James knelt down by her side, and, weeping bitterly, said, "O Christine, forgive me!" She smiled faintly.
"You--have--not--used--yonder--paper,--James ?" "Oh, no, no." "It--would--kill--me.

You--would--not--kill--me ?" "I would die to make you strong again." "Don't--hurt--Donald.

Forgive--for--Christ's--sake,--James!" Poor James! It was hard for him to see that still Donald was her first thought, and, looking on the wreck of Christine's youth and beauty, it was still harder not to hate him worse than ever.
Nor did the temptation to do so grow less with time.

He had to listen every evening to David's praises of his nephew: how "he had been entered wi' Advocate Scott, and was going to be a grand lawyer," or how he had been to some great man's house and won all hearts with his handsome face and witty tongue.

Or, perhaps, he would be shown some rich token of his love that had come for Christine; or David would say, "There's the 'Edinbro' News,' James; it cam fra Donald this morn; tak it hame wi' you.