There
came over it a look which cannot be described, but which made it for the
moment truly beautiful--a look hopeful, trustful, joyful.

Allison was saying to herself:

"Oh, Willie! if I might only dare to speak and bid him go to you."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"She wakened heavy-hearted
To hear the driving rain,
By noon the clouds had parted,
And the sun shone out again.
`I'd take it for a sign,' she said,
`That I have not prayed in vain.'"

That night while Mrs Beaton and her son sat by the fireside, exchanging
a word now and then, but for the most part in silence, a knock came to
the door. Allison had given herself no time to reconsider the
determination to which she had come when she met John's eyes in the
kirk, being bent on abiding by it whatever might befall.

It had not come into her mind that her courage might fail her at the
last moment. It was not that her courage was failing, she told herself,
as she stood waiting. It was because she had run down the lane so
quickly that her heart was beating hard. It was like the thud of a
great hammer against her side; it frightened her, and she was tempted to
turn and run away. But she did not.

"I would be sorry when it was too late," thought she, and knocked again.

There was a pause of a minute or two, and then the door opened, and John
Beaton appeared, carrying a light.

"I was wishing to say a word to Mrs Beaton, if she will let me," said
Allison, making a great effort to speak as usual.

"Surely," said John. "Come in."

"Come away in, Allison," said Mrs Beaton's kind voice out of the
darkness.

When John had shut the door and come into the parlour with the light, he
was surprised to see that the two women had clasped hands, and that on
his mother's face was the look which he had hitherto believed it had
worn for him alone. He moved a chair forward from the wall.

"Sit down, Allison," said he.

"No," said she; "I will say first what I came to say."

John set down the candle and turned to go. But Allison put out her hand
to detain him.

"'Bide still," said she. "I have to ask your mother to ask her son to
do something for me--something which I cannot do for myself, but which
must be done, or I think my heart will break."

"'Bide still, John," said his mother.

John moved the light again, so that it fell on Allison's face, and then
went and stood in the shadow, leaning on the back of his mother's chair.
Allison