Leaving his boat again on the dry sand that sloped steep into the harbour, Malcolm took his way homeward along the shore. Presently he spied, at some little distance in front of him, a woman sitting on the sand, with her head bowed upon her knees. She had no shawl, though the wind was cold and strong, blowing her hair about wildly. Her attitude and whole appearance were the very picture of misery. He drew near and recognized her. “What on earth’s gane wrang wi’ ye, Lizzy?” he asked. “Ow naething,” she murmured, without lifting her head. The brief reply was broken by a sob. “That canna be,” persisted Malcolm, trouble of whose own had never yet rendered him indifferent to that of another. “Is ’t onything ’at a body cun stan’ by ye in?” Another sob was the only answer. “I’m in a peck o’ troubles mysel’,” said Malcolm. “I wad fain help a body gien I cud.” “Naebody can help me,” returned the girl, with an agonized burst, as if the words were driven from her by a convulsion of her inner world, and therewith she gave way, weeping and sobbing aloud.--“I doobt I’ll hae to droon mysel’,” she added with a wail, as he stood in compassionate silence, until the gust should blow over; and as she said it she lifted a face tear-stained, and all white, save where five fingers had branded their shapes in red. Her eyes scarcely encountered his; again she buried her face in her hands, and rocked herself to and fro, moaning in fresh agony. “Yer mither’s been sair upo’ ye, I doobt!” he said. “But it’ll sune blaw ower. She cuils as fest ’s she heats.” As he spoke he set himself down on the sand beside her. But Lizzy started to her feet, crying, “Dinna come near me, Ma’colm. I’m no fit for honest man to come nigh me. Stan’ awa’; I hae the plague.” She laughed, but it was a pitiful laugh, and she looked wildly about, as if for some place to run to. “I wadna be sorry to tak it mysel’, Lizzy. At ony rate I’m ower auld a freen’ to be driven frae ye that gait,” said Malcolm, who could not bear the thought of leaving her on the border of the solitary sea, with the waves barking at her all the cold winterly gloamin’. Who could tell what she might do after the dark came down? He rose and would have taken her hand to draw it from her face; but she turned her back quickly, saying in a hard forced voice: “A man canna help a wuman--’cep it be till her grave.” Then turning suddenly, she laid her hands on his shoulders, and cried: “For the love o’ God, Ma’colm, lea’ me this moment! Gien I cud tell ony man what ailed me, I wad tell you; but I canna, I canna! Rin laddie; rin’ an’ lea’ me.” It was impossible to resist her anguished entreaty and agonized look. Sore at heart and puzzled in brain, Malcolm yielding turned from her, and with eyes on the ground, thoughtfully pursued his slow walk towards the Seaton.