other end of the house, and after a little time came back, saying that she had made up a bed for him there, and asking him to follow her. She told him to take off his wet clothes, and that when he had gone to bed she would take them and dry them at the fire. He glowered at her in silence. He was determined that nothing she said or did would turn him from his purpose, only for the present he cared for nothing but sleep. He slept heavily long into the morning, and when at last Ann brought him his clothes and he rose, he found that snow had fallen to a considerable depth during the night, and at intervals was still falling. The tarn below the house lay like a pool of ink in a rugged white basin.

It was a strange day in the lonely snow- encircled house. The Good Woman was serene and grave, and went about her household tasks as if she had no cause for disturbance; the man was now violent and threatening, now sullen and brooding. They sat down to meals together, and the tramp was served with unvarying courtesy. Ann said grace aloud before and after meat, but she spoke in Gaelic and the man did not understand her. He was uneasy when she looked at him, and he made up his mind to wait till night came before carrying out his purpose. There would then be no danger of neighbours coming to see how Ann did, and in the morning he would make for the highroad. Ann's kindness did not touch him. He thought of

the hoard, and his heart was as hard as the frost - bound rocks above the tarn, yet she had a power that seemed to cow him, and all day he was harmless.

"It is my custom," said the old woman when night came, "to have family worship. I am sorry I have little English."

The tramp was sitting by the fire glowering into the heart of the peats, and he said nothing.

Ann placed a large Bible on the table in front of her. She could not read, but it was her way to have the Book. She prayed aloud, and afterwards repeated a chapter by heart, all in Gaelic. Then she repeated the metrical version of the 23rd Psalm in Englishsomewhat haltingly, for it was the only portion of Scripture she knew in the other language. After that she went on her knees and again prayed aloud in Gaelic. The tramp

moved uneasily now and then, but he made no interruption. Something seemed to prevent him. It had become clear to him that he could not frighten the old woman. Nothing he could say or do appeared to disturb her. disturb her. At first he had thought that she put on a brave face to hide her fear, but now he saw that she really did not fear him, and he could not understand it. It made him uneasy. After worship he slunk away to bed, but not to sleep. He turned the little oil-lamp low, but did not extinguish it, then threw himself down and brooded of the

hoard. When the house was quiet he rose and searched the room in which he was till he had left no spot untried in which the smallest thing could be hidden. There was a cupboard and an unlocked chest in the room, but the cupboard held nothing of value, and the chest contained only the snow-white shroud which Ann, after the custom of her people, had provided for her last robing. He went then to the kitchen-end of the house, which was dimly lit by the smouldering fire. He approached the box-bed where the old woman lay, and heard her peaceful breathing as she slept. He halted,somehow he could not do anything, and a tongue of flame sprang up and illuminated the room, so that if Ann had opened her eyes she would have seen him standing under the black rafters with his furtive brutal face and unkempt hair, bending forward as if to strike, and yet not striking. After a while he went back to the other end and threw himself again upon the bed, gloomy -brooding-murderous-as he had been before.

When morning came the tramp did not at first know it. A high wind had arisen in the night and had piled the snow in a great drift in front of the house. Doors and windows were buried in it, and the house was completely dark. Ann guessed what had happened, and lit the lamp and made the fire and the breakfast before she called her unbidden guest.

here until men come to dig you out," she told him quietly. "But by the providence of God you are in no danger. I have peats in the closet and meal in the chest that will last longer than the storm."

It was even as she said. The tramp could not now get away if he would. He took the door from its hinges and made repeated efforts to get through the white barrier, but without success. Had he known it, a snow-drift twenty feet deep was piled against the door.

For three days the imprisonment lasted, but the time for threats and curses was over. The man could not now get away until rescued by other men. He spent the days in a sullen silence, whittling at sticks and throwing them on the fire. Morning and evening Ann held what she called family worship,-morning and evening the tramp sat by and listened. In the old woman's manner there was nothing that showed consciousness of the purpose he had had when he came to the house. She was always calm and kindly. Sometimes she asked him to go to the closet for peats, which he did, and returning piled them on the fire. At other times she asked him to take a pailful of snow from the drift at the door and set it by the fire to melt, for the water in the house was spent. Ann herself sat by the fire and spun, afternoon and evening, her old face strong and placid

as ever.

house, and with spades and shovels they dug through the drift. They burst into the house with eager words of anxiety and compassion, and the Good Woman replied to them and assured them of her wellbeing.

"Were you not desolate here by yourself?" said one to her. "Oh, not that," she replied quietly. She indicated the tramp sitting with a lowering dark face in the shadow beyond the fire.

"I had company," said she. It was then they noticed the man, and something in the look he cast on them aroused their suspicion. That any one should have treated Ann with less than kindness and respect would have rendered them furious.

"Has he behaved himself well?" cried one. "Has he given trouble?" cried another.

The man's face grew darker and more desperate.

"He has behaved according to his lights," said the Good Woman, and her serene face reassured the people.

"That is good," said one, speaking in English and with feeling. "If he was to trouble you he would answer for it to every one of us.

By-and-by they went away, taking the tramp with them, but when he had gone a few steps from the house, he went back, saying he had left something behind.

Ann sat by the fire with the Bible beside her as usual, and she looked up inquiringly. He took the money she had given him from his pocket and threw it on the table. "Take back your money," "I do not want it." "Poor man, said the woman, "may God have mercy on your soul, and may this sin you designed not be laid to your charge."

he said.

He flung out of the house again and went his way, and from that time till he ended his violent brutal life upon the gallows he would sometimes remember Ann, the little frail Good Woman of Glen Eira, and every time he remembered her he was afraid.