over her shoulder. The full light of the moon played on her dead-white face and picked out every contour of it. We were so close that she could read the Laird's purpose in his face. As its full import came home to her, an awful change came over her pallid features. Fear-the orude bald fear of deathchanged her almost beyond recognition. With one wild shriek of terror she turned her face from us. It was the last time I was to look upon it.

Roy, too, had guessed his father's intention.

"My God!" he cried, and sprang to his feet.

For there was no attempt made by the Laird to draw alongside or pass the pursued ear. In his mad rage he had forgotten even his own aim. At the risk of losing the treasure he sought-of wrecking his own car of throwing away his life, to say nothing of Roy's or mine-he was deliberately steering into the two-seater, hatred and revenge being the only emotions left to him.

We were on a downward

slope. The scene, with the white moonlight playing on it, is as clear to me as though I stood there now. A little way ahead, at the bottom of the hill, was a bridge over a trickling burn, and there, too, the road curved off to the left.

"My God!" oried Roy, as he sprang to his feet. "Father, father-pull out while there is time."

A wild laugh from the Laird was his only answer.

Roy sprang at the steeringwheel. The Laird, anticipating his action, rose and faced him, with one hand still on the wheel.

There was a blow, a struggle that seemed to me to last hours, but which must have been over in a moment, and I caught one swift glimpse of the two-seater on my left as we swept past it.

The same moment the parapet of the bridge loomed big ahead. I saw two black struggling figures towering above me, looked in each other's arms -there was a crash as if the world had come to an end ... and that is the last I remember.

"He's no deid, lass, but I doot . . ."

I opened my eyes to a glimpse of gorgeous colour. I seemed to see the face of Betty, pale and tear-stained, bending over me, and sunlight playing on her chestnut hair. It was only a glimpse, and then a great pain swept over me, swallowed me up, and carried me down, down to oblivion. . . .

VOL. CCVII.-NO. MCC LIV.

When I again recovered con sciousness I did not know

whether moments or days had passed. I did not care. So weak was I that I lay-aware of my existence indeed-but powerless to raise my eyelids to examine my surroundings. could hear faint movements around me, and once or twice a whispered word. How long I might have remained in this

2 K

I

state I cannot tell, but I was aroused from it by a new sensation, so thrilling that it would almost have brought me back from the grave.

As I lay with closed eyes, conscious, but no more, I became aware of a faint agreeable sensation upon my forehead, and a warmth of air upon my face. Even Even as I speculated weakly on the source of these sensations, something soft and warm touched my lips, and lay closer and still more closely against them. The gentle pressure increased, and my lips pursed half-consciously to meet it. My heart beat more strongly, my breath came faster, and I opened my eyes slowly, almost fearfully, lest I should break the spell that was aweaving in my clouded mind.

The dear brown eyes of Betty were the first sight that greeted mine. It was the warmth of her sweet lips that had roused me from my lethargy. As she saw my eyes open upon hers she started up with a ery of joy; but seeing, no doubt, the look of disappointment on my face, she pressed her lips again to mine, and her warm tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Hoots, lassie," said the voice of Dr Forbes from somewhere beyond the range of my vision, "dinna gie up hope. We'll pu' him through yet."

Betty raised her beautiful head.

"We have, Dad, we have!" she said brokenly, and it did me good to hear the joy that mingled with her sobs. "He is conscious at last."

I tried to speak, but the

words would not come, so instead I smiled weakly. Then I felt the old dector's hand upon my brow, and saw his wholesome genial face looking down at me.

"Guid lad!" he said in a subdued voice. "Lie quait an' dinna be fashed. You're a' richt noo. We'll mak' a man o' ye yet."

For days I lay weak and speechless, but happy. I could watch Betty as she sat by my bedside or moved about the room quietly, busy with the linen or the medicine bottles. I have since been told that it is a marvel my eyes did not fall out, so much did I turn and twist them in my efforts to miss no movement of my beloved.

I recovered my speech slowly, but at first they would not let me talk. Gradually, however, I regained my strength, and at last came a happy day when I could speak with Betty without fear of being "hushed" to silence.

"The Dad says it's all right," Betty told me with a happy smile. "So long as we don't discuss controversial subjects. You know what that means, Bob. You must ask no questions about .. about the past."

