sober for them. It was rather the practical middle-aged spinster, with fewer chances and an eye to business and this class fell in love more with the good salary and the important position than with the fortunate possessor of them. He could count these ladies on his fingers. There was the tall, dressy, but exceedingly plain Miss Allan, the daughter of the man who had taken old Donald's shop. She had been coming to the evening service lately, and sat in a front seat, and sang very loud. There were two Miss Sangsters, the verger's daughters-regular "chapel"-goers, and they had a brother in the choir, and also sang. There was the merchant's sister-a very stylish lady indeed and the banker's daughter, for many years the reigning beauty of Inverranna, who was said to have refused several good offers. But his heart turned away from all and each of these with a shudder, and cried out in its loneliness-not for anything tangible or possible, but for the old love of the old innocent days-his little Teenie-his little Teenie !

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Who would have believed that this prosperous prosaic man of business, verging on middle age-this son of a northern farmer, whose ordinary talk was of top-dressings and feeding-stuffs, if not of bullocks, dreaming away in his chair, would be almost as romantically imaginative as the poor little seamstress next door had been, four years ago?

He must have fallen asleep at last, for what followed seemed as vivid to him as if it had actually taken place.

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He thought Christina was in the room, standing close to him he saw her face, not the tearful wistful worn face which had haunted him lately, but the bonnie bright one of years ago, when for the time being she had really loved him. He thought she bent down to him till the sunny curls nearly touched his face, and laid her hand on his arm; and then said in a sad gentle voice, " Edmund! I'm just to bid ye good-bye."

He sat up with a great start and found himself alone. And in that dim solitude and sudden wakening the words, so long familiar, of the psalm-which they had besides been practising that night-seemed to echo through his mind : "They have children at their desire and leave the rest of their substance for their babes.

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"But as for me, I will behold Thy Presence in righteous

ness and when I awake up after Thy Likeness I shall be satisfied with it."

Satisfied! yes, the lonely weary heart would be satisfied one day-one day-with a Love far beyond the purest earthly affection.

And then he stood up and looked at his watch, and saw how late it was, and thought that he must kneel down and say his prayers.

But he never knew or recollected what happened next.

CHAPTER IV.

NEGLECTED OPPORTUNITIES.

MR. Wood was in his nursery the following morning,

indulging in a game with his two little children, before going down to breakfast and the business of the day; when he was interrupted by a knock at the door and the voice of his Inverranna maid.

"Please, sir, that's the boy from Ross to say the agent's terrible unweel, and wants you."

"What?" cried Mr. Wood in surprise; and coming down stairs, he confronted the tailor's apprentice, in apron and shirt-sleeves. "What's the matter with Mr. Allardyce ?"

"I dinna know, freely," was the answer, "but he's nae able to rise, and I was bidden ask ye to come ower at once."

"Don't wait There's somehope he's not

Mr. Wood turned back to his wife's room. breakfast for me," he said, "I must go out. thing wrong with that fellow Allardyce. I going to knock up just at the last, and the Dedication Festival coming on!"

A few quick steps down the street brought the clergyman. to Mr. Ross's, where he was admitted by the mistress, in a state of voluble concern.

"It's real kind o' ye to have come ower so quickly, sir," she began.

"Not at all. Nothing much amiss, I hope, with Allardyce ?"

"Deed, sir, I sanna say, but I'm terrible feared he's gotten a touch of yon fivver 'at our Francie had."

"Indeed! I hope not. He was well enough yesterday, was he not?"

"Yes, sir, so far's we kent, till yestreen. I'll just tell ye. I chanced to be some late, and as I was pittin' out the lights the hin'most thing, long after I thocht a' the rest o's was beddit, I heard a't ance fair aboove my heid, a noise just like a body fallin'. Ross was to 's bed afore me, and I cried upon him: 'For any sake, Ross, just get up and go and see what's adee in Mr. Allardyce's room, for I'm fear'd till go in.' 'Fat would I dee annoyin' Mr. Allardyce at this time o' nicht?' says he. 'Time or no time,' I says, 'there's something wrang there, as sure as I'm a leevin' 'oman. Hist ye and see.' So he gaed to the door, and gied a chap-no answer: chappit twice-no answer : then he opened the door and gaed in, and me at's back, for I was just shakin'-and we got Mr. Allardyce lyin' a's length upo' the floor, and's heid close to the wa'."

"Good gracious !" exclaimed Mr. Wood. "Was he in a fit ?"

