the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again
and she was quite composed.

"If David did strike you, you drove him to it," she said, speaking in
calm, gentle accents. "Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good
feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him
what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he
was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to
bear, had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him."

The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.

"D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never
felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had
David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've
seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had
but mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me
then. An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's
arms, and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie,
would no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me
noo; I'm alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'"

The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted,
waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle,
sorrowful, relentless.

"An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon
noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi'
yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?'
And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to
answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad.
I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by
persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'--yo'
best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra
yo'?'"

The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly
out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead
wife's memory.

"Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!" rang remorselessly
in his ears.

Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN

THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a
cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice
his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven,
go