murderer.

But the business of life cannot be delayed for its sorrows. David must
wait in his shop, and James must be at the bank; and in two weeks
Donald had to leave for Edinburgh, though Christine was lying in a
silent, broken-hearted apathy, so close to the very shoal of Time that
none dared say, "She will live another day."

How James despised Donald for leaving her at all; he desired nothing
beyond the permission to sit by her side, and watch and aid the slow
struggle of life back from the shores and shades of death.

It was almost the end of summer before she was able to resume her
place in the household, but long before that she had asked to see
James. The interview took place one Sabbath afternoon while David was
at church. Christine had been lifted to a couch, but she was unable to
move, and even speech was exhausting and difficult to her. James knelt
down by her side, and, weeping bitterly, said,

"O Christine, forgive me!"

She smiled faintly.

"You--have--not--used--yonder--paper,--James?"

"Oh, no, no."

"It--would--kill--me. You--would--not--kill--me?"

"I would die to make you strong again."

"Don't--hurt--Donald. Forgive--for--Christ's--sake,--James!"

Poor James! It was hard for him to see that still Donald was her first
thought, and, looking on the wreck of Christine's youth and beauty, it
was still harder not to hate him worse than ever.

Nor did the temptation to do so grow less with time. He had to listen
every evening to David's praises of his nephew: how "he had been
entered wi' Advocate Scott, and was going to be a grand lawyer," or
how he had been to some great man's house and won all hearts with his
handsome face and witty tongue. Or, perhaps, he would be shown some
rich token of his love that had come for Christine; or David would
say, "There's the 'Edinbro' News,' James; it cam fra Donald this morn;
tak it hame wi' you. You're welcome." And James feared not to take it,
feared to show the slightest dislike to Donald, lest David's anger at
it should provoke him to say what was in his heart, and Christine only
be the sufferer.

One cold night in early winter, James, as was his wont now, went to
spend the evening in talking with David and in watching Christine.
That was really all it was; for, though she had resumed her house
duties, she took little part in conversation. She had always been
inclined to silence, but now a faint smile and a "Yes" or "No" were
her usual response, e