were three red embers left and the house and all the city was asleep,
when I was aware of a small sound of weeping in the next room. She
thought that I slept, the poor soul; she regretted her weakness--and
what perhaps (God help her!) she called her forwardness--and in the dead
of the night solaced herself with tears. Tender and bitter feelings,
love and penitence and pity struggled in my soul; it seemed I was under
bond to heal that weeping.

"O, try to forgive me!" I cried out, "try, try to forgive me. Let us
forget it all, let us try if we'll no can forget it!"

There came no answer, but the sobbing ceased. I stood a long while with
my hands still clasped as I had spoken; then the cold of the night laid
hold upon me with a shudder, and I think my reason reawakened.

"You can make no hand of this, Davie," thinks I. "To bed with you like a
wise lad, and try if you can sleep. To-morrow you may see your way."

* * * * *




CHAPTER XXV

THE RETURN OF JAMES MORE


I was called on the morrow out of a late and troubled slumber by a
knocking on my door, ran to open it, and had almost swooned with the