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Chapter NumberI
Chapter TitleGLENARD.
Chapter Url
Full Date1876-04-15
Page Number19
Word Count5007
Last Corrected0000-00-00
Newspaper TitleSouth Australian Chronicle and Weekly Mail (Adelaide, SA : 1868 - 1881)
Trove TitleRossbuy: A Story for Easter
article text



By John Rot.

Chapter I. — Glenabd.

There is one feature of landscape which the Scottish emigrant misses sorely in South Australia — water. When wan dering among our hills, he cannot forget that at home the sounds of running water never ceased, and the silence here seems - deathly and unnatural. The thousand lakes of Scotland have their ten thousand attendant streams flowing into them, and rivers flowing out of them ; and the ripple of the currents, or the roar of the falls and rapids, is always in the air ; sounds in singular harmony with the prevailing hues, thp greys and purples

ox earto. ana sty. Anaeeaj is is to its running waters that Scotland owes, its present form ; it is they which have hewn out the glens of the mountains, and which have there formed straths and plains out of what they have cut from the hills. Thus it is that so great a number of places in Scotland are named from its rivers and streams; Glen being one very common element in such compound names, including, as it does, the ideas represented by many English words, such as gorge, ravine, dell, vale, and so forth. But when the river flows through vrider plains, we find another word to combine with its name, the word Strath. We have both glens and straths in this country, but these are less frequently descriptive than memo rial ; and with this we find no fault. But the names were originally descrip tive, and physically appropriate, therefore still locally used, even when not accepted by political geography as legal designa tions. We have been led into this tract of thought by remembering the likeness which the Mount Lofty Range bears to the Ochil Hills, where the scene of our story is laid ; a likeness in almost all points, save rivers and streams. The Ochils are

a pleasant medium between the terrible majesty of the great mountains and the grave cheerfulness of the lowlands. There are, indeed, some scenes of gloomy gran deur among the Ochils, but nature's smile is more frequent there than its frown. The glen of the Ard is one of the love liest there. No words can do justice to it : they can only hint what the imagina tion must picture for itself. Glenard f- is no doubt considerably altered since the date of our tradition, somewhat more than a century and a quarter ago. It has changed a good deal within the last 30. years. The natural features, however, remain, and- it is easy to fancy the- glen as it was, when Lady Ann Graham owned it and inhabited its old manor-house of Rossbuy. It must have been, as it is, a picture of surpassing beauty ; aiid the best possible point of view has been pro vided for it by mere regard to con venience. The only tolerable access from the south being by a pass, long, dull, and in 'every way^wearisome, a sudden bend in the pass reveals Glenard, with it& beauty'enhanced by the contrast in ; the highest degree. Straight in front of the traveller, and about 'a mile off, is the house of Rossbny; its cliffs of buff-, yellow, about 30 feet in height on the north, west, and south sides, formed by the chafing of the Ard, which flows round itV Wnejfeifie traveller stands, however j it 7 is on aleyel with him ; and te his right and ; left . stretches the glens. Away ?to the

. right, eastward, tne ground. tails and tne; vaHey widens for several miles; but on the left the 'hn^,cladrin purple heather^ continue almost to the centre of the pic-* ture ; the : Ard : there coming south waird ? from its ^ihead waters in a morass high among the hills, and turning eastward at \ RdjSsbuy. T To the east the valley is alliiri '? \;the hands of thrifty farmers, their houses Sotting the landscape, whose other c fea ? turesf are given by -the various hues of crops and pastures ; in- the midst of- the 1 ^ArOj-winding inils bed of greyijoMclers, , - at times visible only? by ite sUytefcgtea^riis,: at other times hurrying oUj a, fierce and I- ^foaming flood, [white from bank to bank. Turning again to the; centre of the'pjc s !=^are* Visee^he;yen6i!j)jlifafof iiBUw8buyi {from ^SiobV byW way, *heu£ai& is* - :- * - . ? :

