And then, when she had finished the tremulous address, and carefully dried it with the blotting-paper, and given the little package to Nelly, and bade her run—quick, quick—to hand it to the driver, then the girl sank back in the chair and began laughing in a strange, half-hysterical way, and then that became a burst of crying, with her face hidden in her hands. But the good-hearted Mrs. Murray was there; and her arms were round the girl’s neck; and she was saying, in her gentle Highland way— ’Well, well, now, to think you should hef had such a run to catch the mail-cart—and no wonder you are dead-beat—ay, ay, and you not looking so well of late, Miss Meenie. But you will just rest here a while; and Nelly will get you some tea; and there is no need for you to go back home until you have come to yourself better. No, you hef not been looking well lately; and you must not tire yourself like this—dear me, the place would be quite different althogether if anything was to make you ill.’ *CHAPTER II.* *IN GLASGOW TOWN.* It was as late as half-past ten o’clock—and on a sufficiently gray and dull and cheerless morning—that Ronald’s landlady, surprised not to have heard him stirring, knocked at his room. There was no answer. Then she knocked again, opened the door an inch or two, and dropped a letter on the floor. ’Are ye no up yet?’ The sound of her voice aroused him. ’In a minute, woman,’ he said sleepily; and, being thus satisfied, the landlady went off, shutting the door behind her. He rose in the bed and looked around him, in a dazed fashion. He was already partially dressed, for he had been up two hours before, but had thrown himself down on the bed again, over-fatigued, half-stupefied, and altogether discontented. The fact is, he had come home the night before in a reckless mood, and had sate on through hour after hour until it was nearly dawn, harassing himself with idle dreams and idle regrets, drinking to drown care, smoking incessantly, sometimes scrawling half-scornful rhymes. There were all the evidences now on the table before him—a whisky-bottle, a tumbler, a wooden pipe and plenty of ashes, a sheet of paper scrawled over in an uncertain hand. He took up that sheet to recall what he had written: _King Death came striding along the road,_ _And he laughed aloud to see_ _How every rich man’s mother’s son_ _Would take to his heels and flee._ _Duke, lord, or merchant, off they skipped,_ _Whenever that he drew near;_ _And they dropped their guineas as wild they ran,_ _And their faces were white with fear._ _But the poor folk labouring in the fields_ _Watched him as he passed by;_ _And they took lo their spades and mattocks again,_ _And turned to their work with a sigh._ _Then farther along the road he saw_ _An old man sitting alone;_ _His head lay heavy upon his hands,_ _And sorrowful was his moan._