THREE years have passed away since Isobel Donald

bid farewell to Inverranna. And in those three years not a few changes have taken place among the inhabitants of the pretty village.

The high house on the top of the brae is no longer in the possession of Dr. Douglas Milne: in fact it has changed owners more than once since he disappeared from the scene. For in the spring following Isie Donald's departure, Dr. Milne, having fallen into difficulties of various kinds, suddenly took himself off, and was gone no one, not even his poor deluded wife, knew whither.

His fall had not come all at once. For more than a year previously he had been living, people said, a great deal too fast. He was reckless and extravagant, and poor Christina was the most unthrifty housekeeper imaginable: and that was not all. Long ago, Edmund Allardyce had shrewdly remarked that Dr. Milne's practice did not trouble him very much; and as time went on, it by no means increased. He was careless and inattentive and uncertain; and even those who had thought most of him at first grew faithless, and were glad to go back to good, honest, if rather blunt and offhand, Dr. Wilson. Then it began to be whispered about that he drank: that he had more than once made his appearance, when suddenly called for, in a state by no means inspiring of confidence in his discretion. He made many journeys into town, starting at strange hours, and perhaps remaining away for days without telling his wife why he went; while poor Christina's pale cheeks

and heavy eyes told a sad tale of wearing anxiety and foreboding.

At length one night, after the latest train had gone, he ordered his horse and gig, telling her to put up a few of his things as quickly as she could, as he intended to drive into town. He might not be able to return for a day or two. He drove away alone, to her great consternation and anxiety; and though she waited some days in suspense, the horse and gig never returned. After about a week, during which time she had been constantly beset by tradesmen whose bills were overdue, but whose demands, in her husband's absence, she was unable to meet, she received a hurried line from him, giving no address, but saying that important business would oblige him to go abroad: he might be unable to let her hear from him for some time, but she was not to make herself at all uneasy, as the course he was taking was the best for both of them at present. And then, slowly and sadly, poor Christina's eyes were opened; and she began to realize the fact that her husband was a ruined man, and that she was deserted.

He had gone away in debt to half the tradesmen in the place-including Mr. Edmund Allardyce, in his official capacity, as supplying divers necessary commodities for his house and stable. Christina found that he had managed, unknown to her, to carry off every small article of any value that the house contained; but of course the house furniture and garden produce were seized by his creditors. There was a displenish sale of the effects, which only defrayed a part of the heavy debts; and poor Christina, after her grand beginning, found herself, but for her good old parents, reduced to absolute beggary.

She went home to them, but only for a short time. Her spirit would not brook dependence; and she could even less bear to be pointed at as the deserted wife of the man who had run away in debt. So after about a month she went off to town, and took up her quarters with a cousin who had a small millinery business, which was the only kind of work to which by any possibility Christina could have turned her hand.

It was well for her that she could do something for herself, for she lost both her parents within the year. People

said that old Braehead never really got over his daughter's trouble. She had been his pride and his darling; and that her husband should have turned out so ill and deserted her, quite broke his heart. He died very suddenly, the autumn after; and his wife did not long survive him. Christina came home for a few weeks to nurse her mother: but she kept entirely out of sight, as far as it was possible for her, and would hardly speak even to Mr. Wood, who was constant in his attention to Mrs. Cameron during her sorrow and sickness. After the old lady died, Christina returned to her occupation in town, and became quite lost to all her former friends and acquaintance at Inverranna.

Mr. Wood still held the incumbency of S. Adamnan's ; and Edmund Allardyce was still his righthand man and most congenial friend. It would have been curious to an observer of characters to note how completely the young Englishman, though the superior by birth, education, and position, leant on and looked up to his humble Scottish friend. It was the consequence of the natural ascendancy of the stronger character over the weaker: the man of firm decisive will, methodical business habits, and shrewd common sense, over the clever, intellectual, but unpractical and often vacillating gentleman and scholar. So it was that in any doubt or difficulty, parochial or otherwise, Allardyce was the clergyman's first resource: the friend and counsellor to whom he turned most gladly, and to whom he never appealed in vain for sympathy.