lorpd^mea^^he^o^hekMand^) on each side 'flanked l-y gentlejsloDBSj^r braes, mantled -with '? a copse of hazeL with .iirchias--'iand ^eowaiS scattered throughoj|t it; flffircopse jgradually^yiela- interspejraed' fnt^r-m^eft aiia etbis, and with ??';? nBjre i oiurftA^iere a giant |-f ihe^d ancieiit --- j-mfe. tiforest ^- s-Noy, there are plantations, of larches, and fctfiera .of :bakj 'wer^eiieve';:b'u.t at tlie date of our story iher!ei tw,epe none ;- jn-. 4»ejd -,!&% L0laxc% A was Sk^. mjsmmi mc rScot|aml^ .^£eyomui andiaboye2the;jwd6(|s there is a grey streak, the^plan^pajj-' tiaires,' ^brblEen; towards ; 'th(i. ^ IfefV11 -^E;- tip - specta^OTfit»y' i^of ;icj( ; fem6rald,''Wnence' 3»^4race^iihe rugged and broken course pf ? the stream as it fiowa^dowai^ib the Sridef space at our feet. /Hemmingsall^and clo|s: ing4n^oir^very«dej^re-th©-ptirple-bill4 {? and sfcuddii% £hese, tjjluejsun|mil£ of'some more distant, the broad strong swe&pjf of (joloi yielding a bahihced- harmony, plea sant of iteelL and with every separate feature iheightened in beauty: by its sur rSiMings^ '/:'?:,. :rjt ? £-? ! ?

Chapter ,IL-r-I/ADr ^Niffslil&puBLiL Eariy in last7 century1 rt£e ;1S*': of the old lairds, ofrrGl^ard-; dyliig, left: this rfa5r^ieg^iWti^'^^yv.Ajin ^rskme, a. young cousin of that : unfortunate Earl of- Mar who raised ? the stan dard of the, Stuar& in -1715; It* would be difficult So imagine a dawn bf life moire promising than hers, r High born, beautiful, amiable, ^and r.nqw wealthy also, her cousin's defeat aijid attainder were &e only tjlpudi iti^ hier sky; and thjese were almost 'forgotten when she found her 'affeptioja recipro catedrby the man -whom of .-all others she loved and admired. -Major Graham was a royalist, it is -true, and had' lought against King James,' but he was .a man of the highest character in every respect. Disabled for a soldier's : life by, wounds, which would not healj but still, on the whole, strong and vigorous^ -Lady Ani's happinesBin her marriage with him -was great. It increased when'; fhley* were'

blessed with two sons ^twins^ an-t ^was^ perfected when JtheBe- grew- -up'iall ! a' mothers heart could wish?. : Twenty years flitted by in this happiness, and then the. storm came : , one; terrible : blast ; followed another till she was left alone, most deso late and miserable. , ? , ' ' i Her husband wap ibrousiht to her, killed- by the bursting .of , his fowling piece. Notall this love of -both -her sVjns could assuage her grief, though each/did

nis best. i3oth were with ner; the elder, James, having been recalled from : his regiment, and the younger1, Ronald, having never left home- : .\ .'??-' - A heavier calamity was at hand. Her sons, who had always' hytherto main tained the greatest affection for each ^ other, became estraijged ; to moody looks succeeded angry words, and soon it be came : known, even to fh.pit afllicted mother, that the two who were all the world -to her, were at ^ipen- enmity-ije- tween themselves. ? Then' came her xsrowning' woe: One morning both sons failed to appearf^nd their -beds showed that . both . had been

ausem -ui niguci cearca was- iaaue ior them, and one was founds Lieutenant James Graham 'was found shot through the heart, and hui throat mangled by the fangs of some furious. beast. Worse still, beneath him, crushed flat, was the hat of his brother Ronald, and. at his feet was a pistol, one of a pair belonging- to their father. James's hat was not to be found, and the: awe-atricken. -searchers' began to whisper that Ronald and James could always exchange hats. Next came the suggestion that Ronald's great wolf hound had not been seen that morning, more than its master. At last, as Ronald did not appear, the charge seemed to be formed of itself, of the murder of his brother ; though all declared it :in credible that a , young man _ they had known all his life, -and had honored for every good quality, could have committed a crime so fearful. The Lord Advocate, who, in Scotland, with the help, of the Sheriffs and Procurators Fiscal,- supplies the place of Coroner, Grand Jury, and public prosecutor, after patient investigation of all the circum stances, found that all pointed to Ronald Graham, and not one to any one else. Warrants were immediately issued for 'his apprehension ; but no tfaca- could - be,; found ^of him, nor, we may , adcU of Tiis wplf hound, which had disappeared at the same time. * ? :

