A LEGEND OF ALL-HALLOW EVE. 
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Fear what I have to accuse myself of, 
and know what misery you might have 
been spared. Before her death, grand- 
mother said that a book was left for me in 
her desk containing receipts for mental 
and bodily health, for men as well as cat- 
tle, and she charged me solemnly to read 
it carefully and profit by it. Father, you 
know the rest. I saw this book, and 
thrust it in a drawer of the desk, and for- 
got it. God knows my only thoughts 
were, and have been, of you. And this 
message from the dead comes too late.” 
A smile of ineffable peace dwelt upon 
the old man’s face as\he whispered: ‘‘ Not 
too late, my boy; it is never too late to 
know that she blessed me at last. Call 
Marjorie to me.” 
I approached, and with his poor left 
hand he drew me to his breast, and kissed 
and blessed me. Elsie lay weeping ‘by 
his side, and there was a low wailing out- 
side of the door from the faithful retain- 
ers of the household. A heavenly ra- 
diance overspread the wan face. the dim 
eyes looked their last upon his children, 
and the old laird at last found peace. 
X. 
It is again the eve of All-Saints. Iam 
no longer Marjorie Cameron, but Mistress 
Marjorie Ronald, of Grosvenor Square, 
Glen Ronald, and Macpherson Tower, 
and though we had been married three 
months, we—Malcolm and I—neyer wea- 
ried of telling each other again and again 
the sweet old, old story. We had just 
returned from the Continent, and, like a 
willful spoiled child, I insisted upon going 
direct to Glen Ronald for a week before 
calling for Elsie at Lady Seton’s, and estab- 
lishing ourselves in London until certain 
important plans of mine were perfected. 
We were very rich, my fortune and his 
together; and Elsie resigned all claim to 
the Tower conditionally. She said, with 
saucy imperativeness, that we accepted 
her as the incumbrance, which my aunt 
Seton begged to share, for Elsie had quite 
won her heart. And even Sims proved 
faithless; so I made her over to her new 
little mistress, and took honest Jeanie into 
my especial service under my French 
maid. / 
We paced the long drawing-room, Mal- 
colm and I, when the gray gloaming and 
firé-light blended softly together. The 
eat deer-hound lay stretched on the soft 
sheep rug. Outside, the wind wailed eeri- 
ly about the house, but I no longer ty¥em- 
bled, for a protecting arm was aboyt me, 
and the wealth of a great abidiye love 
encompassed me. 
We had discussed, until all argument, 
all ideas, were exhausted, the’subject of 
my dream and what had appeared to me. 
We acknowledged our belief that 
“millions of spiritwal creatures 
Walk the earth, both when we wake 
And when we sleep.”/ 
‘* And,” observed Malcolm, ‘‘ we have bet- 
ter warrant than superstition for the be- 
hef. Why should we doubt the agency 
of ministering angels? Do you remem- 
ber, darling, that passage in Klopstock’s 
‘Messiah’ in which the angel Abadonna 
resigns his charge? Even for Judas we 
can not help but feel a thrill of interest.” 
Tt. seems a link between earth and 
some other space—I dare not say heaven,” 
I returned, *‘nor yet hell; and the belief 
in the agency of these spirits is certainly 
confirmed and sanctioned by the language 
of Scripture. And now, Malcolm,” I add- 
ed, in my most fascinating manner, draw- 
ing down the dear face for a kiss, ‘‘do you 
know that from the first time I ever saw 
you I called you a grand Viking ?” 
‘‘And do you know,” he interrupted, 
‘‘that I always called you my Valkyria, 
though I never dared hope for the heaven 
you have given me.” 
‘“Then we are quits; and you did not 
have to pass through death to gain your 
heaven. And now for a boon: promise 
to say yes.” And naturally, with my 
head leaning against his breast, how could 
he say nay? ‘‘I want you to watch with 
me to-night, dear Malcolm, in that room. 
I must watch there, if I go alone.” 
And so it came to pass that again I kept 
my vigil in that grewsome chamber. A 
strong arm clasped me, and firm warm 
hands held mine, as we sat together in 
the shadow. It was a black night. The 
loch roared in the distance; rain splashed 
against the windows in the mirk hours; 
the wind swept about the trees and around 
the house with the wail and sob of depart- 
ing spirits. 
We sat in silent expectancy. The night 
waned, and the cold gray dawn stole into 
the gloomy room, a warmer light, and we 
looked each other in the eyes with calm 
content. The poor ghost had found rest, 
and the curse had departed for evermore 
from the house of Ronald. 
