Now, all that Curly had told Alec was that Annie was not engaged to him.

So the days and nights pa.s.sed, and Spring, the girl, changed into Summer, the woman; and still Alec did not come.

One evening, when a wind that blew from the west, and seemed to smell of the roses of the sunset, was filling her rosy heart with joy?-Annie sat in a rough little seat, scarcely an arbour, at the bottom of a garden of the true country order, where all the dear old-fashioned glories of sweet-peas, cabbage-roses, larkspur, gardener's garters, honesty, poppies, and peonies, grew in homely companionship with gooseberry and currant bushes, with potatoes and pease. The scent of the sunset came in reality from a _cheval de frise_ of wallflower on the coping of the low stone wall behind where she was sitting with her Milton. She read aloud in a low voice that sonnet beginning "_Lady that in the prime of earliest youth_." As she finished it, a voice, as low, said, almost in her ear,

"That's you, Annie."

Alec was looking over the garden wall behind her.

"Eh, Alec," she cried, starting to her feet, at once shocked and delighted, "dinna say that. It's dreidfu' to hear ye say sic a thing. I wish I was a wee like her."

"Weel, Annie, I think ye're jist like her. But come oot wi' me. I hae a story to tell ye. Gie me yer han', and pit yer fit upo' the seat."

She was over the wall in a moment, and they were soon seated under the trees of the copse near which Annie had met him before. The brown twilight was coming on, and a warm sleepy hush pervaded earth and air, broken only by the stream below them, cantering away over its stones to join the Wan Water. Neither of them was inclined to quarrel with the treeless country about them: they were lapped in foliage; nor with the desolate moorland hills around them: they only drove them closer together.

Time unmeasured by either pa.s.sed without speech.

"They tell't me," said Alec at length, "that you and Curly had made it up."

"Alec!" exclaimed Annie, and looked up in his face as if he had accused her of infidelity, but, instantly dropping her eyes, said no more.

"I wad hae fun' ye oot afore a day was ower, gin it hadna been for that."

Annie's heart beat violently, but she said nothing, and, after a silence, Alec went on.

"Did my mother ever tell ye about how the barque was lost?"

"No, Alec."

"It was a terrible snow-storm with wind. We couldn't see more than a few yards a-head. We were under bare poles, but we couldn't keep from drifting. All in a moment a huge ghastly thing came out of the gloamin'

to windward, bore down on us like a spectre, and dashed us on a floating field of ice. The barque was thrown right upon it with one side stove in; but n.o.body was killed. It was an awful night, Annie; but I'm not going to tell you about it now. We made a rough sledge, and loaded it with provisions, and set out westward, and were carried westward at the same time on the floe, till we came near land. Then we launched our boat and got to the sh.o.r.e of Greenland. There we set out travelling southwards. Many of our men died, do what I could to keep them alive. But I'll tell you all about it another time, if you'll let me. What I want to tell you noo's this.?-Ilka nicht, as sure as I lay doon i' the snaw to sleep, I dreamed I was at hame. A' the auld stories cam' back. I woke ance, thinkin' I was carryin' you throu' the water i'

the lobby o' the schuil, and that ye was greitin' upo' my face. And whan I woke, my face was weet. I doobt I had been greitin mysel'. A'

the auld faces cam' roon' me ilka nicht, Thomas Crann and Jeames Dow and my mother?-whiles ane and whiles anither-?but ye was aye there.

"Ae mornin', whan I woke up, I was my lane. I dinna ken richtly hoo it had happened. I think the men war nigh-han' dazed wi' the terrible cauld and the weariness o' the traivel, and I had sleepit ower lang, and they had forgotten a' aboot me. And what think ye was the first thocht i' my heid, whan I cam' to mysel', i' the terrible white desolation o' cauld and ice and snaw? I want.i.t to run straucht to you, and lay my heid upo' yer shouther. For I had been dreamin' a' nicht that I was lyin' i' my bed at hame, terrible ill, and ye war gaein aboot the room like an angel, wi' the glimmer o' white wings aboot ye, which I reckon was the snaw comin' throu' my dream. And ye wad never come near me; and I cudna speak to cry to ye to come; till at last, whan my hert was like to brak 'cause ye wadna luik at me, ye turned wi'

tears i' yer een, and cam' to the bedside and leaned ower me, and?-"

Here Alec's voice failed him.

"Sae ye see it was nae wonner that I want.i.t you, whan I fand mysel' a'

my lane i' the dreidfu' place, the very beauty o' which was deidly.

"Weel, that wasna a'. I got mair that day than I thocht ever to get.

Annie, I think what Thomas Crann used to say maun be true. Annie, I think a body may some day get a kin' o' a sicht o' the face o' G.o.d.?-I was sae dooncast, whan I saw mysel' left ahin', that I sat doon upon a rock and glowered at naething. It was awfu'. An' it grew waur and waur, till the only comfort I had was that I cudna live lang. And wi' that the thocht o' G.o.d cam' into my heid, and it seemed as gin I had a richt, as it war, to call upon him-?I was sae miserable.

"And there cam' ower me a quaietness, and like a warm breath o' spring air. I dinna ken what it was-?but it set me upo' my feet, and I start.i.t to follow the lave. Snaw had fa'en, sae that I could hardly see the track. And I never cam' up wi' them, and I haena heard o' them sin'

syne.

"The silence at first had been fearfu'; but noo, somehoo or ither, I canna richtly explain 't, the silence seemed to be G.o.d himsel' a' aboot me.

"And I'll never forget him again, Annie.

"I cam' upo' tracks, but no o' oor ain men. They war the fowk o' the country. And they brocht me whaur there was a schooner lyin' ready to gang to Archangel. And here I am."

Was there ever a gladder heart than Annie's? She was weeping as if her life would flow away in tears. She had known that Alec would come back to G.o.d some day.

He ceased speaking, but she could not cease weeping. If she had tried to stop the tears, she would have been torn with sobs. They sat silent for a long time. At length Alec spoke again:

"Annie, I don't deserve it?-but _will_ you be my wife some day?"

And all the answer Annie made was to lay her head on his bosom and weep on.

CHAPTER XCIII.

Is it worth while, I debate with myself, to write one word more?-?Shall I tie the ends of my warp, or leave them loose?-?I will tie them, but no one needs sit out the process.

The farm of Howglen prospered. Alec never practised in his profession, but became a first-rate farmer. Within two years Annie and he were married, and began a new chapter of their history.

When Mrs Forbes found that Alec and Annie were engaged, she discovered that she had been in reality wishing it for a long time, and that the opposing sense of duty had been worldly.

Mr Cupples came to see them every summer, and generally remained over the harvest. He never married. But he wrote a good book.

Thomas Crann and he had many long disputes, and did each other good.

Thomas grew gentler as he grew older. And he learned to hope more for other people. And then he hoped more for himself too.

The first time Curly saw Annie after the wedding, he was amazed at his own presumption in ever thinking of marrying such a lady. When about thirty, by which time he had a good business of his own, he married Isie Constable?-still little, still old-fashioned, and still wise.

Margaret Anderson was taken good care of by Annie Forbes, but kept herself clear of all obligation by never acknowledging any.

Robert Bruce had to refund, and content himself with his rights. He died worth a good deal of money notwithstanding, which must have been a great comfort to him at the last.

Young Robert is a clergyman, has married a rich wife, hopes to be Moderator of the a.s.sembly some day, and never alludes to his royal ancestor.

THE END.