o' air; a'm on gaird masel."

It was the hour before daybreak, and Drumsheugh wandered through fields
he had trodden since childhood. The cattle lay sleeping in the pastures;
their shadowy forms, with a patch of whiteness here and there, having a
weird suggestion of death. He heard the burn running over the stones;
fifty years ago he had made a dam that lasted till winter. The hooting
of an owl made him start; one had frightened him as a boy so that he ran
home to his mother--she died thirty years ago. The smell of ripe corn
filled the air; it would soon be cut and garnered. He could see the dim
outlines of his house, all dark and cold; no one he loved was beneath
the roof. The lighted window in Saunders' cottage told where a man hung
between life and death, but love was in that home. The futility of life
arose before this lonely man, and overcame his heart with an
indescribable sadness. What a vanity was all human labour, what a
mystery all human life.

[Illustration]

But while he stood, subtle change came over the night, and the air
trembled round him as if one had whispered. Drumsheugh lifted his head
and looked eastwards. A faint grey stole over the distant horizon, and
suddenly a cloud reddened before his eyes. The sun was not in sight, but
was rising, and sending forerunners before his face. The cattle began
to stir, a blackbird burst into song, and before Drumsheugh crossed the
threshold of Saunders' house, the first ray of the sun had broken on a
peak of the Grampians.

MacLure left the bedside, and as the light of the candle fell on
the doctor's face, Drumsheugh could see that it was going well with