ith you this night?"

"You can stay as long as you want to stay. I will be gey glad o' your
company."

"I have long looked for an opportunity to come to you. At last I
pretended to be very sick with rheumatism, and had a famous physician
to see me. Of course I had looked up the symptoms I had to complain
of, and I succeeded in deceiving him. He was puzzled about my freedom
from fever, but I told him 'it came bad enough every third day,' and
he said he would see me on the third day. My brother and his saucy
wife left for Edinburgh yesterday, and they think I am safe in bed. I
am safe here. I left Glasgow an hour after they did."

"Will you hae a cup of tea and a mouthful o' bread and broiled ham?"

"I am hungry and cold, and shall be very glad of it."

"Then go and tak' off your bonnet and cloak, and come to the fireside.
I'll hae the food ready for you, in ten minutes."

Christine wanted a few minutes to consider. Was it right for her to
tell Roberta all she knew, or must she follow the Domine's plan and be
non-committal. She had not satisfied herself on this subject when
Roberta returned to her, and she then hastily decided to do right and
tell the truth whatever turned up. The tea and ham and bread were
ready and Roberta sat down to them with the pleasant eagerness of a
hungry child. She was, however, much changed. Her face showed plainly
the wear and tear of a troubled, anxious mind, and as soon as she had
taken a long drink of tea, she asked abruptly, "Christine, where is
Neil?"

Then all Christine's hesitation vanished, and she answered frankly,
"Neil is in a little town on the Hudson River, about a two hours'
journey from New York."

"What is he doing?"

"He is bookkeeper in a shop there."

"What is the name of the town? Tell me truly, Christine."

"I will let you read his last letter. It came two days ago."

"Thank you! It would be a great comfort to me."

There was a John Knox teapot on the chimney-piece, and Christine
lifted it down, removed the lid, and took Neil's letter out, and
handed it to Roberta.

The woman's invincible sense of whatever was ridiculous or inconsistent,
with a person or event, was instantly roused by the appearance of John
Knox. She laughed with girlish merriment. "To think of John Knox
interfering in my matrimonial difficulties!" she cried, "it is too
funny! The old scold! How grim and gruff he looks! If he could
speak, how he would rave about the outrageous authority o