even at that very time she was setting her cap at the minister's son from Kinross, who came over three or four Sabbaths to take Mr. Nicoll's discourse for him.

The king of Ailie's affections could never die, and that is all that can be said about it.

The only real news that came our way in these dark days was what we learned of the Master's dealings in the cause of the Jacobites. It seemed that in this interest he had been extremely busy, yet in a clever and inconspicuous manner that left the Whiggish gentlemen at Edinburgh hard put to it to find anything definite on which they might lay their hands. Yet it was plain enough that if ever he came before them they would think twice before they let him go.

I

I got the ill tidings in the end from the man I should have deemed the least likely-Lord Carrick himself. came upon him quite suddenly one afternoon seated on a stone fallen from one of his own broken-down dikes, his head in his hands, and everything about him testifying to the most supreme dejection. This was so great a change from the jubilance he had shown at our last meeting as to send my heart straight to the blackest of forebodings, which were but strengthened when he raised to me a face in which rage and vexation fought hard for the uppermost hand.

"Good-day, MacConnachie," said he. "You'll have heard the news?" "What news is that, my lord?" said I, with a sinking heart.

"Rab's taken," said he, and drummed his feet on the ground. "You may well stare," he went on after a pause, during which I could do nothing but gaze at him over the head of this fresh disaster. "He was taken at his uncle's" -his uncle was Lord Graham of Dourie, in Midlothian, and one of the staunchest Whigs in the south of Scotland-"and what fool's nonsense

ing, man.

"For a father to lose his fiddlestick!" he roared. "You mistake my meanIf it came to love, he and I spilt little of that by the way. But here is a fellow with whom I have taken all manner of pains. I have brought him up in the way he should go, and I have done him the honor to entrust him a place, an important place, in the interests I hold most dear. And, first thing, this dolt, this fool, must needs run his calf's head straight into the noose all over a farmyard wench and a reprobate of a thieving schoolmaster!"

He stuttered and choked for an instant in his rage, and then sprang to his feet. "What have I done." he cried, cracking his fingers like pistolshots, "to be cursed with a madman for a son, as well as a rake?"

"My lord," said I, "be of better heart. Things may take a turn."

He looked at me at first as though he were ready for another outburst, then suddenly his thoughts seemed to change.

"I believe," said he. looking at me with something of his old dryness-"I believe you may be a truer prophet

than you think;" and then with a startling violence, "Mark my words, MacConnachie, there's many a slip between cup and lip; but we'll drink that liquor yet."

I think now that I never saw the real Lord Carrick save in these minutes; for once he was shaken out of his cynicism and his lassitude, and showed himself for the dangerous old plotter he was.

It so chanced that the school was up on holidays at the time, and so I stayed in Edinburgh the two days of the Master's trial. Of the proceedings themselves I never missed a moment, and so I brought away with me the fullest possible knowledge of the facts, together with a number of scattered impressions of places and people, mixed, I regret to say, with a very definite distaste for legal procedure and method. For indeed it was a dull case enough, for the evidence was all against the Master; and, for the matter of that, a far poorer prosecution would have passed muster with such a tribunal as sat in judgment over him. Lord Carrick had spoken of a benchful of Whigs, and the Master's ill fortune had brought him against some of the bitterest in the land.

I have no wish to enter into the details of the trial, and indeed I much doubt if I could recapitulate the one half of that confusion of formulæ and argument. All I have carried away with me consists in a few scattered pictures: one of the old Parliament Hall itself, dim and dusty and full of hollow noises; another of the Lord Justice-Clerk, Lord Cockburn of Ormiston, with the rosy face that belied one of the hardest and most Whiggish hearts in the country, him that men used to call the curse of Scotland when the nine of diamonds came up at the cards; and yet another of Dalrymple of Hailes, the Lord Advocate, with his

habit of breaking out into fiery little bursts of speech that tried the ear to follow. I have, too, the clearest possible recollection of the Master's counsel, young Murray of Dungairn, who they said would have been the first in the Faculty had he but steered clear of the bottle and the Jacobites. And there is one other picture that I like to think of as little as may be-the Doomster, a long, thin man in black and gray and silver lace, coming in to read the sentence of death.

