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a sheet.

I'll warrant the smatchit'll no meddle wi' Calvin again,' said the landlady, with much appreciation of McKinnon's theological accomplishments, both in faith. and word. A weel built and responsible lookin' man, and regular in his payments every Saturday nicht, though there were times he could hardly see the money. But we have all oor faults, sir, and his were upon the surface, and no worth mentioning the day. I'm judgin', from what he said to that Episcopalian haveril, that the root of the matter was in Mr. McKinnon. Ye'll be wantin' to see him?' and the landlady dropped her voice.

"It was in his sitting-room, littered with books and papers, black with calculations, that the landlady had reviewed Angus's character, and now we passed into the little bedroom which opened from the other room, and I looked on my tutor. He had already been dressed for burial, and the landlady was satisfied with his appearance.

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Naebody, I have been telt, kent much aboot him, and they say he has no friends. It's a sad thing to be a lonely man. considered that he was never happy, and mebbe he had his own trials; but he's sleepin' peacefu' now, and he never looked so bonny in his life as he does this day.

Yes, I sent for a doctor, and he said it was the heart; but it disna matter what it was. He's gone, and except yersel' and mebbe some other young gentleman that he tutored, and the college fouk that thocht so much of him, there's nobody to mourn him or take charge of him. Here's the key of his box. I've touched naething, and mebbe ye would open it and see whether ye can find the address of ony friend that should be asked to the funeral. And there's aye thing mair, sir,' and the landlady's voice dropped to an awe-struck whisper: 'when we dressed him, I found this little leather pouch hanging on his breast, and do ye see that it is sealed and that I havna opened it. Would ye tak charge o' it in case some friend should come to claim it? Ye micht open it to see if he has left any directions.'

"Once more I looked at my tutor; then, when the landlady had gone into the sittingroom, I kissed him and bade him farewell, realising then that in the short time I had known him I had come to love McKinnon. In the presence of the landlady I broke the seal and opened the little packet. It contained one short letter; but when I saw that the letter had no address, and was signed by a woman, I put it back in the case, and the

case into my pocket, and told the landlady that it threw no light upon his family, but that I would keep it till it was claimed. I went to my rooms, forgetting that I had passed in mathematics and was now sure of my degree, and remembering only the tragedy of Angus McKinnon.

"It was our boyish way to celebrate the evening after a degree exam. by attending a Christy Minstrel function, and joining cheerfully in the choruses; but that night I shut myself in the room where I am, as it were, sitting while I tell this story, and which by every book and paper reminded me of Angus, and I mourned till night had passed into the morning. It is fair to take into account that I had been working for a fortnight till three in the morning, as well as the livelong day; that I had had no physical exercise, and had been intensely anxious-in short, that my nerves were overstrained; and now, upon the head of all, had come Angus's unexpected death, which in my heart I believed, and suspected the doctor knew, had been some form of suicide. The room was already, in my imagination, full of McKinnon before I took the packet out of my pocket and read the letter, at which before I had only glanced. With the after-look I am free to confess that I ought not to have read the letter, and that in all the circumstances I should have destroyed it unread. My excuse was then and is now, that it was not the curiosity of a stranger, but the love of a friend that moved me, for I was convinced that I held in my hand the secret of Angus McKinnon. As I took the letter out, I felt as if I should ask his permission, and for the moment as if across the table he had refused it with a fearful look, and had stretched out his hand to recover the letter. My fingers trembled when I unfolded the single sheet which contained on one side the whole letter. The writing was that of a well-educated woman, who through weakness was scarcely able to form the letters, and had to pause between the sentences, and this is what I read

“DEAREST ONE,-The doctor says that I am dying, and there is something I wish to say to you before I die. I will write as well as I can, and the letter will be carried by sure hands. I have said that I slipped and was injured in the falling, and I charge you, as my last request, that you keep silence. forgive you what you did, for it was your love turned into rage, and not your hand, which struck me. You know now that I

was never untrue to you, my heart's love, and I die loving you as you love me.

"Your faithful MORAG.'

"One understood it in a moment-his love for Morag, a girl of his own race by the name, though educated in the English speech, his jealousy of some other lover, his hot passion in some evil hour, and the ghastly issue which killed Morag and sent Angus forth to live in unquenchable remorse and self-loathing. As I held the letter in my hand, I was conscious of a strange and penetrating sensation, and now words, I am afraid, will fail to convey my experience. It was as if a wind were pouring into the room through some opening in the wall and filling the room with a new and strange atmosphere which surrounded me and chilled me. Holding the letter in my hand, I rose and faced the door as if IT had entered, and then I turned to the table as if someone were standing opposite me; then I made an effort and flung off the impression, and sat down again by the fire and read the letter again —I will not deny it-with tears. Poor Angus! Oh, the sorrow of things! I started to my feet imagining I had been touched, and looked round the room, where every corner was visible and in which every sight was commonplace. Where was IT? And now, under a compulsion, which I could not resist, of nervous terror, but at which I laughed within my heart, I searched the room-below the table, under the couch, in the shadow beyond the piano; and, still despising myself, I opened the doors of the chiffonier, in which nothing larger than a cat could have hidden, and lifted the lid of the piano. Nothing, of course. And although I did all this, I did not expect to find anything-I was not really looking for any visible person. Still holding the letter in my hand, I came back to my chair and was about to sit down, when, so far as I can describe it, the Presence in the room gathered itself together and came close to me and tried to master me.

