Audrey

"I must speak," he said abruptly. "The girl's face haunts me. You do

wrong. It is not the act of a gentleman."

The silence that followed was broken by Haward, who spoke in the smooth,

slightly drawling tones which with him spelled irritation and sudden,

hardly controlled anger. "It is my home-coming," he said. "I am tired, and

wish to-night to eat only of the lotus. Will you take up your cards

again?"

A less impetuous man than MacLean, noting the signs of weakness, fatigue,

and impatience, would have waited, and on the morrow have been listened to

with equanimity. But the Highlander, fired by his cause, thought not of

delay. "To forget!" he exclaimed. "That is the coward's part! I would have

you remember: remember yourself, who are by nature a gentleman and

generous; remember how alone and helpless is the girl; remember to cease

from this pursuit!"

"We will leave the cards, and say good-night," said Haward, with a strong

effort for self-control.

"Good-night with all my heart!" cried the other hotly,--"when you have

promised to lay no further snare for that maid at your gates, whose name

you have blasted, whose heart you have wrung, whose nature you have

darkened and distorted"-"Have you done?" demanded Haward. "Once more, 't were wise to say

good-night at once."

"Not yet!" exclaimed the storekeeper, stretching out an eager hand. "That

girl hath so haunting a face. Haward, see her not again! God wot, I think

you have crushed the soul within her, and her name is bandied from mouth

to mouth. 'T were kind to leave her to forget and be forgotten. Go to

Westover: wed the lady there of whom you raved in your fever. You are her

declared suitor; 'tis said that she loves you"-Haward drew his breath sharply and turned in his chair. Then, spent with

fatigue, irritable from recent illness, sore with the memory of the

meeting by the river, determined upon his course and yet deeply perplexed,

he narrowed his eyes and began to give poisoned arrow for poisoned arrow.

"Was it in the service of the Pretender that you became a squire of

dames?" he asked. "'Gad, for a Jacobite you are particular!"

MacLean started as if struck, and drew himself up. "Have a care, sir! A

MacLean sits not to hear his king or his chief defamed. In future, pray

remember it."

"For my part," said the other, "I would have Mr. MacLean remember"-The intonation carried his meaning. MacLean, flushing deeply, rose from

the table. "That is unworthy of you," he said. "But since before to-night

servants have rebuked masters, I spare not to tell you that you do most

wrongly. 'Tis sad for the girl she died not in that wilderness where you

found her."