platefuls　than　she　gave　them　that　day。　　And　when　they　left　her　to
  return　to　school；　instead　of　the　usual　'Noo　be　douce；'　she　said；　in
  gentle；　almost　loving　tones；　'Noo；　be　good　lads；　baith　o'　ye。'
  The　conclusion　at　which　Falconer　did　arrive　was　that　his　grandmother
  had　hurried　home　to　see　whether　the　title…deeds　of　the　factory　were
  still　in　her　possession；　and　had　found　that　they　were　gonetaken；
  doubtless；　by　her　son　Andrew。　　At　whatever　period　he　had
  appropriated　them；　he　must　have　parted　with　them　but　recently。　　And
  the　hope　rose　luminous　that　her　son　had　not　yet　passed　into　the
  region　'where　all　life　dies；　death　lives。'　　Terrible　consolation！
  Terrible　creed；　which　made　the　hope　that　he　was　still　on　this　side
  of　the　grave　working　wickedness；　light　up　the　face　of　the　mother；
  and　open　her　hand　in　kindness。　　Is　it　suffering；　or　is　it
  wickedness；　that　is　the　awful　thing？　'Ah！　but　they　are　both　combined
  in　the　other　world。'　　And　in　this　world　too；　I　answer；　only；
  according　to　Mrs。　Falconer's　creed；　in　the　other　world　God；　for　the
  sake　of　the　suffering；　renders　the　wickedness　eternal！
  The　old　factory　was　in　part　pulled　down；　and　out　of　its　remains　a
  granary　constructed。　　Nor　did　the　old　lady　interpose　a　word　to
  arrest　the　alienation　of　her　property。
  CHAPTER　XXIV。
  BOOT　FOR　BALE。
  Mary　St。　John　was　the　orphan　daughter　of　an　English　clergyman；　who
  had　left　her　money　enough　to　make　her　at　least　independent。　　Mrs。
  Forsyth；　hearing　that　her　niece　was　left　alone　in　the　world；　had
  concluded　that　her　society　would　be　a　pleasure　to　herself　and　a
  relief　to　the　housekeeping。　　Even　before　her　father's　death；　Miss
  St。　John；　having　met　with　a　disappointment；　and　concluded　herself
  dead　to　the　world；　had　been　looking　about　for　some　way　of　doing
  good。　　The　prospect　of　retirement；　therefore；　and　of　being　useful　to
  her　sick　aunt；　had　drawn　her　northwards。
  She　was　now　about　six…and…twenty；　filled　with　two　passionsone　for
  justice；　the　other　for　music。　　Her　griefs　had　not　made　her　selfish；
  nor　had　her　music　degenerated　into　sentiment。　　The　gentle　style　of
  the　instruction　she　had　received　had　never　begotten　a　diseased
  self…consciousness；　and　if　her　religion　lacked　something　of　the
  intensity　without　which　a　character　like　hers　could　not　be　evenly
  balanced；　its　force　was　not　spent　on　the　combating　of　unholy　doubts
  and　selfish　fears；　but　rose　on　the　wings　of　her　music　in　gentle
  thanksgiving。　　Tears　had　changed　her　bright…hued　hopes　into　a
  dove…coloured　submission；　through　which　her　mind　was　passing　towards
  a　rainbow　dawn　such　as　she　had　never　dreamed　of。　　To　her　as　yet　the
  Book　of　Common　Prayer　contained　all　the　prayers　that　human　heart　had
  need　to　offer；　what　things　lay　beyond　its　scope　must　lie　beyond　the
  scope　of　religion。　　All　such　things　must　be　parted　with　one　day；　and
  if　they　had　been　taken　from　her　very　soon；　she　was　the　sooner　free
  from　the　painful　necessity　of　watching　lest　earthly　love　should
