ed two mountaineers to watch by it. But
Basil, he afterwards told me, now came forward, and insisted on that
duty being left to him; he would take no refusal, and more than once,
when Captain Blundel looked in, he found him on his knees at the head of
the rude bier, praying devoutly. "No people," added Captain Blundel,
"make longer prayers than the Black Mountaineers, nor, I believe, more
devout ones."

I entered alone the hovel where my husband lay; what a place it was!
The floor was unpaved, and positively alive with mice and fleas; the
walls were of stones loosely heaped together, and little bright flecks
of light peeped through the crevices. Wood smoke curled up from the
hearth and so dimmed the air that I could not at once distinguish the
dear object of my search. Two women were there, kind though rough
nurses; one was baking cakes on the hearth for him, the other was
holding to his lips a cup of sour milk. He was propped up against a
pile of blankets, and his features looked wan and sunk. He caught sight
of me at once, and snatched me to his breast with a vehemence so unlike
his calm self that it almost startled me. So did his rapid utterance
and feverish rather unconnected questions, ending with, "Where's John?
isn't he with you?"

"No," I tremblingly answered, neither daring to tell the truth nor to
withhold it from him in his critical state.

"Then, my dear, where is he?" he rejoined quickly.

"He is--he has been called home," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Very extraordinary," I heard him mutter, as he sank back on his pallet,
"but they were right; John has no head for business; when did he go
home, my dear?"

I could not help bursting into tears at this reiterated inquiry; your
uncle raised himself on his elbow and gazed in my face, and as he did
so, a sudden light seemed to break in upon him. I knew suspense would
be torture, and added, "Yes, dear Laurie, he was called home this
morning; his death was by a pistol-shot, purely accidental,--no pain, no
distress, conscious to the last, and quite satisfied to go; he desired
me to give you his love, Laurie; now you know the truth, and you shall
hear every particular as soon as you are strong enough to bear it."

Your uncle heard these tidings in perfect silence; he was calm, but too
deeply heart-stricken to speak; next to me, I think he loved John better
than any one in the world; often, very often, when I go into his
dressing-room, I fin