THERE

CHAPTER III.

THE SAME CAUSE.

`HERE was little rest for Edmund Allardyce that night. Long he remained up, pacing about his room, or standing debating and considering; finally committing his hopes and his fears in humble prayer to his Heavenly FATHER. And when he went to his bed at last it was by no means to enjoy his usual unbroken repose.

On one thing he had quite decided; and that was that he must see Christina again next day—and see her, if possible, more to the purpose. He must let her know in some way the real state of his feelings, and endeavour to ascertain hers. He must do it without delay, or she would engage herself to some situation. And, though he would never think the worse of her for earning her living in the humblest situation, if anything were to come of their meeting he would liefer she did not take service here, where they would be known.

It was too early to call before office hours next morning; so he was once more obliged to wait till midday brought the hour of his release; when he again summoned up his resolution to face the gossips of Marchant's Brae.

Fortune favoured him this time. There were no loiterers about the door; but just as he approached it Christina herself came up from an opposite direction.

She was walking fast, but had rather a fagged weary look-as if a little vexed besides. But she was looking so pretty! She wore a dainty little bonnet, quite plain black, with a white crimped inner border, above her sunny curls, made more golden by contrast: a rough black dogskin fur jacket: the same close-fitting black dress as the day before. A very slight tinge of colour mounted to her cheeks when she saw Mr. Allardyce; but she lifted her blue eyes and looked at him, in the same self-possessed way as before, with a little air of half-amused surprise, as he held out his hand to her, saying,

"Just in luck, Mrs. Mil'! I was on my way to see you."

"To see me?" she repeated.

"What is it?"

"Were ye going in? Might I speak with ye?"

"Eh yes, if ye don't mind coming to the top of the house.

I'm near ashamed to ask ye up to my place, but I've nowhere other to bid ye sit down."

She led the way up, and he followed her, to the forlorn attic, where the imposing presence of so well-dressed a gentleman did seem a little out of keeping with the surroundings. But that forlorn attic was all the world to Mr. Allardyce just then.

"Sit down, Mr. Allardyce," she said, pointing to a chair, and sitting down herself rather wearily. "Well, have ye heard of anything to shuit me?"

"Eh no," said Mr. Allardyce, completely nonplused by this coolness. "Ye havena engaged with the parties you were meetin' ?"

"No, I haven't."

"It hasna been satisfactory then ?"

"No-not to me. I dare say you think beggars wouldn't need to be choosers: but I'm not quite so ill off's that. And I'll not engage with anything that disna please me." "Is it necessary then that ye should tak' sairvice at a' ?" "What other could I do? I've naebody here to look to, now that my cousin's away. And I wouldn't go back to that slavery again-no, not if I was told I'd mak' a thoosand punds!" she said vehemently, with a lighting up of her eyes and a glow on her cheeks. "It did well enough for me before. I wouldna have gone to sairvice then: forbye that fowks was nae very kind in what they said. It's hard to have to thole the blame that disna rightly belong to ye; but the world disna think o' that. The world's not very just, Mr. Allardyce."

"I suppose there's fyow but finds that, some time o' their lives," said Edmund. He was inwardly wondering how he could plunge into the subject nearest his heart, which made him pre-occupied and strangely quiet in manner.

"I know fine, I needna look for such a place as I've newly left," Christina went on. "She was more like friend than mistress! She's given me an excellent testimonial, whatever ; perhaps ye may care to see what she says," and she drew a folded note from her pocket and laid it before him. "I

A A

asked her to say all she knew of me, as I didn't know where I might be to seek service next."

Of course he was interested in seeing anything which concerned her; and it gave him more time to consider: so he unfolded the note, and read:

"The bearer, Christina Milne, has been with me for four years as maid, and I have great pleasure in expressing my full belief that she is a thoroughly honest, sober, respectable person; and I have always found her an efficient and pleasant attendant, well understanding the duties of her situation. She is a clever needlewoman, an excellent milliner, and understands getting up lace and fine articles. When she came to me first she was in very delicate health, and had just lost her husband (whom she had come out to Melbourne to join) under very distressing circumstances, being left quite dependent upon her own exertions. I believe she had seen a good deal of trouble, through no fault of her own; and have every reason to speak of her as an industrious and wellconducted young woman. Her health has been long quite re-established, and I should have no hesitation in recommending her for such a situation as she desires. She leaves me by her own wish, being anxious to return to the north of Scotland, of which she is a native: she belongs to the Episcopal Church, and has always most gratefully availed herself of such church privileges as I could afford her. I shall ever feel interested in her welfare, and shall gladly answer any questions of those whom she may refer to me." The testimonial was signed, the writer's address and the date being given.