  remove　any　of　the　old　landmarks　dividing　what　was　God's　from　what
  was　only　man's。　　She　had　now　retired　within　the　pale　of　religion；
  and　left　the　rest　of　her　being；　as　she　thought；　'to　dull
  forgetfulness　a　prey。'
  She　had　little　comfort　in　the　society　of　her　aunt。　　Indeed；　she　felt
  strongly　tempted　to　return　again　to　England　the　same　month；　and　seek
  a　divine　service　elsewhere。　　But　it　was　not　at　all　so　easy　then　as
  it　is　now　for　a　woman　to　find　the　opportunity　of　being　helpful　in
  the　world　of　suffering。
  Mrs。　Forsyth　was　one　of　those　women　who　get　their　own　way　by　the
  very　vis　inertiae　of　their　silliness。　　No　argument　could　tell　upon
  her。　　She　was　so　incapable　of　seeing　anything　noble　that　her　perfect
  satisfaction　with　everything　she　herself　thought；　said；　or　did；
  remained　unchallenged。　　She　had　just　illness　enough　to　swell　her
  feeling　of　importance。　　She　looked　down　upon　Mrs。　Falconer　from　such
  an　immeasurable　height　that　she　could　not　be　indignant　with　her　for
  anything；　she　only　vouchsafed　a　laugh　now　and　then　at　her　oddities；
  holding　no　further　communication　with　her　than　a　condescending　bend
  of　the　neck　when　they　happened　to　meet；　which　was　not　once　a　year。
  But；　indeed；　she　would　have　patronized　the　angel　Gabriel；　if　she
  had　had　a　chance；　and　no　doubt　given　him　a　hint　or　two　upon　the
  proper　way　of　praising　God。　For　the　rest；　she　was　good…tempered；
  looked　comfortable；　and　quarrelled　with　nobody　but　her　rough　honest
  old　bear　of　a　husband；　whom；　in　his　seventieth　year；　she　was　always
  trying　to　teach　good　manners；　with　the　frequent　result　of　a　storm　of
  swearing。
  But　now　Mary　St。　John　was　thoroughly　interested　in　the　strange　boy
  whose　growing　musical　pinions　were　ever　being　clipped　by　the　shears
  of　unsympathetic　age　and　crabbed　religion；　and　the　idea　of　doing
  something　for　him　to　make　up　for　the　injustice　of　his　grandmother
  awoke　in　her　a　slight　glow　of　that　interest　in　life　which　she　sought
  only　in　doing　good。　　But　although　ere　long　she　came　to　love　the　boy
  very　truly；　and　although　Shargar's　life　was　bound　up　in　the　favour
  of　Robert；　yet　neither　stooping　angel　nor　foot…following　dog　ever
  loved　the　lad　with　the　love　of　that　old　grandmother；　who　would　for
  him　have　given　herself　to　the　fire　to　which　she　had　doomed　his
  greatest　delight。
  For　some　days　Robert　worked　hard　at　his　lessons；　for　he　had　nothing
  else　to　do。　　Life　was　very　gloomy　now。　　If　he　could　only　go　to　sea；
  or　away　to　keep　sheep　on　the　stormy　mountains！　　If　there　were　only
  some　war　going　on；　that　he　might　list！　　Any　fighting　with　the
  elements；　or　with　the　oppressors　of　the　nations；　would　make　life
  worth　having；　a　man　worth　being。　　But　God　did　not　heed。　　He　leaned
  over　the　world；　a　dark　care；　an　immovable　fate；　bearing　down　with
  the　weight　of　his　presence　all　aspiration；　all　budding　delights　of
  children　and　young　persons：　all　must　crouch　before　him；　and　uphold
  his　glory　with　the　sacrificial　death　of　every　impulse；　every
