hanging her head, and
drawing a deep breath.

The stranger detected the same symptoms of pain in the mother as those
he had observed in the daughter.

"Then forgets he not his cottars in his absence," he added. "But why has
he left a retreat fairer than any I have yet seen throughout a long
pilgrimage over many lands?"

"We will not speak of that," she replied, rising slowly, and going to
the window, where she stood for a time in silence.

"You have a daughter, dame," resumed the man, as he watched the
indications of movement in the heart of the mother. "I saw her sitting
looking at the mansion of Whitecraigs. I fear she can lend you small
aid; yet, if her powers of mind and body were equal to the beauty that
has too clearly faded from her cheeks, methinks you would have had
small need to have taken the charity of either friends or strangers."

"Ay, poor Alice! poor Alice!" rejoined the mother, turning suddenly, and
applying her hand to something which required not her care at that
time--"Ay, poor Alice!" she added.

"Is it a bargain, then," said he, wishing to retreat from a subject that
so evidently pained her, "that I may remain here for a time, on your own
terms of remuneration?"

"It may be as you say," replied she, again taking her seat; "but only on
a condition."

"What is it?" inquired he.

"That you never mention the name of Hector Hayston, or of Whitecraigs,
while Alice is by. She harms no one; and I would not see her harmed."

"I perceive," said he, muttering to himself, "that I am not the only one
in the world who carries in his bosom a secret. But," he continued, in a
louder tone, "your condition, dame, shall be fulfilled; and now I may
hold myself to be your lodger." And he proceeded to take from the
stuffed pockets of his coat some night-clothes of a homely character,
and handed them to the dame. "And now," he said, "you may be, now or
after, wondering who he may be who has thus come, like a weary bird from
the waste that seeks refuge among the sere leaves, to live in the
habitation of sorrow. But you must question me not; and farther than my
name, which is Wallace, you may know nothing of me till after the 29th
day of September--ay, ay," he continued, as if calculating, "the 29th
day of September."

The dame started as she heard the mention of the day, looked steadfastly
at him, and was silent.

"Yes," he continued, "that day past, and I will once more draw my breath
freely in the land of