ied Donal, and wishing her good-bye with a grateful
heart, betook himself to his journey.

He had not gone far when he found himself on a wide moor. He sat down
on a big stone, and began to turn things over in his mind. This is how
his thoughts went:

"I can never be the man I was! The thoucht o' my heart 's ta'en frae
me! I canna think aboot things as I used. There's naething sae bonny
as afore. Whan the life slips frae him, hoo can a man gang on livin'!
Yet I'm no deid--that's what maks the diffeeclety o' the situation!
Gien I war deid--weel, I kenna what than! I doobt there wad be trible
still, though some things micht be lichter. But that's neither here
nor there; I maun live; I hae nae ch'ice; I didna mak mysel', an' I'm
no gaein' to meddle wi' mysel'! I think mair o' mysel' nor daur that!

"But there's ae question I maun sattle afore I gang farther--an' that's
this: am I to be less or mair nor I was afore? It's agreed I canna be
the same: if I canna be the same, I maun aither be less or greater than
I was afore: whilk o' them is't to be? I winna hae that queston to
speir mair nor ance! I'll be mair nor I was. To sink to less wad be
to lowse grip o' my past as weel's o' my futur! An' hoo wad I ever luik
her i' the face gien I grew less because o' her! A chiel' like me lat
a bonny lassie think hersel' to blame for what I grew til! An' there's
a greater nor the lass to be considert! 'Cause he seesna fit to gie me
her I wad hae, is he no to hae his wull o' me? It's a gran' thing to
ken a lassie like yon, an' a gran'er thing yet to be allooed to lo'e
her: to sit down an' greit 'cause I'm no to merry her, wad be most
oongratefu'! What for sud I threip 'at I oucht to hae her? What for
sudna I be disapp'intit as weel as anither? I hae as guid a richt to
ony guid 'at's to come o' that, I fancy! Gien it be a man's pairt to
cairry a sair hert, it canna be his pairt to sit doon wi' 't upo' the
ro'd-side, an' lay't upo' his lap, an' greit ower't, like a bairn wi' a
cuttit finger: he maun haud on his ro'd. Wha am I to differ frae the
lave o' my fowk! I s' be like the lave, an' gien I greit I winna girn.
The Lord himsel' had to be croont wi' pain. Eh, my bonnie doo! But ye
lo'e a better man, an' that's a sair comfort! Gien it had been
itherwise, I div not think I could hae borne the pain at my hert. But
as it's guid an' no ill 'at's come to ye, I haena you an' mysel' tu to
greit for, an' that's a sair co