Slowly, sorrowfully, Robert’s head drooped till it rested on his bosom. For a moment he sat like one on the verge of dissolution. “Oh, God!” he moaned bitterly, “that sweet young life crushed out in all its innocent purity, like a delicate flower, and through my sin, my reckless folly. Oh, how can I live and bear my punishment!” A convulsive sob racked his weakened frame. Gilbert bent over him with tears in his eyes, forgetting his own crushing sorrow in witnessing that of his brother. “Dinna’ greet so, Robert,” he cried. “’Twas not your fault, ye ken. It was to be.” His philosophical belief in fate helped him over many a hard and stony path, and enabled him to meet with calmness and fortitude the many heartaches and disappointments which befell him. Soon the convulsive shudders ceased, and leaning wearily back in his chair, Robert fixed his great mournful eyes upon his brother in sorrowful resignation. “How did she look when ye last saw her, Gilbert?” he asked faintly, pressing his hand tightly to his heart, for the old pain had come back with exhausting results. “Like an angel, lad,” replied Gilbert tenderly. “So sweet and pure, so patient and forgiving.” “Does she suffer much?” “Nay,” he answered reassuringly. Then he continued, his voice soft and low, his strong features quivering from the restraint he put upon his feelings, “Her life is just slowly slipping away from her; day by day she grows weaker and weaker, but ne’er a complaint is on her lips. She is always so cheerful an’ smilin’ that it fair makes ye weep to see her fadin’ awa’ so fast,” and his voice broke into a hard sob. “Oh, Mary, my Highland Mary!” murmured Robert brokenly. “Her last wish is to see the Highlands, to—to die there,” continued Gilbert, his lips contracting with a sudden, sharp pain at the thought. “So before she grows any weaker, Mrs. Dunlop, who has come from town to see her, and who is wi’ her noo, is goin’ to take her back to her old home in Argyleshire.” “Going home to die!” repeated Robert dreamily. “Oh, if I might be taken awa’ too, if my end would only hasten,” he muttered despairingly, with the weak selfishness of the sick and sorrowing. “Then might our departing souls be united as one, to be together for all eternity.” “Hush, Robert!” cautioned Gilbert, looking fearfully at the closed door. “Remember Jean and the bairns.” “Gilbert, I must see her before she goes!” he cried utterly distracted. “’Tis for the last time on earth, ye ken, lad,” and he jumped up, trembling with eager excitement. “Brother, would ye kill yoursel’?” cried Gilbert, seeking to restrain him. “’Tis madness for ye to go out in your weak condition.”