Again there was a pause while he searched the pale face with the lingering smile, noting the veined, almost discolored eyelids, transparent and closed over the tired suffering eyes. Then a burst of coughing again and the blood in thick clots gurgled up from the throat. Then after a little she spoke again. "Oh, Rob, you hae made me very happy. But I'm vexed aboot you--an'--an' Peter. He tried to dae what was richt; but it wasna to be--I hope you'll--no'--be angry wi' him. He was like me--he couldna' help it." "Oh, Mysie, I'm no' angry wi' him," he replied brokenly, trying hard to make his voice sound dearly. "I'm no' angry wi' onybody." "I'm glad o' that, Rob," she said, her hand caressing his head. "You was ay a guid hearted laddie--I'm awfu' glad." Then her mind began to wander and she was back in Edinburgh speaking of her father and John. "Oh, faither," she rambled on. "Dinna be angry wi' me. There's naebody to blame. Dinna be angry." Then Robert was conscious that others were in the room, and looking up he beheld his mother and Jenny Maitland and behind them with anxious face and frightened eyes stood Peter Rundell, the picture of misery and despair. "She's kind o' wanderin', puir thing," he heard the mother say in explanation to the others. "She's kind o' wanderin' in her mind." It was a sad little group which stood round the dying girl, all anxious and alarmed and watchful. Then after a while she opened her eyes again and there was a look of startled surprise as if she were looking at something in the distance. Then she began to recognize each and all of them in turn, first Robert, who still held her hand, then her mother and Nellie, and Peter. A faint smile came into her eyes and he stepped forward. Her lips moved slowly and a faint sound came falteringly from them. "Dinna be angry wi' onybody," she panted. "It was a'--a--mistake." Then raising her hand she held it out to Peter, who advanced towards the bedside and placing his hand on Robert's she clasped them together in her own. "There noo--dinna be angry--it was a' a mistake. It was Rob I liket--it was him--I wanted. But it--was--a' a mistak'. Dinna be--" and the glazed sunken eyes closed forever, never to open again, a faint noise gurgled in her throat, and the dews of death stood out in beads upon the pale brow. A tiny quiver of the eyelids, and a tremor through the thin hands and Mysie--poor ruined broken waif of the world--was gone.