With which very just conclusion the speaker went on into the canteen,
and John Broom ran to the hospital.

Stripped of his picturesque trappings, and with no plumes to shadow the
hollows in his temples, M'Alister looked gaunt and feeble enough, as he
lay in the little hospital bed, which barely held his long limbs. Such a
wreck of giant powers of body, and noble qualities of mind as the
drink-shops are preparing for the hospitals every day!

Since the quickly-reached medical decision that he was in a rapid
decline, and that nothing could be done for him, M'Alister had been left
a good deal alone. His intellect (and it was no fool's intellect,) was
quite clear, and if the long hours by himself, in which he reckoned with
his own soul, had hastened the death-damps on his brow, they had also
written there an expression which was new to John Broom. It was not the
old sour look, it was a kind of noble gravity.

His light-blue eyes brightened as the boy came in, and he held out his
hand, and John Broom took it with both his, saying.

"I never heard till this minute, M'Alister. Eh, I do hope you'll be
better soon."

"The Lord being merciful to me," said the Highlander. "But this warld's
nearly past, laddie, and I was fain to see ye again. Dinna greet, man,
for I've important business wi' ye, and I should wish your attention.
Firstly, I'm aboot to hand ower to ye the key of your box. Tak it, and
put it in a pocket that's no got a hole in it, if you're worth one.
Secondly, there's a bit bag I made mysel', and it's got a trifle o'
money in it that I'm giving and bequeathing to ye, under certain