In the dock the Master behaved himself throughout with a quiet dignity of bearing I had scarce expected. I had thought of him as standing dour and sullen and churlish, and so, I think, our old Master Robert might have done; but he seemed with all these terrible events to have vested himself in a new fashion of deportment more becoming to his rank. When asked whether or no he were guilty of the crime charged against him, he made answer in the most resolute of voices, "Not guilty of murder, my lords:" and so, I think, he did indeed believe, for a man does not talk of murdering a snake or a venomous beast. He received his sentence with an air of almost insolent indifference and the bearing of one who is wearied by the tediousness of what goes on around him.

To my mind the person who came worst out of the whole ordeal was Mistress Ailie herself. None had so grave an idea of the importance of the occasion as she, nor so personal an interest in its possibilities. Her evidence amounted to little or nothing, for in the beginning she had little to give, and such trifles as she had she could not or would not make coherent; but I am ready to swear that, between swooning-fits and tears and irrelevancy, she stood in the box a good hour and a half. It was doubtless highly effective, but owing to the dullness of the trial there were but few present to see;

and I think I will not be accused of any injustice if I say that these feminine arts would have gained in value by a more stinted display or a more judicious choice of occasion.

I stayed but long enough after the reading of the Master's sentence to request the boon of a short interview with him, and on this being refused with some discourtesy, I set out with a sore heart on the road to Scotsbrig. For I conceived that we were come to the end of this business at last, and it was a sad day in all conscience for

me.

And yet I do not think it could have been more than a fortnight after this that we heard of the Master's escape. It is an incident I should like to be able to describe in some detail of circumstance; but this is precluded by the fact that it is a matter of which neither I nor any other man can give any reliable account. The Master's escape is narrated in all manner of ways and attributed to every conceivable agency, yet the real fashion of its accomplishment no man knows. One story has it that he obtained a free pardon; another that he broke prison with the help of a dirk secreted in his clothes; and yet another-which, for the romance of it, I am fain to creditthat he escaped through the assistance of his cousin Lady Mary Cochrane, who changed clothes with him and so got him past the guards. But I fear that after such tales as these the real story, were it known, would prove but a grievous disappointment. I fancy that a few Jacobite friends working in his interest and a few skilfully administered bribes will explain with some nearness to the truth how the Master made his escape from the prison of Edinburgh. But be that as it may, the fact remains that he did in some manner contrive to regain his freedom, and, being once more at large in the

I think that none of us in Scotsbrig had any thought that we should ever set eyes on the Master again; and indeed, now that the stir of this wild affair was finally laid, the folk of the Bishopshire let him slip from their minds. For that was a time of stress and incident, and news of great doings that filtered through into our little backwater by the medium of stray travellers on the North Road. There were tales of risings and rebellions, plot and counter-plot, to make your brain go dizzy; and though we peaceful folk held fast to the principles of Whiggery and had little in the way of action, still we heard news from the north of standards raised in the name of James Stuart, and of fiery crosses sent abroad in the mountains of Perthshire, such as our Lowland ears could only hear and admire. For myself, I was frequently at some pains to analyze my feelings on this great question, yet with little satisfaction. I make no doubt that but for the Master I should have been staunch to the Whigs, but I have told this tale amiss if I have not made it all too clear that the wishes of that unfortunate young gentleman had a tendency to become mine: yet I could not altogether bring myself to cast in my favor with the rebels, and so I remained neither one thing nor another, and had no part in these matters even in conversation.

Thus I was left to a loneliness even greater than before, for Mr. Nicoll was taken poorly, and little disposed to see me even at that; and Lord Carrick, with whom I might have exchanged a word, was constantly buried with mysterious papers in the top chamber of his castle, with as much ado as if he alone were responsible for the whole movement. In this lack of companionship I was driven to an overclose habit

He came not long after lamplight on a gusty night of October, and he had pushed open the door and walked into my little room before I knew that aught was happening. He had the air of one who had ridden far and hard, and as he tossed his hat on to the table and sank into a chair he heaved a sigh of the profoundest relief. All this time I was so much taken aback that I could do nought but stay gaping where I was, half-risen from my seat, with my book fallen to the floor beside me. Yet I had sense enough left to note with appreciation a still further improvement in his bearing, for though his face was drawn with weariness, he carried himself with a striking air of confidence and all the mien of a gentleman and a commander.

