David was brought home, and knelt in speechless distress by the side of his insensible child, but no hope lightened the long, terrible night, and when the reaction came in the morning, it came in the form of fever and delirium.
Questioned closely by David, James admitted nothing but that while talking to him about Donald McFarlane she had fallen at his feet, and Donald could only say that he had that evening told her he was going to Edinburgh in two weeks, to study law with his cousin, and that he had asked her to be his wife.
This acknowledgement bound David and Donald in a closer communion of sorrow.

James and his sufferings were scarcely noticed.

Yet, probably of all that unhappy company, he suffered the most.

He loved Christine with a far deeper affection than Donald had ever dreamed of.

He would have given his life for hers, and yet he had, perhaps, been her murderer.