"Mary is splendid," I said. "She has just this morning given birth to a daughter."
"My best respects to her and my felicitations upon this great event; but I'm sorry--I'll juist tak' the road again and gang awa' hame. I couldna ha'e come at a waur time."
"My dear Hector, what do you mean? Mary would never forgive me if I let you go." And, dropping into the language which I knew he loved, I slipped my arm through his and said, "Come awa' intae the hoose."
To-night I have been penning the final pages of this my book, with Hector sitting at his ease in a leathern chair reading a volume from the well-stocked shelves of the study. And I--because my hand was weary, or because my heart was aching for a sight of Mary--stole up to her room a moment since. She was lying in the great carved oaken bed, with the light from the candles in their silver sconces falling upon her dear face and the glory of her hair as it lay outspread on the lavender-scented pillow. I bent over her, and slipping an arm under her shoulders kissed her, and she pushed down the white coverlet with her pretty hand to let me peep at our daughter lying asleep in the fold of her arm.
"Isn't she bonnie?" she whispered. "I think we'll ca' her Jean."
"Flower o' the heather and little heather-bell," I said, and gathered them both in my arms.
* * * * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE ADVENTURE OF DEATH
An uplifting and strengthening book, free from gloom, and written with literary charm. Fifth Impression