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He saw his son and Nancy, together in the sunshine, saw the drooping form and pathetically inclined head of his wife, the sneering face of Grierson mocking at his distress, Renwick holding Mary in his arms, the bold figure of young Foyle bearding him in his office; he saw the obsequious Perry, Blair, Paxton, Gordon, even Dron they all marched silently before his shuttered eyes, all with heads averted from him, all condemning him, their eyes turned sadly to the body of his Nessie as she reposed upon the bier.

As though unable to bear longer the torment of these inward visions, he raised his head from his hands, uncovered his eyes, and looked furtively towards the sofa. At once his eyes fell upon the thin arm of the dead child as it hung over the edge of the couch limp, pendant, immobile, the pale waxen fingers of the hand drooping from the small palm. With a shudder he raised his eyes and looked

blindly out of the window. As he sat thus, the door opened slowly and his mother came into the room. Her recent terror had faded from her senile mind the whole sad event lost in the maunderings of her doting brain and now, tottering to her chair, she seated herself opposite her son. Her eyes sought him as she sounded his mood with her dim gaze, then, sensing his silence to be propitious, she muttered:

"'I think I'll make myself a bit soft toast." At this she rose oblivious to all but her own needs hobbled to the scullery and, returning again, sat down and began to toast the slice of bread she had obtained. "I can soak it in my broth," she muttered to herself, sucking in her cheeks. "It suits my stomach brawly that way." Then, as she again looked at her son across the fireplace, she noticed at lasv the strangeness of his eyes, her head shook agitatedly, and she exclaimed:

"You're not angry wi' me, are ye, James? I'm just makin’ my sell some nice, soft toast. I was aye fond o't, ye ken. I'll make you a bit yourself, gin ye want it," and she tittered uneasily, propitiatingly, across at him with a senile, senseless, sound that broke the heavy silence of the room. But he did not reply and still gazed stonily out of the window, where the warm summer wind moved gently amongst the thin leaves of the straggling bushes that fringed his garden. The breeze freshened, disporting itself amongst the shoots of the currant bushes then, circling, it touched the leaves of the three, tall, serene, silver trees, flickering them dark and light with a soft caress, then suddenly, striking the house, it chilled, and passed quickly onwards io the beauty of the Winton Hills beyond.

THE END