be foiled in the attempt to extort for the dead some syllable of acknowledgment from the lips of her late companion.

"Deed she was that!-a wheen ower patient wi' some. But that cam' o' haein mair hert nor brains, She had feelin's gien ye like-and to spare. But I never took ower ony o' the stock. It's a pity she hadna the jeedgment to match, for she never misdoobted onybody eneuch. But I wat it disna maitter noo, for she's gane whaur it's less wantit. For ane 'at has the hairmlessness o' the doo i' this ill-wulled warl', there's a feck o' ten 'at has the wisdom o' the serpent. An' the serpents mak sair wark wi' the doos-lat alane them 'at flees into the verra mou's o' them."

"Weel, ye're jist richt there," said Mrs. Mellis. "An' as ye say, she was aye some easy to perswaud. I hae nae doobt she believed to the verra last he wad come back and mairry her."

"Come back and mairry her! Wha or what div ye mean? I jist tell ye, Mistress Mellis-an' it's weel ye're named—gien ye daur to hint at ae word o' sic clavers, it's this side o' this door o' mine ye s' be less acquant wi."

As she spoke, the hawk-eyes of Miss Horn glowed

on each side of her hawk nose, which grew more and more hooked as she glared, while her neck went craning forward as if she were on the point of making a swoop on the offender. Mrs. Mellis's voice trembled with something very like fear as she replied:

"Gude guide 's, Miss Horn! What hae I said to gar ye look at me sae by ordinar 's that?"

"Said!" repeated Miss Horn, in a tone that revealed both annoyance with herself and contempt for her visitor. "There's no a claver in a' the countryside but ye maun fess 't hame aneth yer oxter, as gin 't were the prodigal afore he repentit. Ye s' get sma' thanks for sic like here. An' her lyin' there as she'll lie till the jeedgment-day, puir thing!"

"I'm sure I meant no offence, Miss Horn," said her visitor. "I thocht a' body kent 'at she was ill aboot him."

"Aboot wha, i' the name o' the father o' lees?"

"Ow, aboot that lang-leggit doctor 'at set oot for the Ingies, an' dee'd afore he wan across the equautor. Only fouk said he was nae mair deid nor a halvert worm, an' wud be hame whan she was merried."

"It's a lees frae heid to fut, an' frae hert to skin." 'Weel, it was plain to see she dwyned awa efter he gaed, an' never was hersel' again—ye dinna deny that?"

"It's a' havers," persisted Miss Horn, but in accents considerably softened. "She cared no more aboot the chield nor I did mysel'. She dwyned, I grant ye, an' he gaed awa, I grant ye; but the win' blaws an' the water rins, an' the tane has little to du wi' the tither."

"Weel, weel; I'm sorry I said onything to offen' ye, an' I canna say mair. Wi' yer leave, Miss Horn, I'll jist gang an' tak' a last leuk at her, puir thing!"

"'Deed, ye s' du naething o' the kin'! I s' lat nobody glower at her 'at wad gang and spairge sic havers aboot her, Mistress Mellis. To say 'at sic a doo as my Grizel, puir, saft-hertit, winsome thing, wad hae luikit twise at ony sic a serpent as him! Na, na, mem! Gang yer wa's hame, an' come back straucht frae yer prayers the morn's mornin'. By that time she'll be quaiet in her coffin, an' I'll be quaiet i' my temper. Syne I'll lat ye see her-maybe. I wiss I was weel rid o' the sicht o' her, for I canna bide it. Lord, I canna bide it."

These last words were uttered in a murmured

aside, inaudible to Mrs. Mellis, to whom, however, they did not apply, but to the dead body. She rose notwithstanding in considerable displeasure, and with a formal farewell walked from the room, casting a curious glance as she left it in the direction of that where the body lay, and descended the stairs as slowly as if on every step she deliberated whether the next would bear her weight. Miss Horn, who had followed her to the head of the stair, watched her out of sight below the landing, when she turned and walked back once more into the parlour, but with a lingering look towards the opposite room, as if she saw through the closed door what lay white on the white bed.

"It's a God's mercy I hae no feelin's," she said to herself. "To even (equal) my bonny Grizel to sic a lang kyte-clung chiel as yon! Aih, puir Grizel! She's gane frae me like a knotless threid."

CHAPTER II.

BARBARA CATANACH.

MISS HORN was interrupted by the sound of the latch of the street door, and sprung from her chair

in anger.

"Canna they lat her sleep for five meenutes?" she cried aloud, forgetting that there was no fear of rousing her any more.-"It'll be Jean come in frae the pump," she reflected, after a moment's pause; but, hearing no footstep along the passage to the kitchen, concluded-"It's no her, for she gangs aboot the hoose like the fore half o' a newshod cowt;" and went down the stair to see who might have thus presumed to enter unbidden.

In the kitchen, the floor of which was as white as scrubbing could make it, and sprinkled with seasand-under the gayly-painted Dutch clock, which went on ticking as loud as ever, though just below the dead-sat a woman about sixty years of age, whose plump face to the first glance looked kindly, to the second, cunning, and to the third, evil. To the last look the plumpness appeared unhealthy,