, Seventeen years passed, and the whole miserable story wia fading from the re collection of a?i but the sorrowful niother. Seventeen. years of such suspense !.;', Hop ing against hope ^ dead vto :all but .'her own desolation ; with nb single ray iof consolation but her assurance of Ronald's innocence, however ..improbable that seemed. . -~).~\ Chapter III.'^Daybeeak. No one, it is true, thoHight of arguing with Lady - Ann ; concerning ?, J8.onaid's guilt ; it would have been .gratuitous cruelty. But many admired the- courage with which she fought against all dis courageooent ; prof buudfy wretched, yet whenever she had an ppportqnity, pro testing r-that- if Ronald lived his indo lence would yet be manifested.' He had hot been-^tried, she contended ; - *ior thbugh, he should be '? tried and coji

ueiiiiieu, uuiy upuu uis o.wii comession would she held him ^guilty.. She would Tecal to her friends7 remembrance the loyalty and chivakous generosity -which had .characterised his ,condu'ct,r his - Only fault (or fa^ingraiiher)yijemg Ms jkeenly '. sensitiye aversion to bringing pain upon others/. He histd always itriedi to shelter her f t^m annoyatfces i at what cost soever to himself^ ^^^^.faifl^^nlil^rronj'* Jier, in endeavors 4 wS- maijage .rthem for jjer, having aonietimes ;invo}veii .^othr tn, penalties jshe could have Jaypided hade ihe^ known earlier about''them- ^Ana:^pne thing she felt, thbugTi1 - she; ^never Qx presseld it/'; -»he k^^;.^h^5Rt|ii4dV self-sacrificing Hadogfs f;t44 ibeeii' . hark^1 ful to, J amesj iiy fostering his selashaqss: »nd prides «o-*Ke'~fough€*j her 'battle against despair ..for Tthese .17 lon^-^earR,*: 4uring frhich oi& ^e^ds^.iiifojppe4, aw^y^i napd no new bn^i^c^me^fo^^epla^yJhfim, till at last she-was^withoutTeven 'lilieiflon »©lationj^o£- sympaUiy, savje from f tier honsehpld, and front the bid,MiniB|ei? jof reach the game assurance in .Ronald's

Ronald's favor, wal ^ndJnBdltp hope as she did j he had known the young man's worth top vw^li to be able to^Ondemnj him unheard. . His fear was, that Ronald also had beenonurdered with; his brother; his unbroken silence leading Mm 1^» this suspicion. One thing iB^certatn, that'ne and Lady Ann we^e able to console one another; neither ceased to pray^n^ht or day, for Ronald, if alive, andTreqllenif were the prayers, in. . which -the ^rV«it», . 4it their^psra jeouest^ were permitted, to . l6in\i'OTffiredf tmrby J tMf* j^nSter^HHii ° -'At^nie end or these long years, one fine .sumpier, evening, as the sun was drawing -near the horizon, Lady Atrn was inJ'a mpod^mpre ^near desDavt^th^n was, usual

wwn ner; one was pacings up .and;Cipwnj mindful only; of , her ttxsumb;' at tunes; kheeling'dbwn ^br a moment^ b^ttlb, kne'ei ing or walking, pouringputprayers,1 inco herent enough, bu$ - intensely earnest; ^for Ronald. She heard the clang of the bell' at the gate, but -heeded it pot, till, the servant announced the minister. ' Sis tisit was twelcome,^ thongh she wondered how - hB: came to be so late. Lady Ann invited bim-to stay-all night, but he said he had a friend whom he had left in the antechamber; that ie would not 'have come so late j ^ but that it had become necessary to see he^r instantly and alone. 'But truly,' headdedj 'now that I am here. I hardly know how to' say what rf^duld^v (:V* (](\:.x r-K .T? Something in his air caught the atten tion of Lady Ann. She laid a trembling hand upon his arm, and cried/' It's about Ronald!17' i The old man led lier to lier:

chair,'- and- with , gentle .compulsion made her sit down ; and' then, after a struggle with iimself, spoke out stoutly^ ^..PjBa^Lady Ann, some of your for ebears were valiant . in :war, and some were great in grace ; andrl-be|ir witness ;f rom what I have seen; in; you, jfor near two score years now, that yb^f are worthy of the bist of them. ' Aiid ^iribw 1 bid you suriimon«.llyour: cburas:^ arid Ipray'Gtod to; gl^e yougrjace, to bear good news, for; God.Tias not teen unmindful of. your iprayers.' ? ? :?.., .-. -j ,;:,.... ?.. ; ,...-. ..- . . - Bhe stammered feebly^ as if «he could not ? comprehend, ^Oood * ne#s— good news,*1 arid- wvas indeed fainting, .when the minister cried out, 'Help, Ronald, help !' She had a* glimpse of a tall, gray-haired man speeding to her help, and then all her powers gave way, and she sank fainting from her chair. It was with a vague sense of some un speakable joy that she came to herself. But the sight of him who knelt by her bedside, with her hand in his, dispelled all the vagueness of her joy, by its mani fest reality. ~ In ; that brown and fur rowed face, there was the old expression of tender; filial, love she. remembered so? well ; and the clear, loving glance was that of one whom no guilt oppressed. She needed no wdMs*; Ronald was there, Ronald* was innocent, and all. was well beyond her. hopes. It was some time before Lady Ann was able to speak'; the recoil from the tension of these 17 years had almost overpowered her,. Ronald' first spoke. Suddenly he cried, 'Alas! I forgot myself! Mother, all these years 1 have been saying to myself that if I should ever see you again, I would say, as I now humbly say — Mother, I, have sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son ; make me as one of thy hired servants !'' 'O my son ! what do you mean by these words? What have you done? Were you — ' She paused, the words dying away on her blanched lips. ' Mother,' Roland said, if you ask

concerning poor James's death, reassure yourself. James had no hurt or harm from me. And yet, mother, for all this suffering, yours and mine too, I confess there was one cause in my sinful silence. Had I but spoken to you when I ought to have done se, O ! how different had your life and mine been ; and James might have been spared too.'. - *l I tannot understand you,' cried Lady Ann. ' Pray explain to me these riddles: You should know how, painful they must be to me.' Just then a ray -from the rising sun struggled through the curtains into the chamber. Both saw with surprise that the day had broken; the brief summer night had passed. : '* ; ' Explanation is easy, mother ; but it will be too much for you to talk more now. Will you not try to sleep, and be atf ong to hear all when you awake ?' But she insisted, ' No ! tell me all now : I

.shall .never sleep again unless I know what you have to tell me.' He rose, drew. back the draperies, and flung open the window, 'admitting 'the still, balmy air into the1 chamber. Then Ronald began-r-^. .? 'I could wish TVIr. Gordon had been present, for there is much which I have to say w^ich I have heard from him. But as . Tie is no doubt asleep, I shall 'proceed as best, I- -can. You remember Euphetnia Watson V ' Certainly, she died very recently/' '.Mother, Euphemia Watson was my wife,' said Ronald sadly, laying before his mother a certificate of their marriage and a w^ed ding ring. His mother, was lostin^amazeineriti ' No whisper of such a thing7had ever gone abroad, and she certainly had. never .dreamt of it. She well remembered how her sons, when boys at school, had been, wont to tease each other about the schoolmaster's fair daughter: but that had never alarmed iM^'h ^vn.^ H:n--r.R - £ '. Inifacti ^bi may .obserye in passing, there was less^ likelihood then .of a mesallittri:t&'? though tsnildwri bf ? ''wMely differing ; ranks attended the^sarme parish ? school, than there lsJabw^ when the grades ' of *s6(Jiety thold aaorei apart from each -other— .J.'he Uniits of^casjte wgrerthen so string: that^o- levelltrig effect' was prb_ duced^y-^sqciation^pr^f^miliarity, JSjo matternowth^yiiright be tniked' together ('th© 'wSlW)orn and 'the' low-^born -were 'never confused. - The laird's sons and the