  admiration；　every　lightness　of　heart；　every　bubble　of　laughter。
  Orwhich　to　a　mind　like　Robert's　was　as　badif　he　did　not　punish
  for　these　things；　it　was　because　they　came　not　within　the　sphere　of
  his　condescension；　were　not　worth　his　notice：　of　sympathy　could　be
  no　question。
  But　this　gloom　did　not　last　long。　　When　souls　like　Robert's　have
  been　ill…taught　about　God；　the　true　God　will　not　let　them　gaze　too
  long　upon　the　Moloch　which　men　have　set　up　to　represent　him。　　He
  will　turn　away　their　minds　from　that　which　men　call　him；　and　fill
  them　with　some　of　his　own　lovely　thoughts　or　works；　such　as　may　by
  degrees　prepare　the　way　for　a　vision　of　the　Father。
  One　afternoon　Robert　was　passing　the　soutar's　shop。　　He　had　never
  gone　near　him　since　his　return。　　But　now；　almost　mechanically；　he
  went　in　at　the　open　door。
  'Weel；　Robert；　ye　are　a　stranger。　　But　what's　the　maitter　wi'　ye？
  Faith！　yon　was　an　ill　plisky　ye　played　me　to　brak　into　my　chop　an'
  steal　the　bonnie　leddy。'
  'Sandy；'　said　Robert；　solemnly；　'ye　dinna　ken　what　ye　hae　dune　by
  that　trick　ye　played　me。　　Dinna　ever　mention　her　again　i'　my
  hearin'。'
  'The　auld　witch　hasna　gotten　a　grup　o'　her　again？'　cried　the
  shoemaker；　starting　half　up　in　alarm。　'She　cam　here　to　me　aboot　the
  shune；　but　I　reckon　I　sortit　her！'
  'I　winna　speir　what　ye　said；'　returned　Robert。　'It's　no　maitter
  noo。'
  And　the　tears　rose　to　his　eyes。　　His　bonny　lady！
  'The　Lord　guide　's！'　exclaimed　the　soutar。　'What　is　the　maitter　wi'
  the　bonnie　leddy？'
  'There's　nae　bonnie　leddy　ony　mair。　　I　saw　her　brunt　to　death　afore
  my　verra　ain　een。'
  The　shoemaker　sprang　to　his　feet　and　caught　up　his　paring　knife。
  'For　God's　sake；　say　'at　yer　leein'！'　he　cried。
  'I　wish　I　war　leein'；'　returned　Robert。
  The　soutar　uttered　a　terrible　oath；　and　swore
  'I'll　murder　the　auld。'　　The　epithet　he　ended　with　is　too　ugly　to
  write。
  'Daur　to　say　sic　a　word　in　ae　breath　wi'　my　grannie；'　cried　Robert；
  snatching　up　the　lapstone；　'an'　I'll　brain　ye　upo'　yer　ain
  shop…flure。'
  Sandy　threw　the　knife　on　his　stool；　and　sat　down　beside　it。　　Robert
  dropped　the　lapstone。　　Sandy　took　it　up　and　burst　into　tears；　which
  before　they　were　half　down　his　face；　turned　into　tar　with　the
  blackness　of　the　same。
  'I'm　an　awfu'　sinner；'　he　said；　'and　vengeance　has　owerta'en　me。
  Gang　oot　o'　my　chop！　　I　wasna　worthy　o'　her。　　Gang　oot；　I　say；　or
  I'll　kill　ye。'
  Robert　went。　　Close　by　the　door　he　met　Miss　St。　John。　He　pulled　off
  his　cap；　and　would　have　passed　her。　　But　she　stopped　him。
  'I　am　going　for　a　walk　a　little　way；'　she　said。　'Will　you　go　with
  me？'
  She　had　come　out　in　the　hope　of　finding　him；　for　she　had　seen　him　go
  up　the　street。
  'That　I　wull；'　returned　Robert；　and　they　walked　on　together。
  When　they　were　beyond　the　last　house；　Miss　St。　John　said；
  'Would　you　like　to　play　on　the　piano；　Robert？'
  'Eh；　mem！'　said　Robert；　with　a　deep　suspiration。　　Then；　after　a
  pause：