"Yes," said Edmund rather abstractedly, laying the note upon the table. And then he looked down for a few moments thoughtfully, while she observed: "It's well to have one good friend, at any rate. I know she'll be as good's her word to me."

Mr. Allardyce still sat silent, stroking his beard meditatively; then leaning forward a little and looking straight before him, at the ground, he began, "There's just one thing in particular, that I called to say. I am afraid I made a wrong statement yesterday, when I was here. I believe I told ye I would be glad to-to assist ye in any way as a friend— and I'm afraid that canna be. It's nae in my power."

"Eh? What have ye heard against me since yestreen ?" she said, looking full at him with the old sort of challenge look, a slight flush mounting to her cheeks. He loved her

all the more for being so like her old self-for not having had all the old life and fire and spirit quenched and cowed out of her.

"Nothing-nothing airthly," he said in answer. "But I had been speaking too rashly, and just when I came to conseeder of it—I just sa' that it couldna be."

"And ye came back to tell me, syne? 'Deed, ye might have saved yer trouble, Mr. Allardyce. Ye notna ha' feared my annoyin' ye. It disna set ye very well to go out of yer way t'affront a lonely widdy."

"Affront! No. Nothing was further fra' my mind. If ye would allow me explain-"

"I dinna see 'at there's any need for explainin', Mr. Allardyce. I ken fine I've no right to look for friendship fro' ye. I mind we wasna upon speakin' tairms, when we was neebors-and I shouldna have spoken ye yon time, but I thocht we would never meet again—and I was ill about hearin' ye say it once-that ye'd forgiven what was past!" There was a very slight quiver in her voice as she said this. "But I'm seekin' nothin' from ye eynow. If I've sinned, awat I've suffered too-but it disna matter.

I'm stoot and

well eynow, and I can mak' out fine, by myself!”

She rose from her chair, as if for a signal to him to leave, and he rose too, but did not offer to go.

"I'm so sorry to trouble ye, Mrs. Mil'. But as I am here, I'm not to go leavin' ye to misunderstand me—when I see 't ye've taken me up wrong."

"I've only taken ye to mean what ye say.”

66 Well, well. Ye said eynow, we wasna upo' speakin' tairms, when we was neebors last. I know that, as well as yourself. Can ye tell me the reason ?"

"Of course-ye was angry at me. Ye'd a right to be, I

know."

"Was that it? Then afterwards, when ye was in trouble -I'm aware, I never went anigh ye either at yer own house or at Braehead-when ye was back there. Was that the reason, then ?"

"Be to be," was the curt answer.

"Be to be, did it? May be: I thought mysel' there mith have been some other ca'se. And after, syne—when ye was in the town-a matter o' some three years. I sort o' knew what wye ye'd been livin'-but I ken I never sought ye out, or called for ye, or offered to assist ye, in any way. Why was that ?”

"I suppose it was aye the same. Ye'd been always angry some wye."

"That was the ca'se, was it? Well, it's the same ca'se whatever, brought me here to ye yesterday-brings me the day." "Because ye're angry yet—and winna be friends ?"

She looked up, doubtful and deprecating, and met the old "electric needle" flash of the dark-fringed eyes, the look that used to say that he was not in a mood for trifling. But he spoke very calmly now, though in deep earnest.

"Because I love you, Christina !"

Christina trembled visibly. She was really taken quite by surprise; and he saw that it was so, that she had bonâ fide "taken him up wrong." In a low, trembling voice she said, "Eh, ye couldn't-it's not possible-"

"Is it no? I've heard say there's no proof till a trial. Would ye try ?"

"Try-?" she repeated, glancing up timidly and doubtfully. "Ye couldn't mean

"Couldn't mean!" he exclaimed. Christina, no one on this airth knows what it was to me to lose ye, yon time. Only He kens, through Whose grace I was able to-to keep out of temptation's way. And He only knows what the hope of finding ye has been to me, for the last four years. If I've found ye, only to lose ye again," the strong voice was very hoarse and faltering, "I suppose He'll just enable me to bear it. But if—if no, Christina, as I'm willin'-only too thankful, to let the past be as if it hadna been, atween us-could ye do the same—and try it—try back to me again—after ten years ?"

She was standing, her face half-averted, her whole frame heaving with emotion, her lip quivering, unable to speak. He stood before her, pale with his intense anxiety, but still and calm only at length, as she continued silent, he ventured to take hold of her hand.

And then her last remnant of self-command gave way.