"As I stood beside the table, my hands clenched and hanging by my side, and my feet rooted in the floor, the Presence flung itself round me as one would do who was trying to carry a person away; and although I knew not what it was, and knew not where it would carry me, I was convinced that I must resist with all my might, and that the resistance lay somehow in my will. If I— the personal being that says I-yielded for an instant, I would be lost, and the idea of

lost, in the sense of yielding to this Presence, was charged with horror. It was a wrestle for life or death, and lasted perhaps only five minutes, and then the strain relaxed and I had for the moment conquered; I sank into the chair, and the perspiration rolled, rather in a stream than in drops, off my face. A horror laid hold upon me that, while the gas-lamps were burning in the street outside, and I could hear the sound of a belated passenger and the distant rattle of a cab, while there were living people in the rooms across the passage, I was shut into this room with the other world striving to conquer me. How, I could not explain; and for what end, I did not know. If the strain continued long, I should not be able to breathe. Making a great effort, I sprang to my feet and made a dash for the door. Before my hand was upon the handle, the Presence was between the door and me, and I was beaten back to where I had been standing; and now, shaken and weakened, I waited another wrestle. When suddenly there crept into my mind the idea that this Presence was not really hostile, but was contending for me to gain some end which was not my destruction. Could it be that McKinnon was acting on me from the other side ?—and the moment that I thought of him the deadly fear began to lift. He had sinned openly before us all, and he had sinned grievously in a way we had not known; but the soul within him was not bad, and the power of McKinnon--if he had any powerwould not be for death. As I was thinking, I was left untouched, as if IT understood that I was trying to understand. What ailed him, and what could he want? What was there that I could do for him? And Heaven knows that if I could serve McKinnon, I would, if only for his repentance and his agony. Morag was beyond my help, and yet it must have something to do with her in whom McKinnon's soul was bound up. Perhaps it was the letter, and I opened my closed fist and found the letter there crushed into a ball. As I looked at it and gently unfolded it, the Presence seemed again to enfold me-but how feeble words are to bring out the experience !—now it was with a persuasive and informing touch. It was the letter, and then in an instant I understood. I had broken upon the secret that was between the man and woman, and having done so thoughtless a deed, the letter might yet fall into others' hands, and the trust of Morag be broken. They were both on the other side; and while this letter lived, their story on

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"SHARP gallop, Miss Evelyn. Give you an idea what your new mount is made of." "Yes, indeed! And from the way he lathers, I should say he was made of soap!

i

THE EDITOR'S SCRAP-BOOK.

THE MAN OF DUTY.

MR. FIPPS was a man within whose bosom burned like a flame a sense of public duty. Whenever and wherever he saw the world out of joint, it was his positive pleasure to set it right. He never travelled by rail without reporting the engine-driver, the guard, two porters, and a stationmaster. He never entered an omnibus without taking the name of the conductor, or a cab without having use for its number. Wherever an umbrella was being brandished aloft to stay the progress of a motor-car, a van, or a bicyclist, his friends knew whose it was, and scuttled up the side streets.

The other day Mr. Fipps set forth to the City to attend a meeting-Mr. Fipps's speeches, beginning "Although but a small shareholder," are well known to the financial reporter-and his eye was keen as ever in the public service. Immediately before him walked two apparent gentlemen of responsible aspect. They were too slow for Mr. Fipps, and he was just about to bustle past them, when he overheard one say, in the ordinary tones of conversation: "You see, there can be no doubt that we have committed a fraud."

Mr. Fipps fell back again, to hear the other reply: "Yes, a particularly bad one. We couldn't possibly go into the box."

"Aha!" thought Mr. Fipps.

"I don't quite like the whole business," said the first.

"Quite like, indeed!" said Mr. Fipps to himself. Ah, well, we'll see it through," said the other comfortably.

"Yes, you will," thought Mr. Fipps.

"How's the

"I'm going on," said the first. wife?" "So so," and they parted, the one into a building of offices, the other down the street.

With a

Mr. Fipps's mind was made up in an instant. They were both apparently equally guilty. He would wait at the door till a policeman came, and together they would watch for the one who had entered the building to come out. rapturous eye he saw his common police-court achievements crowned by an appearance in the witness-box at the Old Bailey. He was so pleased with the idea that he forgot to time the arrival of a policeman. In all probability this hastened the approach of the officer of the law, for in a few minutes he hove in sight, and eventually became conscious of Mr. Fipps's wildly waving umbrella. "S'sh!" said Mr. Fipps, as he approached.

Well, sir?" said the policeman.

"Inside that building," said Mr. Fipps, swollen with importance, "is a man who has committed a crime."

"What crime?" said the policeman, producing his note-book.

"Oh-er-a fraud of some kind," said Mr. Fipps.

"Fraud on 'oom?" asked the policeman, licking his pencil.

"I don't know," said Mr. Fipps. "Pusson unknown," noted the policeman. "What kind of a fraud?"

"What does it matter?" said Mr. Fipps irritably.

The policeman closed his note-book with a snap.
"Matter?
Of course it matter said the

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