled suddenly, glori
ously, like the sun bursting through
black and leaden clouds
o perilously sweet was her smile!
"Mary," I cried, suddenly, "you ar
not playing with me? All, for God
dear sake, do not that! 1t would breal
my heart. You cannot love q maj
broken, penniless outcast, one of
down-trodden and despised folk. Yo,
must not give yourself to one who's
future path Is lone and desolate!"
IT love you, Quintin!"
zone who has nothing to offer, moth
ing to give, not even the shelter Of
roof-tree any more-a wanderer. a beg
gar!"
IT love you, Quintin!"
And the hands that had been claspe,
on my arm, Of their own sweet accor.
stole round upward and rested loving
ly about my neck. The eyes that ha,
looked so keenly into mine were salts
fed at last, and with a long, sobbin,
sigh OL CUHteHl MdTy GOTUOuS 8 nedi
lpillowed itself on my breast.
XXXVII
THE LAST ROARING OF THI
| BULL.
"Come," she said, aft-r a while, 'le
us go to my father!"
And now the Rubicon being passed
there shone a quick and alert gladnes