tenants sons and daughters th?sii atteijded the parish schooler studied together, played icge^hfer, ^^ Jo^gh^ :?and iriade fnerids, arid ; i^maiieif iair proof of manly worih .wit^put regarded iexteVnal distinctions; = A capital system, but no longer possible^ now that monev'ihivels : alt, graclfes^iThe pariah iph^olkin #iiqse days WBrflfw.ry generaiiy . taugfei Jby ministern who had failed to 'obtain a living; and the scholars had

alwayJBjtfaJb cvk^cfi p( & thoroughly good ^^Upat^n at a very moderate post.., ; ., '? .'? k i^KiB^ev.-'^ohn W^atsbri, parish schbbl mas|erjof Gle^ard,^. ^man of good family cand%' fair scholar, '-seenfed content wi|h Jhisij-ojnt|on.T^H^)was a widower, with'' two daughtersj of whom tihie younger was jSupHendaL; She w^s a beautiful girl, arid *a -.gejoeral favorite, though giddy, arid addicted^.to flirting. Lady Ann could' a-ememberVWarifig^ that she was ill, arid be,, dying, cat, the time ywhen ^a^^;^a.^^:^^#as^ dea^U ^,a^so^ras her, sister^ and fiance Jiis death she had lived albhe,^a quiet and spl^aty.l^.r*ijl rher ow^ ^^ a^tiie before Rbn'alcPs ^JceturiiiT 'vr^r'^'^ ?-?-.?- :_L Lady.Aain's.- piride brpte ?i-ut^ in th^ questiorij'^P^eniie Wa^ibn 1 ':ijjaw dared she^lift'fie^eyeg ^ j£o^my^s^n!j!*- . ' ; W ; ; rr^^o^ibf bjanm^ ggth^V% the blame on .mej.^pr I was more in fault; thaiishe. But, 'remember, I beg of you, That my -position w*s none so lofty. James 'was: theiheirl of Glenard; allji rcould-expact was enough to stock afarm, and it seemed- to me' ijiat *I ^bulS' nbt! hope to find a better helpmate th^n Phemie,or one more toTny mind. Yoii know she was a gentlewoman by birth, .too. fFojt James, indeedy she was no fit partner ; but' I deemed she might have been one for me.' ;V ^ ]]'? ! ' But to marry her secretly, my sop, b-ow could- you ?' ' ;rr .;? I Hf I Slight excuse myself . 1 might sayt' and it would be nothing but the truth, that I shrank from broaching the matter . to you and my father, because we were both .young, and were both willing to wait.-. But I will riot ? excuse myself; I see that 1 was guilty.of simple cowardice,

in maujging myseinn wnat l ieitr would pain you to know ; I own my sin, and I benxl-ijefore~Eterrial *JtisticB,'ywhich has a& seVepily ^pvffiished it. To the best of my recollection, it was the first, the last, and the only act, of cowardice of- which I hayebfeen guilty.' ^ *.'' ' ; I'-' 'Q'tijaie;. 1 had kriowh,' cried his mother. ~ '; But I. never thought of .such a thing.; Even now-. it seems so unlike my Ronald.' She lifted the certificate as she spoke, and then, as her glance fell on the date of it, 'she cast it from her as if it had stung her,, crying, 'Less than a month after your father's death ! Ronald, Ronald ('^ ' He bowed his head, sorrowful and ashamed. ' Yes, mother, so it was,' he said. ' James had come home, more spoiled than you knew, by his soldier, life. Even when he was, as I know he was, grieving for our father, he permitted himself to use a freedom of behavior to Phemie which filled me -with fear for them both. To you, in yourrecent widowhood, 'I could not bear to complain ; and Phemie was so dear to me that I couhl not jbear to let her be persecuted ; and no remon strance seemed to have any force with' James., r% /knew he poiild ^iot marry Pbemie, j'et.T' feared he would make her lose her liking for me ;; and foolish as the scheme now appears to myself, I then thoughtthat to marry her at once would save us all. I pressed her, and she reluctantly consented to a secret mar riage ; and we took one another for man and wife, in presence, you will see, of your old servant, Archie Drysdale, and Jane Watson, Phemie's sister.' 'You did wrongly, Ronald, very wrongly ; but a Higher hand has smitten you heavily for it, and I cannot add to His rebuke. I forgive you, dear son ; and I hope He has forgiven you too. But go on ; think how much is still dark to me !'

