The Broken Tryst

"I sit on my creepie, and spin at my wheel,
And I think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel;
He had but ae sixpence, he brake it in twa,
And gied me the hauf o' t when he gaed awa'.
He said, think na lang lassie tho' I gang awa'.
I'll come and see you in spite o' them a'"

--Logie O Buchan.

"I am going to be ill," said Mary, with trembling lips, "I feel as if I
were walking into a great darkness, Maggie."

They were driving toward Drumloch in the early morning, and there was that
haunted, terrified look in her eyes, with which a soul apprehensive of
suffering and danger bespeaks the help and sympathy of those near to it.
Maggie had seen the look before; the little children dying upon her knees
had pierced her heart with it. She remembered it, even in the eyes of
strong men driven by a sense of duty or humanity into the jaws of death.
Mary took her hand and clung to it; and let her head fall helplessly upon
Maggie's breast. When they reached home, she had almost to be carried to
her room, and servants were sent off on fleet horses for medical aid.

"A bad case of inflammation of the lungs," was the doctor's verdict. "It
is likely to be a serious business, Miss Promoter, and Miss Campbell's
friends should be informed at once of her condition."