"Well, I assure ye, sir, I was just terrified it was something o' the kind, the wye he was lyin' but we loosed his collar and vest, and I just held cald watter upo's heid—and he came round in a fyow meenutes very natural like—so we thocht it was more a kind o' a faint. Ross and me put him to his bed-and awat he's nae fun to lift-and he spoke quite himself, but couldna gie us any accoont o' hoo he'd come to be lyin' yon wye-unless that he'd turned giddy like, when he was kneelin' at's prayers. He didn't mind onything aboot it, he said. I didn't like it, ony wye. I made him a hot drink, and left him pretty comfortable, sayin' he'd tak' a sleep an' be a' right but this morning I went into his room to see, at the back o' seven, for I hadn't heard a mudge; and I kent he was to be away by the mornin' train an' I got him sleepin' very heavy, and moanin' like, through 's sleep. A' at once he looks up wi' a great start. "Eh, Mrs. Ross, is't time to rise?' 'I suppose it's about 1 Movement.

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your time,' I says, 'how are ye keepin'?' 'I've had an awful night,' he says, 'and only just fell ower asleep eynow. I dinna feel 's I could lift my heid—and it's the mairket today-what'll I do, Mrs. Ross ? 'Let be the mairket,' I says, 'your'e nae fit to rise'-for I sa' at hoo-"

"Has the doctor been sent for ?" suddenly asked Mr. Wood, unceremoniously cutting short Mrs. Ross's story.

Ay, sir, we sent syn, but he was called awa' to Glenturroch i' the night, and nae come back yet. And Mr. Allardyce was ill about seeing ye-so I hope it's nae ill deen to a' sent so airly."

"Not at all-quite right," said Mr. Wood, "I'd better go up to him at once."

"If you please, sir, step up. Ye know the room-he's just in his bed."

And Mr. Wood went up stairs and into the little inner room where Mr. Allardyce slept. The bed occupied a recess in the wall, filling one side of the room; and was of the ordinary close kind, only that two small white dimity curtains adorned the front side, instead of the old-fashioned sliding door. In this bed Mr. Allardyce was lying, looking ill and restless, and altogether more dishevelled than his friend had ever seen him a small tray with a cup of tea and slice of toast, provided by the attention of Mrs. Ross, on a chair untasted beside him.

His face lighted up a little when the clergyman went in. "How very kind, Mr. Wood," he said, "I'm sorry to give you so much trouble."

"No trouble at all," said Mr. Wood. "You're not much amiss, though, I hope, eh ?"

"I'm not well at all, sir. I was sweer to send for ye; but the doctor's never come, and I thought ye would wish me to do so. I think I've gotten the fever that was here."

"Fever, nonsense!" said Mr. Wood, trying to speak lightly, though his heart sank for a moment as he thought of the delicate wife and the two little ones he had just left. "You're only a little out of sorts. Most likely you caught cold that rainy afternoon you were at Glenallan. Nothing makes one feel more low and feverish than a thorough cold."

"Eh no, sir. It's not the cold. I had an awful night

-but I'm some settled now. Will you find a chair, sir ?—

is that Mrs. Ross ?"

Mrs. Ross's substantial figure now appeared in the background.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, Mr. Wood, sir. I never thocht ye'd a' come up so immediate, or I'd have had his room redd up--are ye no takkin' yer tea, Mr. Allardyce ?"

"Much obliged, Mrs. Ross, I canna take onything. It's a' got a wa'ch1 kind o' a taste-just like bone-dust. Ye may take the things wi' ye—and give Mr. Wood a chair-and shut the door, please.-Is she away now?" he asked Mr. Wood presently, as Mrs. Ross disappeared. "She's kindness itself, but her tongue!" and he put his hand to his head.

"Rather too much," said Mr. Wood with a smile. "Your head aches, I know."

"Ay, it's awful sore, and I feel so weighty-as if I could just sleep on. They said it wasna a smitin' kind o' fever, Francie's, but some's more readier to tak' wi' onything than others. My father died in low fever."

"Yes? but you're not going to die, my dear fellow," said Mr. Wood. "Just like these great hulking strong country lads," he said in his thoughts, "directly their little finger aches, they imagine they're dying."

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"'Deed I thought I was dyin' through the night," said Edmund. Ony wye I want to speak to you, sir, about one or two things, as long's I mind. I'm frightened I lose my senses. My father lay a fortnight that he knew no one, and only just kent us a' afore he died. It's little time to prepare for death."

"Of course it is quite right to be prepared in any case; but you should not forecast the worst. It is our duty to hope, and to try to be cheerful. If you had been laid up as often as I have" (Mr. Wood's health was not robust,) you wouldn't think so much of a slight touch of fever. But now, what can I do for you? Have you any friends you would like written to, to come to you?"

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"No, sir. There's none I can expect to come. My brothers and sister are all married and have young families, and I wouldn't ask them. Only my eldest brother-you

1 Wa'ch, sickly.