Chapter IV. — The Shadows Fleb Away. A gentle tap at the door was answered by Ronald, who went and opened it. The minister was there, though the ser vants were not yet stirring ; but Mr. Gordon explained that he felt uneasy regarding Lady Ann, and as he could not find Ronald in. the chamber prepared for him, he had descended to Lady Ann's apartments, where he heard the sound of their voices. Ronald begged him to come in. arid tell his own story, which Lady Ann was now quite prepared to hear. Mr. Gordon began — ' You will under stand, my Lady,' that I knew nothing that concerned Ronald till very recently. Even when' a glimmer of light appeared, I refused to receive it to myself or impart it to you till I could feel sure there was no illusion. When Euphemia Watson was on her deathbed she sent for me to come and see her alone. She then' gave me a parcel, which she asked me not to open till she Was dead, and buried; for the poor woman was sore afflicted with a kind of timorous madness. Well, after her burial, I opened the parcel, and found the marriage certificate, the wedding ring, a lock of haii* and this paper. It is *o stained that it is hot^easy for old 'eyes to make it out, for it is dated 16 years back, and I believe it never was out of poor Phemie's bosom from then till the night she died?' * . | He opened 'the- piper, and; read as follows : — I declare this to be the dying confes sion of me, lEuphemia Graham, or Watson. I believe, indeed I hope, that I must soon die; but whether death hurry or tarry, I willjiere net dojwn the truth, the whole truth, arid nothing but the truth, thefSearcher of Hearts being my .witoe83^.-^i!asrfji»i3*iWi-iii .-...^?.?.'SKsciu: i I declare that James Graham came to his death by: my ^ hand; , He. and ahis brother aKonald . .had : : both paid court to me, but when James went to join his Tegimen*;, Ronald became very dear to ime. I dare net say ;^u3t X had given James some encouragement, but James surely fancied I had given him more encouragement than I thought'; for when n'e retuMied1 to Rossbuy' it the* time of. his f ilner's dfeath he took evety' oppor- tunity ol familiar; -speech with me, and ibe^fiavedfin -a .vway ]: which frighfesed^me. . Rona^ ^pUi^ed it, $$fL urgejd mp to marry|*iiBft^oere|ry, promising, as soon -as he c^iild^ to* let siboth mother and 'brother '1^% what h% had done. , Jpjb thex^|^'.^^iriiifi^' James w^s filled, I was 'retiifnihg from a meeting with Ronald, aft*y happy, becauae he iad^ pybmjae-! ^io;Bp-aV tof.Lady Ann the ^Bry^ next day v A^r.was coming ^ i]bjcbug|L, 'the' jHTOod. I came upon Lieutenant Graham, wifeo i.yfas\ practisirig| [»jthj.a;pistol, firing balls ata mark, j ijknbw^noXw^t possessed him, but he'made love1 ' tb tn^ wmi'a free dom very insulting. When I repulsed