As the one thing I wanted to hear about most was the past, that put somewhat of a damper upon me. I think, however, that the doctor soon saw that I was really beginning to worry about things, and that ignorance was more likely to retard my recovery than knowledge.

“Ay, ay, lad, dinna fash yoursel'," he interrupted kindly, to save me the embarrassment of an avowal. "Betty has telt me that you want her. She micht dae waur, ye ken. Dinna you fash yoursel' a boot that."

It may seem a grudging aoceptance of a son-in-law, that "she micht dae waur," but the doctor was an undemonstrative old Sootsman, and the kindly pressure of his hand on mine meant more than the words.

"You'll be wantin' tae ken the end o' your adventure, I'm thinkin'?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Yes," I answered eagerly. "What has become of Roy, and the Laird, and Marie? Where is Morgan? And

"Yin at a time-yin at a time," the doctor interrupted, smiling at my eagerness. "I'd best juist tell ye the story in my ain words.

"Pair Roy!" He paused to let these words sink into my mind, and thus break the news more gently. "He was a fine lad, was Roy. It was a peety he got mixed up wi' that

He was

furrin woman. deid when they found him. Him an' his faither-baith. Hoo it was that you esoapit alive, Guid kens. But there wisna muckle life in you, come tae think on it. The caur loupit doon intae the bed o' the burn, a maitter o' fifty feet or mair, an' smashed itsel' tae smithereens again' the stanes. They brocht you back for deid, but Betty wud ha'e it that there was life in you, an' sure eneuch she was richt."

"And Marie?" I asked.

"I ken nowt o' her. Her disappearanee wisna brocht up at the inquiry. The twa things werena connected. But she hisna been seen since."

"Then the Hopeton treasure is lost?" I exclaimed.

"So I understand frae Betty. I only ken what she has telt me aboot the treasure. The furrin woman is clear awa' wi' it-o' that you may be shair."

I lay silent, thinking of what he had told me.

"Perhaps it is as well," I said at last. "It has caused enough trouble, and I doubt if it will bring much happiness to Marie. By the way, how long have I been ill?"

siolike, for the last week or mair. If you think it's no' ower muckle for you, we might let him in the morn, juist lang eneuch tae speir the time o' day."

So next day I saw Morgan's beaming spectacles once again. He was unaffectedly delighted to see me, and stood rubbing his hands and exclaiming, for an unconscionable time

“Dear, dear, dear! This is a great day, Seaton. That jailer of yours is a holy terror. I should have seen you a week ago, but for his rules and regulations. He's worse than a New York hall-porter."

I smiled upon him and let him talk.

"Well, well, it's all over now, thank God, but I can't look at you lying there without blaming myself for your troubles. I got you into all this mess, Seaton, with these damned little pictures. Even at the last, I cried to you to do something, and landed you in for that unholy smash. Nobody but you knows what really happened that night. Was it an accident?"

Now I knew, as surely as I knew anything on this earth, that Roy had deliberately pulled the car across the road to save his false wife. He did it with a full knowledge of what would be the end, but what good would come from speaking of it.

"Yes," I answered. "A pure accident. The light was bad. . . . The Laird was driving.... He did not see the bend in the road."

"You had a marvellous

escape. Dear, dear, dear, there wasn't a sporting chance in a million that you'd be alive— yet here you are, as full of beans as a pod."

"What of Marigold?" I asked. "She is recovering," answered Morgan. "It was a terrible shock to her, but she is getting over it. Seaton, my boy, I've overcome all her objections at last, and she's going to marry me and come with me to the States. We shall take young Duncan with us, and let Hopeton until he grows up."

"The best thing you could do," I agreed heartily. "Take her right away to fresh surroundings. She could never be happy here."

..

. I was well enough to be at Marigold's wedding. It was a very quiet wedding, but looking at the faces of the bride and bridegroom I knew that it would turn out a happy one.

I have proved myself right, too, for Betty and I have twice journeyed to the States and visited the Morgans, and a happier household I have never seen-with one exception. But then, there is only one Betty.

Morgan, even now, will sometimes grow apologetic about the troubles he let me in for, and put them all down to those "damned little pietures." I never agree with him.

"You mustn't grumble, Morgan," I tell him. "We followed the little piotures, you know. The tragedy would have come just the same without them, but not the joy that is ours to-day."