The Last of Their Race

d be felt. The old man lay slightly on his side, and Rosm

terrified eyes turned

keeper's house at Rofallion. Any of them here will tell you where it is. And

, and on his face was a

h, my dear, but it is

up, and her

well this morning--better than he has been for years. I told Dr. Blair so when

undred echoes through the house and brought D

ed to him

nd carry him to his room. Will you, Mr. Rosmead? Oh, thank you very much. Then

e fingers that held it like a vice. But the effort was useless. As she knelt there she was able to read the addre

new what h

rgaret Maclaren clucking to her handful of poultry at the kitchen door, she wondered how all

ared with their burden. Even then Isla noted the extreme gentleness and power displayed by Rosm

osmead very gently drew the lids over the starin

ckly, for God's sake!" cried I

late now,

ng-glass that had been carried through many a campaign and laid it aga

I will send your woman to you and then go after the doctor. It

t Rosmead never forgot the despair of her face. She bent over the prostrate

in releasing it. She smoothed it out, folded it, and put it inside the bosom

ackinnon this!" she said under

wn to get his horse from the stable. As he left the house the keeper app

there, and he iss calling at another hoose not far away. I can bring him?--y

ome kind," answered Rosmead. "Can you go

d," answered the man, and he was

s back to say that the doctor had gone a

standing about helplessly, wringing their hands, while Isla, with

m the room, and went up to h

ou soon, but meanwhile I want you to grasp the fact that, even if he were here at this moment, there is nothing to be done. I have some know

u don't know--no one will ever k

-yes, and it was the one thing to avoid. Oh, I have watched him all these years so that noth

straught and spoke freely of that which her normal se

last sleep. He managed it at last, for even with all his gentleness he was masterful. Then with his own hands he helped, guiding the tearful, but

hurt him. It was not woebegone, nor yet was it grief-stricken. It was only hard like the nether millstone. He understood that he ha

ttle shivering breath, and

ne thing at this moment, Mr. Rosmead--tha

horror of it yet. But yours was an old man and full of years and honours. You should see him now! He reminds me of the shock of corn full

nd the hardness on Isla'

are! I shall n

now is that I dare not leave you here alone. If you could send some one down to Lochearn--or if you know

!" she cried a little wildly. "You don't understand! Nob

what to say, for tr

e looks so beautiful and so gloriously at rest. If only you will let your mind dwell on that, half the bitterness will

those who knew only one side of Peter Ros

he drawn blinds, and looked at the still figure on the bed with the majesty of d

not to leave her; and his tenderness, his forethought, hi

me fresh person at the door and with the sound of Malcolm's

very heartily wished that it were possible for him to escape by some

on the downmost step she paused and poi

step farther. You have no right in t

ght of Rosmead a few steps higher up the

hy is Mr. Rosmead here? What i

for him to go--that with what now passed in the Lodge of Creagh between the brother and sister no s

General's dead hand must, in some way, have concerned his son, and that

ave to answer to his sister, to his own

slowly down Glenogle. The mystery of life, its awful suffering--so much of it preventible--oppressed his

e could to make up to Isla Mackinnon--that if she would permit him he would devote his whole li

sla must be slowly and laboriously wooed. But how well worth the winning! Rosmead's outlook upon life had undergone a swi

ad never been dissipated by lighter loves. He brought a virgin heart to lay at the feet of the woman he loved. And, in spite of the sorrow and the woe to which he had been a witness, life promised fair t

heart would tell him then whether it was time to speak. Few misgivings were his. He believed that Isla Mackinnon was the woman that God had given to him and that sh

else, he gave God

of Creagh the storm rose and raged. Malcolm, a l

with that of her usually sweet low voice. "And the thing that killed hi

m, with an air almost of men

t was father's, and now it is mine. To think that after all

eady into the library, Isla following, for it suddenly dawned upon her th

said hoarsely. "Surely you wil

e going to meet David Bain, I went to the keeper's house at Rofallion to ask for

he letters, I suppose, whi

ight have looked at a dozen others without comprehending thei

again like the

im credit for one spark of decent feeling. She hardly observed that he was trembling li

ter. I must have it,"

ard him not, and his to

read it

N

you re

N

ive it

kly, now that it has done its deadly work," she said drearily "Do you understand what has happened, Malcolm?

ngue, Isla! You would drive a

r souls, our hearts, and sometimes our bodies have been starved in Achree, and the old place has been suffered to sink into the dust, and has finally passed into the hands of strangers. All this would not have mattered if only you had been good and brave and a little like what you ought to have been. We could have borne poverty

tongue!" he repeated, but his vo

eared themselves upon his brain. He had no idea until now of the red-hot fires of passion glowing benea

een us is snapped. I will never forgive you. You broke my father's heart, and mine is i

eep groan and covered h

one to hinder you from making its devastation complete. As for me

oked for a moment as hers sometimes ha

myself. I admit that the letter gave the shock, and that is punishment enou

omprehend the words--

idea, and, undoing the pearl button of her bl

or me to keep it. I don't w

denly to mock her with his wealth of full-throated song. She walked blindly, yet her feet guided her away to the great spaces of the Mo

know which way to turn. Then he sat him down and braced himself for the effort of

ny unnecessary pain. It was a letter which had cost its writer several sleepless nights--a letter of duty and f

have been written. But it told the truth--the whole truth, without varnish or e

ad it, and surely in that awful moment h

ushed the letter in his hand, and threw it into the fire, where he w

eing, the doddering Diarmid in the hal

, and walked to the side of the bed. There, for a moment, he stood in silence. Then Diarmid, listening

ips as he knelt, sobbing by the bed, and laid his aching a

he peace upon the beautiful old face was that o