The Holly chieftain., 1900-08-17
CHAPTER III.


was committed to the grave. where all
.the sins and crimes OF his past life
we're to be forever hidden. And Mar
garet heard the stern command which
all mourners have to hear sooner or
later-"Turn thee. and try to work"
4 Word had come to her on the second
day after her fathers death that she
had paeeed her final" with honors.
She was free TO enter on her lifework
that life which she felt must now be
devoted to one end. thst Of making
restitution. SO far as she was able. to
John Cleland's son.
II was work which could only end
with her life-she was sure of that.
However successful she might be. II
seemed extremely improbable that she
should ever be able to pay back any
fhing like the sum Of money which her
father had stolen from Paul Cleland's
dead father
She did not think It necessary to
publish her fathers crime and dis
grace by confessing to Paul Cleland
what he had done. 1t seemed that
Cieland himself was against Of the
sin that he had vicariously borne. and
Wherefore it would be cruel to him,
a. we'll as the dead, to expose the
wrong.
But she felt that never again should
she dare to look on Cleland's face.
sShe. who for one brief moment had
been inside paradise. and had seen
the beauty and joy OF 1t. had been
thrust forth. and could not hope to
return again, because the angel with
: the flaming sword on which was writ
ten in letters OF FIRE, Thou shalt not,
'tbarred the way
She could not go back to Edinburgh.
She felt that her only safety lay in
putting a distance between herself and
Paul Cleland. 1t seemed as II 1t was In
answer to her prayers that at that
very time. before she even wound up
her fathers affairs. an offer should
come to her from the professor whom
she was relying upon to help her Of an
assistantship in small private hos
vpital In northern town. In few
weeks Margaret found herself sta
TONED there under the newly bestowed
title OF Margaret Crawford, NJ. b..
C. NJ"
She wrote Paul Cleland brief. cold
(. little note. which wrung her heart to
j write. merely stating that she had re-
ceived an appointment In country
town-she did not say where-and
would not likely be back in Edin-
burgh. thanking him for his past kind
ness and help, and adding that, since
her fathers death. she had made up
her mind to devote herself entirely to
sher career as lifework.
No answer was possible. for she gave
no address: and none came.
She was busy at st. Fillan's. and
the time passed quickly. When au-
tumn came she had fortnight of holi-
days: and, while she was hesitating as
to where to spend them. a little
scented note came from an old school
friend. whom she had occasionally
corresponded with since school days:
Il have heard where you are from
Mrs. Douglas of the Bughts. St. Fill
ylan's. who is an old friend Of the mas
ter's. II you have holidays, won't you
come and spend them with us-part
Iof them. at least? We are staying
near Penny Cant. and 1t is mag
niHcent place for holidays. Do come!
~ wish to see real. live lady doctor.
Yours ever. FLO WINTER"
She was a little butterfly of crea-
ture, surrounded by luxury and all
that she could desire: but Margaret
felt somehow inclined to 60. She was
strangely lonely and friendless in st.
Fillan's, and longed for little hu-
man companionship. And she could
= not think 1t was necessary that she
should quite cut herself of from that
because of that terrible phantom of
the past that must walk beside her for
ever
>, So she went to Greystoke. Florence
Wynter herself drove to the station to
smeet her. looking very fresh and
charming in her dainty fawn-colored
driving coat. and hat with dropping
feathers. She was pretty little
creature, golden-haired and blue-eyed.
: I'm so glad to see you!" she said,
embracing Margaret with effusion.
And you don't look bit like lady
doctor. declare! You don't wear
spectacles! And that style of wear
ing your hair is certainly very becom-
I Ing to you"-rehectively-"though
don't think 1t would suit me. You've
a kind of grotesque appearance. you
know. Margaret"
She chartered gaily as she held tho