He offered her his arm. “It will be rather a difficult matter,” he observed, looking about him vainly. “Still, I can try.” And he moved through the swaying crowd and out upon the balcony, with her little gloved hand resting lightly on his coat sleeve. “I saw you this morning, Mr. Burns, on Calton Hill,” she observed lightly, “but at a distance. Upon driving nearer I lost sight of you; you must have vanished into the air.” “Not at all,” replied Robert, sitting beside her on the low balustrade. “I found a beautiful solitude amongst a luxuriant growth of willows, which no doubt you overlooked.” “To be sure,” she returned. “Now I remember. A sad scene occurred there a few years ago; a lady from Loch Carron drowned herself in the little pond they hang over, because the man she loved despised her.” Her voice was soft and low. She drooped her eyes and sighed. “Poor unhappy woman,” sighed Robert sympathetically. She looked at him quickly, her face flushing, her eyes earnestly searching his face. “Then you would have pitied her?” she asked almost breathlessly. “He cannot be a man who would not pity a woman under such circumstances,” he replied simply and thoughtfully. “She loved him devotedly, recklessly,” she continued, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion; “but she had no moral right to do so,” she continued. “She was a wife, a miserable, unhappy wife; she deserved much pity, but he was pitiless and uncharitable. He despised her weakness, and so—she drowned herself.” Her voice sank into a strained, unnatural whisper. “Poor unhappy woman!” he repeated compassionately. “She was over-hasty, I fear.” “You would not have consigned her to such a fate, would you?” she faltered, laying her soft feverish hand on his. He started violently and was silent for a time. Then, slowly, sorrowfully he turned and looked into her tell-tale face; for a moment she gazed at him, her eyes glittering with an unholy light, her bosom heaving tumultuously. Then she slowly drooped her head. “’Twould be a heavy load to have on one’s conscience,” he replied constrainedly. He rose from his seat and stood looking thoughtfully across to where Edinburgh castle loomed up on the hill, so cold and gloomy, outlined against the blue sky. She glided swiftly to his side. “Robert, let me——” she began passionately, when the cold voice of Sir William Creech rooted her to the spot in terror. Out of the shadow walked her uncle, and ignoring her presence he addressed himself to Robert. “Well, Mr. Burns!” he said angrily, “perhaps ye’ll condescend to notice me now, your publisher, Sir William Creech.” “I hope ye’re well,” returned Robert indifferently. Sir William quivered with rage. “Ye’ve been in town a week, and yet ye have not called to notify me of your arrival,” he sputtered. “I quite forgot, Sir William,” answered Rob repentently; “you see I’m not a good business man. However, to-morrow I will call and we will arrange our much neglected business matters.”