I'm sorry! I'm broken-hearted, if I hae angered you! My dear! My dear love! Will ye na speak ane word to me?"

Then she turned to him a face full of pity and anger, yet strangely beautiful. "Cluny," she said, "I'll talk to you, if you'll speak o'

yoursel' and let be a' ither folk."

"How can I? I'm sick wi' the fear that you love, that you intend to marry Ballister. Tell me straight, and be done wi' it, if that is what you intend to do."

"You havna any right to ask me such a question. I never gave you any right to do sae."

"You hae let me love ye wi' a' my heart and soul for fifteen years. Is that naething?"

"Ithers hae loved me, as weel as you."

"They hev not. Nane on this earth lo'es you as I lo'e you. Nane!"

The man was beyond himself in uttering these words. It was a Cluny transfigured by a great love. The loftier Inner Man spoke for his mortal brother, and Christine looked at him and was astonished. He appeared to be taller, he was wonderfully handsome, his att.i.tude of entreaty in some way enn.o.bled him, and his voice had a strange tone of winning command in it, as he stretched out his arms and said:

"Come to me, Christine. I love you so! I love you so! You cannot say me 'nay' this afternoon. It is perhaps the last time. My dearie, I am going away tomorrow--it might be forever."

"Cluny! Cluny! You distress me! What do you wish me to say, or do?"

"Tell me the truth about Ballister. Are you going to marry him?"

"I am not."

"Perhaps not this year--but next year?"

"I am never going to marry him in any year."

"Will you marry Cluny Macpherson?"

"It is not unlikely."

"When? Be merciful, dearie."

"There are several things in the way o' my marrying anyone just yet."

"Ay, there's that new bairn i' the house. Whatna for is he here?"

"He is my brither Allan's son. He is sick, we are going to mak' him weel."

"Ay, and you'll wear a' your love on the little brat, and send a man that lo'es you to death awa' hungry."

"Cluny, I love no man better than I love you. Will not that satisfy you?"

"Na. It's a mouthfu', that's a'. And it leaves me hungrier than ever;"

and he smiled and clasped her hands so fondly, that she sat down beside him, and let him draw her close to his heart.

"Dearest woman on earth," he whispered, "when will you be my ain? My very ain! My wife!"

"When the right time comes, laddie. I love none better than you. I'm not likely to love anyone better. When the right time comes----"

"What do you ca' the right time?"

"When I can marry without neglecting any duty that G.o.d has left in my hands to perform, or look after. I canna say mair. There are many things to consider. Mither could not be left yet, and I am not going to leave her for any man--and I hae promised to tak' a' the care and charge o' Allan's little lad, but it's Mither I am thinking mainly on."

"How soon will she be well?"

"In G.o.d's good time."

"Christine, surely I hae trysted you this very hour. Give me ane, just ane kiss, dearie. I'll get through years, if need be, wi' a kiss and a promise, and work will be easy to do, and siller be easy to save, if Christine be at the end o' them."

Then he kissed her, and Christine did not deny him, but when he took from his vest pocket a pretty gold ring holding an emerald stone, she shook her head.

"It's your birthstone, dearie," he said, "and it will guard you, and bring you luck, and, mind you o' me beside. Tak' it, frae Cluny, do!"

"Na, na, Cluny! I hae often heard my mither say, 'I hae plenty now, but the first thing I owned was my wedding ring.'"

"I thought it would mind you o' Cluny, and the promise ye hae just made him."

"If I mak' a promise, Cluny, I'll be requiring no reminder o' the same."

"Will you gie me a lock o' your bonnie brown hair, to wear next my heart?"

"I'll hae no charms made out o' my hair. Tak' my word, just as I gave it. As far as I know, I'll stand by my word, when the right time comes."

"If you would just say a word anent the time. I mean as to the probabilities."

"I won't. I can't, Cluny. I havna the ordering o' events. You'll be back and forth doubtless. Where are you going?"

"To the Mediterranean service, on ane o' the Henderson boats. I'll be making siller on thae boats."

"Dinna mak' it for me. It is you, your ain sel' I'll marry, and I wouldna mind if we started wi' the wedding ring, as Mither did. Folks may happen live on love, but they canna live without it."

"I would hae chosen you, Christine, from out o' a warld fu' o' women, but I like to think o' you as mine by predestination, as well as choice."

"I didna think your Calvinism went that far, Cluny. They'll be haeing a kirk session on your views, if you publicly say the like. Ye be to ta' care o' the elders, laddie."

They could talk now cheerfully and hopefully, and Cluny went away from Christine that night like a new man, for

There is no pleasure like the pain Of being loved, and loving.

Then every day seemed to be happier than the last. The child was sunshine in the house, whatever the weather might be. His thin, soft voice, his light step, above all, his shy little laugh, went to their hearts like music. He had only learned to laugh since he came to Culraine. Margot remembered the first time she had heard him laugh.

She said he had been almost afraid, and that he had looked inquiringly into her face, as if he had done something he should not have done.

So the weeks and the months wore away, and the winter came, but the weather was sunny and not very cold, and in early December Ruleson wrapped his grandson up in one of his own pilot coats, and took him to the boat, and carried him to the fishing ground, and showed him how to cast and draw the line. And Jamie took naturally to the sea, and loved it, and won Ruleson's heart over again, whenever he begged to go with him.

Then Christmas and New Year were approaching, and there were many other pleasures and interests. Faith's marriage was drawing near, and she was frequently at Ruleson's, for the girl relied on Christine's help and advice in all matters concerning the new life to which she was going. This year also, Christmas was made memorable by a box full of gifts which came all the way from Rome, with the compliments and good will of the Ballisters and which contained many remembrances for the villagers. For Ruleson himself there was a fine barometer, to Margot a brooch and earrings of white cameo, and to Christine some lovely lace, and a set of scarlet coral combs, beads, and earrings. To Christine's care there was also intrusted a box full of Roman ribbons, scarves, and neckties, their wonderful hues making them specially welcome gifts to people so fond of brilliant colors.

From these gay treasures a scarf and sash were selected for the bride, and the rest were sent on Christmas Eve to the young girls of the village. Many other pretty trifles were among the gifts--fans and sets of Roman pearls, and laces for the neck and head, and pretty veils, and fancy handkerchiefs, and in a long letter Angus directed Christine to do her will with all he sent. He only wished to repay to the village the happy hours he had spent in it the past summer.