"O!  he is a mason.  He works with my
father," said she.

There was a fine bush of monthly-roses
trailing over the cottage walls, from which
Lina always culled a few to embellish her
work-table.  It happened that some had
been newly-gathered that afternoon, and she
had taken one out of the cup and was playing
with it while John was in the cottage.
When John came back from the errand on
which she had dispatched him, the rose had
changed its place from her fingers to the city
clerk's button-hole—a transference which
caught his jealous eye in a moment.  He
gave her a glance, to which she replied with
one of coquettish defiance; and, as the young
stranger presently went away and left them
together, he began to be very angry.

"I tell you what, John Harland,"
retorted she, passionately, "if you had not got
my word, I'd never marry you.  I like Tom
Freeling's little finger better than your whole
body!"  John's eyes blazed, and he dashed
away from the cottage in a fury.  The heartless
girl had quite warped his honest, manly
nature.  He scarcely knew what he did for
the next hour or two.

It was late when he arrived home, and
his mother was waiting up for him. It had
begun to rain, and a distant rumble of
thunder echoed in the sky.  Mrs. Harland
got up from her chair to bolt the door when
he came in; but he impatiently forbade her,
as he was going out again very early in the
morning.  She asked where he was going to;
but as he seemed not to hear, and did not
reply to her question, she said further: "Need
I sit up, Johnny, I'm tired with washing to-
day?" He seemed startled by her weary tone,
and turned round to kiss her.  This touch of
now unusual tenderness quite broke down
the old mother's reserve.  "O! John, John!
you've not been like yourself lately: what
ails you?  what's amiss?" and she hung about
him affectionately.  He put her quietly aside,
after a minute or two, and bade her go
to bed.

Long before daylight John was ready.
He took down a gun that hung over the
chimney, deliberately cleaned it, loaded it,
and concealing it partially under his coat,
he left the house stealthily, and set off
on the high-road to Bartinglas.  His
countenance was wicked and deadly under the
cloud of night.  But no one met him;
no one saw him to suspect on what evil
errand he was bound.  He had heard the
young clerk say to Lina, out in the garden,
before they parted:  "Early to-morrow morning
I'm going over to Bartinglas.  Meet
me there at noon, Linny, and we'll have
a walk in the wood without that spying
fiery-faced clown to watch us!"  "Hush,
he'll hear!" was Lina's response; and, on the
instant, there came a devilish thought into
John's head.  "I'll spoil your meeting.  I'll
be beforehand with you, my fine gentleman
—you shall not ridicule me to Lina
again!"

As he walked, the rain continued to stream
down in torrents.  When he came to a
little thick copse by the road-side, he hid
himself amongst the trees. There was partial
shelter for him over-head, but he
stood in the tall wet reeds and grass.  No
matter: the chill did not cool his hot
blood, nor quench the fire of jealous rage
that was consuming him, and he waited
there until the morning began to break
through the dense watery clouds.  Then he
established himself under a careful covert,
where he could see the road from Brigham,
but would be himself unseen by any one
approaching from that direction.  The rain
had ceased, but a thick vapour rose from the
fields and dense vegetation about him.  His
watch was prolonged; he began to feel pains
in his limbs and head, and giddiness.  He
found that he could scarcely steady his hands
to raise the gun; not from any failure in his
purpose, but from sheer physical inability.
At last he heard the trot of a pony on the
road, and the clear whistle of the young
clerk.  With a mad haste he tried to raise
the gun.  But his arm failed him.  It was
suddenly struck with such weakness, that he
could not lift the weapon above his own
breast; and, in that moment his deadly chance
was lost.  He sprang out into the road, with
the intention of dragging the stranger from
his horse, and beating him to death: but his
foot slipped on the mud of the bank, and he
fell prostrated on his face.  The clerk, hearing
the noise, turned, rode back, and recognised
the mason whom he had seen at Lina's
cottage.

"Eh!  what, poaching!"  he cried, as John
reared his indignant head and stumbled
upon his feet; "take my warning, Giles, if
that's your name, and leave the game to
them it belongs to.  There's only one step,
and that a short one, as I've heard say,
between poaching and sheep-stealing."  And
with that he trotted off whistling his tune,
and leaving John more wroth than before.
He was half mad as he staggered home and
restored the gun to its place over the chimney.
His mother was just stirring.  He had
sense enough left to crawl into his chamber
so stealthily that she should not suspect
he had been absent all night.  But for
any rest he could get, he might have
had his body stretched upon the rack and
the tooth of an active devil gnawing at his
heart.

IV.

IT was full three months before John
Harland set foot over the threshold again; and,
when he did so at last, it was as a gaunt
spectre, crippled and deformed by rheumatism
in almost every limb.  Towards the close of a
sunshiny September afternoon, when the
village was empty, every available hand being