moan that followed it. It sobered him at once and
completely. The shock was frightful. He stood for a moment looking at
the upturned face, and then with a fearful horror he stooped and
touched it. There was no response to either entreaties or movement,
and David was sure after five minutes' efforts there never would be.
Then his children, his uncle, his own life, pressed upon him like a
surging crowd. His rapid mind took in the situation at once. There was
no proof. Nobody had seen them leave together. Robert had certainly
left the company an hour before it scattered; none of them could know
that he was waiting in that inner room. With a rapid step he took his
way through Kent street into a region where he was quite unknown, and
by a circuitous route reached the foot of Great George street.

He arrived at home about eight o'clock. John had had his dinner, and
the younger children had gone to bed. Little John sat opposite him on
the hearthrug, but the old man and the child were both lost in
thought. David's face at once terrified his uncle.

"Johnnie," he said, with a weary pathos in his voice, "your father
wants to see me alane. You had best say 'Gude-night,' my wee man."

The child kissed his uncle, and after a glance into his father's face
went quietly out. His little heart had divined that he "must not
disturb papa." David's eyes followed him with an almost overmastering
grief and love, but when John said sternly, "Now, David Callendar,
what is it this time?" he answered with a sullen despair,

"It is the last trouble I can bring you. I have killed Robert Leslie!"

The old man uttered a cry of horror, and stood looking at his nephew
as if he doubted his sanity.

"I am not going to excuse mysel', sir. Robert said some aggravating
things, and he struck me first; but that is neither here nor there. I
struck him and he fell. I think he hit his head in falling; but it was
dark and stormy, I could not see. I don't excuse mysel' at all. I am
as wicked and lost as a man can be. Just help me awa, Uncle John, and
I will trouble you no more for ever."

"Where hae you left Robert?"

"Where he fell, about 300 yards above Rutherglen Bridge."

"You are a maist unmerciful man! I ne'er liked Robert, but had he been
my bitterest enemy I would hae got him help if there was a chance for
life, and if not, I would hae sought a shelter for his corpse."

Then he walked to the parlor door, locked it, and put the key in his
pocket