on this earth. My son Norman is innocent of this blood--clear him of the blot upon his name--bring him back to die peacefully in his own land, and the blessing of the God who binds up the broken-hearted, be about you all, for evermore. LAWRENCE ROSS." Anne laid down the letter, her eyes full of grateful tears, almost joyful in their tremulous solemnity. There was sorrow, and labor, and darkness in the way--there was not crime. The blessed belief came into her soul in solemn sunshine--the cloud rolled off her head. A strange invigoration was in every vein. Norman was _alive!_ alive to receive the triumphant acquittal of justice--alive to be saved! She opened his letter, her tears falling thick upon it: other drops had fallen there before--the tears of the old man's agony. She read it. "Before you see this, they will have told you that I am a murderer. It is not so, father: believe a despairing man, it is not so. Arthur Aytoun has done me wrong: but I would not have put a hair of his head in peril. I would have guarded him with my own life. Wherever he is, be it in joy or misery, he bears me witness, before God, that I am innocent of his blood. Father my heart is like to burst. What can I say to you--my hand is clean. I am innocent!--I am innocent! there is no blood upon my soul. And yet I dare not venture to trust myself to a trial, with every circumstance against me. I have nothing for it but flight. To-night I go further away--I know not where--under cover of the darkness, like a felon and a criminal, as men will call me. It gnaws at my very heart. I would rather have died a thousand times--a cold-blooded, cowardly murderer! Father, father! you will not believe it of your son! "They would find me guilty if I remained--they could not fail to find me guilty--and the disgrace of a fugitive will be less upon our house and name than the disgrace of a convicted murderer, dying a shameful death. It is like a coward to fly. I am a coward. I do not dare to meet that fatal judgment. I could not bear to hear myself called guilty, with my innocence strong in my heart. I have a suspicion, too--a terrible fear and suspicion--and I must fly. Father, I can say no more, even to you. I am a sinful man before God; but my hand is as pure of blood, as when I stood beside you on Oranside, before death had ever entered Merkland. They know in Heaven--if they can see my unhappy fortunes--my mother, Lawrence, Edward--they know that I am innocent. I do not know what I say. My thoughts are wandering like a sick man's. Father, I am innocent!