He was

Edmund Allardyce still occupied his bachelor lodgings over Mr. Ross's shop, and fulfilled his ubiquitous duties on the line of railway. His business was increasing; and as yet he was quite satisfied with it, and was not ambitious of change. He had been elected a member of the town council of Inverranna-for of course that place, village though it was called, boasted a provost and town council. very well off now; and the only matter of surprise regarding him was that he had never married. He had been bestowed by turns upon every marriageable female in the place by the gossips of Inverranna; and if he went away for a brief holiday, speculation was busy regarding the fair bride he was to bring home with him but no fair bride ever came. The gossips of Inverranna were beginning to get

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tired of him and even Mrs. Ross had given up cryin' about a wife to Eydie Allardyce," and became contented to leave him to his peaceful enjoyment of the society of his best companions, namely Francie's "fite cattie" and the harmonium.

Francie himself however should be included among Mr. Allardyce's chosen companions, for during the agent's few hours at home Francie was seldom out of his room. He was pursuing his musical studies with a keen relish, and an aptitude that gave promise of future excellence, and had already distanced his instructor in the practical part of his art. Mr. Wood was beginning to think of some means of placing him where his instruction could be systematically carried on which, in this part of the world, was not easy to find. At present however he was still attending school, and was a useful and important member of the little Inverranna choir.

And what of Isie Donald? Her little corner in S. Adamnan's knew her no more, and another dressmaker had succeeded to the business she had carried on once so energetically. She had attained the fulfilment of her wish at length, and ever since her recovery had been working with the Sisters of S. Magnus: after due time of probation, she had at length entered her novitiate. Her health had returned rapidly under the kind care at the Home, and when once she began to get about, she found herself much stronger and better than she had been for long. She had never swerved from her resolution: although one person had tried his utmost to make her do so-namely, her old admirer, Mr. Adam. He saw her after her convalescence, being a regular member of the choir at S. Magnus' chapel; and he lost no time in renewing his suit, and imploring her to reconsider her intention of joining the Sisterhood, and to become his wife instead. But Isie was firm. She had one ideal of manly perfection, and Mr. Adam did not come up to that ideal. She could not return his affection: further, she could not help remaining loyal to her first fancy, although it could never be realized. She had chosen her lot; and she told Mr. Adam kindly but firmly that nothing would induce her to alter her decision now.

So poor Mr. Adam went his way again in an apparently

inconsolable frame of mind, and composed some mournful verses of "Farewell" which he sent to Isie; and otherwise moped about for some six months or more; but when Isie had irrevocably sealed her lot he took heart of grace and began paying his addresses to another lady, also a member of S. Magnus' congregation; and this time with happier results. She was some years older than himself, with a small fortune of her own: a kindhearted, sensible, and rather strongminded woman, who would "rule the roast" with a mild but undisputed sway, and take care of him and indulge him, and coddle his little weaknesses, and make him altogether as happy as it was in his rather melancholic nature to be.

Isie took to her work with a will, and soon became a most efficient and active member of her order. Her natural gift for nursing the sick made her a great favourite as a nurse, and she was constantly sent out to different cases, thereby gaining a great deal of experience. When at home her musical acquirements made her useful in the chapel, where she was generally employed as harmoniumist.

IT

CHAPTER II.

A MEETING ON THE QUAY.

T is three years and a half, to speak correctly, after the winter when Isie left her old home, when we take up the thread of our story again. It is the early summer. And about noon on a bright fresh June day Edmund Allardyce is standing by the drawbridge on the docks, at the town where his employers have their principal office.

He is little altered in the interval. Face and figure perhaps a little broader, the trim short beard a little fuller: altogether, it may be, looking quite the thirty years he has so nearly completed; but there is the same young freshness and trimness, the same indescribable air of brightness and unaffected natural good-breeding which made Edmund Allardyce at any time a person to observe amongst his fellows.