At the sight of my staring face he burst into a roar of laughter. "MacConnachie," said he, "ye seem some amazed to see me."

"Amazed indeed, and happy, Master Robert," said I, finding my tongue at last; "for we thought never to see you again."

His face clouded. "And like as not," said he "ye never will-after this night. There is trouble afoot now, MacConnachie, that will never be settled cheaply."

"Then, Master Robert," said I, "is it safe for you to be here?"

"To tell ye the truth," he made answer, "I fear it is far otherwise; but I have little heed of that now. Besides, they say folk don't hunt for devils in churches, on which principle they'll look for me in a few places before they come to Scotsbrig. The truth is, I

was ridden near done, scouring about among the "honest folk" up in Perthshire, and there was your light shining as I came by, and a kind soul, I knew, behind it, and there was an end of it all."

"And I am happy you came, Master Robert," I said, and pressed him to take some food, but he would have none of it.

"I must be off to the south ere many minutes," said he. "This is no more than a farewell visit."

I was just about to question him as to the manner of his faring since last I had seen him; and already, so elastic is human hope, I was planning out a brighter future than anything that had yet been, when the final catastrophe— for so I must regard it—of all this illstarred business came upon us. There was a rush of light footfalls without, and a great gust of wind as the door flew open, and there was Ailie, flushed and breathless, with her hair all blown about her eyes. She had seen the Master pass the manse, and had come hot-foot after him just as she was. She stood an instant in the frame of the doorway, then came straight to the table and with a sudden movement threw out both her arms.

I cannot describe the expression that came over the Master's face at that moment. He had risen to his feet as the door opened, and he now remained standing, or rather half-leaning against the table, with his head thrust forward and the lamplight playing full on his features. It was the face of one struck out of half his senses by some great emotion-a face in which all manner of frightful temptations fought for the mastery, in which fierce impulses chased each other as I have seen the cloud-shadows come and go on the loch. He made no sound, but he breathed like a man in a lethargy, and the hand he rested on the table twitched. I think if I could have

found my voice I should have screamed at her to go, but I had never a word left.

How long they may have stood so gazing at each other across the table Heaven knows, but at last she broke out with what was meant for his name, but was more like a gasp or a sob cut short in the middle. He made no more heed than a thing of stone.

She fought in her throat, and at last she got out a word. "Rab," she cried, "I've come back."

Still he said never a word, but there was a dawning light of self-mastery in his eyes. She came a step nearer, and

at that I think he shivered.

"Rab," she cried again most passionately, "will ye not take me back? There was never any man for me but you."

"There was а man called Gordon Leitch," said he at last, his lips dry and his voice like ice.

"Gordon Leitch!" says she, in a sudden flare of passion. "Gordon Leitch!

"Ailie," said he, still as though some one else were speaking through him, "ye see this pistol? It shot your husband, and, 'fore Heaven! if you had been worth the lead it would have shot you after him. As things are I will keep it for a worthier mark."

She gave a sort of choking scream, and her gray eyes stared at him in anguish. Slowly he put the weapon back.

"I pray God," said he, with the most dreadful air of finality, "that I may never see you again!"

He turned suddenly, threw one sad smile into the corner where I sat, and was gone. I heard his horse go clattering up the hill for the last time.

I was jerked roughly back to my senses by a great crash, and there was Ailie fallen forward across the table and sobbing as though the end of her world were come.

Charles Hilton Brown.

Before I begin this little essay, let me consider what history is, and, next, what motive a man should have in writing it.

History is the record written by men, for men, of what men have done in times which it is beyond the power of living witnesses to reach. That is history.

It is not history to describe a contemporary matter, or, at least, if we call such a description history, then we

are putting into one category two very dissimilar things set down for dissimilar motives and with dissimilar objects; the uncompleted and the complete.

History is essentially the presentation for men now living of whatever men no longer living have achieved and of the manner of its achievement. The character of the historical art lies precisely in this, that, but for history, the knowledge of past things would