"God bless and prosper you! my dear young friend," said Mr. Denoon, warmly grasping Andrew Ayton by the hand as he bade him adieu; "under the providence of God I this night owe my life to you; and oh, that I may spend it in the service of Him to whom it by right belongs!" "Farewell, my noble, kind preceptor," replied Inchdarnie, "and should we never meet again in this valley of time, God grant I may so follow in your steps that we may spend eternity together;" so saying, they parted—and for ever. As Andrew Ayton pursued his solitary way towards Perth, he was attracted by sounds of lamentation which appeared to proceed from a house situated at a short distance from the road along which he was proceeding. Always ready to hearken to the voice of suffering—and judging that in this case some assistance might be necessary—he leapt from his horse and knocked gently at the door. Finding that no notice was being taken of his repeated demands for admission, he fastened the impatient animal to a ring in the wall, and, raising the latch, entered the house, where he beheld a sight that made him tremble. Stretched on the cottage floor lay the apparently lifeless body of a man bathed in a pool of blood, while at his head sat an aged female ghastly with despair. No wail of sorrow burst from her bloodless lips, but her eyes were fixed on the face of the dead man with that stony gaze which bespeaks the bitterest anguish, and near her was seated the wife of the deceased, whose passionate bursts of sorrow had first attracted the notice of Andrew Ayton. "Good God!" he exclaimed, on beholding this terrible spectacle; "what means this?" On hearing the voice of a stranger, the younger female lifted her head, but unable to speak, she merely pointed to the deceased, and then burying her face in her hands, gave way to fresh bursts of sorrow. "O do not grieve thus," said Inchdarnie, "but tell me, in heaven’s name, who has been the author of this bloody outrage; and if it should be in my power to render you any assistance——" "Assistance!" screamed the old woman in a shrill voice of agony, and starting to her feet as she spoke, "can you restore us the dead? Can you bring back light to the eyeballs, and life to the stiffening frame? Can you blast with heaven’s lightning——?" "Oh, hush mother, hush! use not these awful words!" exclaimed the anguished wife; "it is not for us to curse our——" [Illustration: "Stretched on the cottage floor lay the apparently lifeless body of a man, bathed in a pool of blood, while at his head sat an aged female, ghastly with despair."]