on the bed before her, and she bent her head over
them, covering them with tears and kisses.

"Oh, Jan! Oh, my darling!" she whispered to the deaf and dumb emblems
of his affection. "Oh, if thou could come back to me again! Never more
would I grieve thee, or frown on thee! Never should thy wishes be
unattended to, or thy pleasure neglected! No one on earth, no one
should speak evil of thee to me! I would stand by thee as I promised
until death! Oh, miserable, unworthy wife that I have been! What shall
I do? If now thou knew at last how dearly Margaret loves thee, and how
bitterly she repents her blindness and her cruelty!"

So she mourned in half-articulate sobbing words, until little Jan
awoke and called her. Then she laid him in her own bed and sat down
beside him; quiet, but full of vague, drifting thoughts that she could
hardly catch, but which she resolutely bent her mind to examine. Why
had Snorro kept these things so long, and then that night suddenly
brought them to her at such a late hour? What was he going away for?
What was that strange light upon his face? She had never seen such a
look upon Snorro's face before. She let these questions importune her
all night, but she never dared put into form the suspicion which lay
dormant below them, that Jan had something to do with it; that Snorro
had heard from Jan.

In the morning she took the trinkets with her to Dr. Balloch's. She
laid them before him one by one, telling when, and how, they had been
offered and refused. "All but this," she said, bursting into childlike
weeping, and showing the battered, tarnished baby coral. "He brought
this for his child, and I would not let him see the baby. Oh, can
there be any mercy for one so unmerciful as I was?"

"Daughter, weep; thy tears are gracious tears. Would to God poor Jan
could see thee at this hour. Whatever happiness may now be his lot,
thy contrition would add to it, I know. Go home to-day. No one is in
any greater trouble than thou art. Give to thyself tears and prayers;
it may be that ere long God will comfort thee. And as thou goes, call
at Snorro's house. See that the fire is out, lock the door, and bring
me the key when thou comes to-morrow. I promised Snorro to care for
his property."

"Where hath Snorro gone?"

"What did he say to thee?"

"That he was going to Wick. But how then did he go? There was no
steamer due."

"Lord Lynne took him in his yacht."

"That is strange!" and Margaret looked st