“I shall go back to Colonel Montgomery’s,” replied Mary, in a sad, spiritless voice, from which all the life seemed to have fled, “where I can see my friends sometimes. Mistress Burns loves me, an’ I—I may see Robbie, if only from the window as he passes. It willna harm anyone.” She looked at Jean in a pleading, timid manner, while her mouth quivered pathetically, but she forced a wan smile to her pale lips and then slowly turned and walked toward the stairway. As she mounted the bottom step Jean ran quickly to her side and clasped her hand impulsively. “Mary, I’m so sorry for you,” she said pityingly, “but I’m doing it for my bairns’ sake, ye ken that.” “I understand, Jean,” answered Mary simply, “I dinna blame ye.” She leaned back against the marble balustrade. “But, oh, it’s hard, bitter hard,” she murmured brokenly; “if I could only die here and noo.” She stretched out her hands with a sort of wild appeal. “Oh, Robbie, my darlin’,” she exclaimed in a sobbing whisper, “how can I tell ye, how can I break your heart? I thought ye had drunk your cup o’ misery empty, but the dregs are yet to be drained.” The sympathetic tears rolled down Jean’s face. “Will you tell him I’m here, Mary, and that I must see him at once?” she asked pleadingly. Mary slowly bowed her head in assent. “Oh, how I dread to meet him,” continued Jean in a frightened whisper, “to have him look at me with stern and angry eyes; to know that he longs to be free, and that he wishes me dead, perhaps.” She covered her face with her hands and shivered apprehensively. “Ye needna fear, Jean,” replied Mary, with reproachful pride. “Robert Burns is a mon of honor; ye should know that weel. I’ll go noo an’ tell him ye are here.” For a moment she swayed as if about to fall, but she recovered herself in an instant and slowly mounted the few remaining steps to the balcony. As she reached the top she pressed her hand against her heart as if that action would still its rapid beating. “Heaven give me the strength to tell him,” she breathed, and, with a little prayer on her lips, she slowly entered the drawing-room, where she found Mrs. Dunlop anxiously looking for her. Jean watched her for a few moments, then, with a sigh of nervous dread, she turned and paced restlessly up and down within the deep shadows beneath the overhanging trees. She had only taken one turn when she felt herself seized by the arm and drawn into the bright moonlight. Smothering the startled cry of alarm which rose to her lips she turned and faced her assailant. “Lady Glencairn!” she gasped, starting back in astonishment. “So, Jean Armour,” hissed her ladyship, “’tis you whose name has been coupled so disgracefully with that of Robert Burns.” Jean dropped her head quickly, flushing crimson before the scornful light in the other’s eyes, which flashed like stars in the pale moonlight that came streaming down upon them. “Then you have heard?” she faltered, after a little frightened pause.