Flora took Peter's arm, that was callous and rough with the turningof brakes and the coupling of chains.

"It wass not your new engine you wass skinnyking about this evening,Peter Bruce, but a poor little child that iss in trouble. I hef not thewords, but I will be remembering your house, oh yes, as long as Ilive."

Twice Peter stood on his way home; the first time he slapped his legand chuckled:

"Sall, it was gey clever o' me; a hale kerridge o' Drumtochty lads,and no ane o' them ever hed a glint o' her."

At the second stoppage he drew his hand across his eyes.

"Puir lassie, a' houp her father 'ill be kind tae her, for she'ssair broken, and looks liker deith than life."

No one can desire a sweeter walk than through a Scottish pine woodin late September, where you breathe the healing resinous air, andthe ground is crisp and springy beneath your feet, and gentleanimals dart away on every side, and here and there you come on anopen space with a pool, and a brake of gorse. Many a time on marketdays Flora had gone singing through these woods, plucking a posy ofwild flowers and finding a mirror in every pool, as young kidswill; but now she trembled and was afraid. The rustling of the treesin the darkness, the hooting of an owl, the awful purity of themoonlight in the glades, the freezing sheen of the water, were to hertroubled conscience omens of judgment. Had it not been for thekindness of Peter Bruce, which was a pledge of human forgiveness,there would have been no heart inside her to dare that wood, and it waswith a sob of relief she escaped from the shadow and looked upon theold glen once more, bathed from end to end in the light of theharvest moon. Beneath her ran our little river, spanned by itsquaint ancient bridge; away on the right the Parish Kirk peeped out froma clump of trees; half way up the glen the clachan lay surrounded bypatches of corn; and beyond were the moors, with a shepherd'scottage that held her heart. Two hours ago squares of light told ofwarmth and welcome within; but now, as Flora passed one house afteranother, it seemed as if every one she really knew was dead, and she wasforgotten inside her misery. Her heart grew freezing, and she longed to liedown and die, when she caught the gleam of a lighted window. Someone was living still to know she had repented, and she knelt downamong the flowers with her ear to the glass to hear the sound of ahuman voice. Archie Moncur had come home late from a far-away job,but he must needs have worship with his sister before they went tobed, and well did he choose the psalm that night. Flora's tearsrained upon the mignonette as the two ancient people sang: