"Pardon!" said Miss Milnathort, drying her eyes with a trembling hand, "that is what I have said too, many a weary hour in the watches of the night. What pleasure can a spirit like yon find in the torture of his own flesh and blood? The Lord forgive him if there is yet a place of repentance! But well I know what you mean that it is just like a vision when one awaketh. That is what all our troubles will be when the end comes: just a dream! and good brought out of evil and pardon given to many, many a one that men are just willing to give over and curse instead of blessing. Now go and bring your Oona, my bonnie lad! I am thinking she is just me, and you are Walter, and we have all won the day together," said the invalid clasping her thin hands, and with eyes that shone through their tears, "all won together! though we were beaten twenty years ago." THE END. LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL. * * * * * [Transcriber's Note: Hyphen variations left as printed.]