14^ ^. teurifed^^^ to? Ronald than to Jiiin, arid asked if I. thought fionald would marry me. I siid yesj he would. ? Then J|imes sn'eered ' ^d^u^ed,!and said that^JBtonald would, noi care' to see ine any more, witen' Tie «hould describeitohim/certain love favors I had granted him. I ^was very angry, aijda^ed |E fie would condescend ,-to, tell iier to defame me' to Ronald, arid he laughed againf arid said he .would. I was. carrjed, beside myself with vexation' and leajr, tand I pnatehed, upt his pistol jfroino the ^round,-and pointed it at him. He inade a step towards -hie, and thetf I pulled tne trigger ; %e just, spraig Tup. iriio the air, and fell dead at my feet, At that very moment: Ronald came up , withihis great dog, which he had, often. . qharged totakecare of riiel, and the dpg sprang upon the dead man arid held him by the 7thro^ 'Rqnaldf' arid 'George. Gifford,1 the 7 'gamekeeper^ were ne^r: %ofigh(tonb.eaf ;thej;sn6t fireSf arid, hastening after the dbg, to see it seize the dead man by thb throat,, but they could hoi hinder the one' :br l the; other. Ronald : knelt . down ; arid .kissed his ; ?brother, and was hard-' to believe j hint to be ; dead; but when s he. heard what I had to say, he knelt -dowb' again with his face on. the Tgrburid, -and prayed awhile^ Then he rose' .and saitt to me, ' { Pheiriie, whether this deed was wilful murder or not, I have not light to see yTdoubt it was. In any case, there Jies my brother^ and his blood . «ries against you; and;yet, .poor lassie,;; you are my. wife. ? I dare not shelter you against just law, and yet I dare not give f you up to suffer, knowing how; sorely you iW^re prpyoke4- , Others would T not be lieve you, but Ttribw it is true. Here is what, 1Ii will- do :.I will take on me the brand of Cain for your sake. Go home, Hide* your sorrow tho best way you can, and pray for my mother aud me.' I cried to him to take me away with him, but' he said that his brother's blooid; was on my head, and he would never^ touch my hand again, t. said they would hang me, but he said that George Giffprd would say nothing, and all the circumstances would point to himself. I said they would examine me, but he said no one would ; but if any' did, I was to show my marriage .lines, and a wife would not be asked to speak against her

husband. One thing he would ask of me, that I should make a full confession of that night's work before my death, that the reproach might pass from his father's house. - ;. ' ; This- 1 have done in this paper, and I pray that it may avail to dear Ronald Graham from the shame and sorrow he is bearing for the sake of his unhappy wife. 'When I read this paper,' said rMr. Gordon, 'I doubted whether it would be' of any avail. George Gifford; . you know, is now on the other side of the Tay ; but I found out his address,; and wrote, arid got an . answer confirming Phemie's account. ? I lost no time in sending to the address of Ronald, which Phemie had written here, and here he is, safe and sound, our dear and noble Ronald once more.' : '? ? ; 'ISTow, mother,' said Ronald, 'we must both leave youio your rest ;. cheer yourself the best you can for a day or two, for Mr. Gordon and I are now on the wing for Edinburgh, where George Gifford. is to meet us, and we shall go together to the Lord Advocate. Have no fear ; it's clear sunshine for us now.' ... It is needless to dwell minutely on subsequent events. Ronald's fair fame was justified,, arid he was not only re stored to the place he had once held: in men's esteem, but advanced to honor

attainaoie qj lew ior nis generosity. He never married ; while Lady Ann lived he devoted himself to her comfort, and he did not long survive her. His adventures during his exile were a fre quent topic with them, and one not easily exhausted ; we cannot meddle with them here, as they would form a long story of themselves. Ronald would often say to Lady Ann that the thought that he had made her share his pain with him was the sting of all his sorrows ; and Lady Ann never failed to reply, 'The thought that I was only carrying your load of punish ment along with you makes me now look back with thankfulness and pleasure on these seventeen years of pain.' Since Ronald Graham's death the estate of Glenard has more than once passed under the hammer. It is now broken up arid owned by several pro prietors. Rossbuy is now a farmhouse ; all that remains of the old keep, its vaulted basement, being used as a cellar. Its upper portion was pulled down about the end of last .century, serving, as dii many a more important building in^those days of Vandalism, for a quarry for the whole neighborhood. Even old memo ries^ are now disregarded^ political squab blesbeing found- more-pleiaant than the traditions 'which used to make the winter nights, pass agreeably ; but there.are still some who can find profit and pleasure in the story of Ronald Graham's sbbf-. SACKIFICE.