you before you ever saw my face, and she could not give you up. You owe her a great duty; perhaps you would never have been happy if you had slighted it even unwittingly, and now you must fulfil it to the best of your ability, like a man, and God will bless your faithfulness. She loves you with all her heart, and she is so young that you will become almost responsible for her growing into your likeness, your fellow and friend; and I will be very glad to hear of your happiness; I will rejoice wherever I may be.'

'Oh! Anne, Anne, for our two whole lives are we sundered by my hands?—for our two lives?'

'You have so many blessings-your old father, you must content him, you must never suffer the punishment to fall on him; your glen and your people, who are so proud of their young Laird and confident of his will to serve them; your friends, they will all return to you, they will all be won back when they see you resolute to atone for the wrong you have done-when they find you just and true and on every side respected; see, Mary will be friends with you again, this moment, when I bid her; Mary will be your supporter.'

'Oh! Anne, must it be for life? Is there no remedy-no other work or sacrifice? Am I called upon to give you up for life as the penalty of a day's-a week's madness? We are young; are we to be no more to each other for our long lives?' That cry rang in Mary's ears for days. For life, Anne? Are we never to come together again in our whole lives?'

'Life is not long at the best or the worst, John; we might have been united, and death might have severed us in a few months, or years. Life is short, but it is our school for eternity, which is longlong.'

6

Go, John Dunglas,' exclaimed Mary Aldour with a sob, clasping his hand, but Anne bent forward with her arms extended and kissed him for the first and last time.

'They took but ae kiss, and they tore themselves away.'

Mary was thankful when she had Anne within the sanctuary of home, for brave and noble as she had been, she was wan and weak before they crossed the threshold of Aldour.

CHAPTER XII.

ANNE'S LESSON TO MARY.

NNE was the better for that farewell, sad though it was. Vague mysteries, shifting, uncertain conjectures and suspicions, darkling condemnations, are the worst

enemies with which we can contend in this world; secrecy and silence, anxiety, doubt, and dread, chilling into despair, are the foes that starve out a beleaguered camp; no attack but may be repelled, no charge but may be withstood, but famine cows the highest spirit, and eats out the firmest resolution. A loss once clearly ascertained, a sorrow fully comprehended, above all, a fault told to a brother, is robbed of half its sting.

Anne had decided that she would not quit Aldour at once; she would not behave like a love-sick girl who could not control herself; it was not consistent with the self-respect which was then so impressed upon women-not to bear and forbear. At first the determination was for her own sake, now it was also for his, and even for that of Nancy Robertson, who had robbed her of what was dearer to her than her life-blood.

Anne talked frankly though sparingly in her conversations with Mary upon her views and wishes. 'I will wait till the frost winds are here, Mary; I will see all our favourite spots again in the brilliant colours of the fall of the year, and then I will return "to the braw, braw town" of which we have sung-do you remember, Mary? Ah! "the braw, braw town" has its advantages, I believe that, beforehand. I will attend a singing class and take lessons in lacquer work this year, and then I have my aunts and cousins to think about and go out with. They say John Dunglas and Nancy Robertson will be married before winter; but what of that? I am not standing between them. I would put their hands within each other, if I could. I will wish them joy; I am staying on purpose to wish them joy.'

'But, Anne, is not that indeed heaping coals of fire on their heads?'

'No, Mary, unless it is to melt their hearts. I have questioned myself, and I am sure it is only peace I seek. I have caused contention among you, and now I wish to hush it up and leave you all reconciled.'

'That cannot be, my dear girl; it would be immoral, unprincipled. I will not go to Croclune again, I wish I had never visited it, I am sick of it. John Dunglas will not seek to enter Aldour after Nancy Robertson is his wife.'

'But, Mary, you must think better of it for my sake,' begged Anne. He will have a hard struggle,

poor fellow, without the addition of animosity from Aldour. For my honour, that I may have rest in my mind, you must let everything be as it has been. It is not cowardliness, it is not craft, it is charity. You cannot live out of the world, you must encounter such men and women as the Robertsons, and there is no saying how much they've been misled and tempted by a careless, worldly up-bringing. You must go amongst them to improve them. I always thought that you raised the society you were in, Mary Aldour-that you taught Mackie to be upright as well as affable, honest as well as obliging; and Mr. Cormac Macgregor to be kindly. What is forgiveness worth if it is not forgetfulness? Oh! you must help him, Mary ; you must be my representative in his house. I am afraid his wife will be thoughtless and try him. I doubt I doubt her violent fancy for him will wear off, and then if he has not planted esteem and affection in its stead, if he has not learned to control her by getting her to look up to him, if he cannot guide her by kindness, what is to become of them? And he is young, and unstable, and violent, I know it, to be forced to exert his authority, and to think and decide for both so soon. Oh! you must watch over them, Mary, and be their disinterested, generous, magnanimous friend. I know it cannot be my part, but I declare I would give all I have in the world to be at liberty to take it. For myself, I will soon get over this cross; I will soon be perfectly contented and cheerful; but I'll tell you what would make me