The Billow and the Rock, by Harriet Martineau. 

________________________________________________________________________It is the time of the 1745 Rebellion, when the adherents of PrinceCharles, the Pretender to the Throne, landed in Scotland, and started tomarch towards London. 

Lord Carse, and his friend Lord Lovat, are fearful that Lady Carse, whohas some knowledge and evidence of their political beliefs, may betraythem. So they abduct her from her home in Edinburgh and have her takenaway to a remote island in the Outer Hebrides. She was at first a mostunwilling prisoner, but gradually an instinct for survival let her eatand drink, and ride pillion, and so survive the journey. 

The Edinburgh newspapers are fed a story of her illness, then of herdeath, and finally of her burial. So there is no hue and cry. 

The story is well-written as one would hope from such an accomplishedwriter. It makes a good audiobook, but probably you will need to listento it twice before the story and its background become clear to you. 

________________________________________________________________________THE BILLOW AND THE ROCK, BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

LORD AND LADY CARSE. 

Scotland was a strange and uncomfortable country to live in a hundredyears ago. Strange beyond measure its state of society appears to uswhen we consider, not only that it was called a Christian country, butthat the people had shown that they really did care very much for theirreligion, and were bent upon worshipping God according to theirconscience and true belief. Whilst earnest in their religion, theirstate of society was yet very wicked: a thing which usually happens whena whole people are passing from one way of living and being governed toanother. Scotland had not long been united with England. While thewisest of the nation saw that the only hope for the country was in beinggoverned by the same king and parliament as the English, many of themost powerful men wished not to be governed at all, but to be altogetherdespotic over their dependents and neighbours, and to have their _own_way in everything. These lords and gentlemen did such violent things asare never heard of now in civilised countries; and when their inferiorshad any strong desire or passion, they followed the example of the greatmen, so that travelling was dangerous; citizens did not feel themselvessafe in their own houses if they had reason to believe they had enemies;few had any trust in the protection of the law; and stories of fightingand murder were familiar to children living in the heart of cities. 

Children, however, had less liberty then than in our time. The moreself-will there was in grown people, the more strictly were the childrenkept in order, not only because the uppermost idea of everyone inauthority was that he would be obeyed, but because it would not do tolet little people see the mischief that was going on abroad. So, whileboys had their hair powdered, and wore long coats and waistcoats, andlittle knee-breeches, and girls were laced tight in stays all stiff withwhalebone, they were trained to manners more formal than are ever seennow. 

One autumn afternoon a party was expected at the house of Lord Carse, inEdinburgh; a handsome house in a very odd situation, according to ourmodern notions. It was at the bottom of a narrow lane of houses--thatsort of lane called a Wynd in Scotch cities. It had a court-yard infront. It was necessary to have a court-yard to a good house in astreet too narrow for carriages. Visitors must come in sedan chairs andthere must be some place, aside from the street, where the chairs andchairmen could wait for the guests. This old fashioned house hadsitting-rooms on the ground floor, and on the sills of the windows wereflower-pots, in which, on this occasion, some asters and other autumnflowers were growing. 

Within the largest sitting-room was collected a formal group, awaitingthe arrival of visitors. Lord Carse's sister, Lady Rachel Ballino, wasthere, surrounded by her nephews and nieces. As they came in, one afteranother, dressed for company, and made their bow or curtsey at the door, their aunt gave them permission to sit down till the arrival of thefirst guest, after which time it would be a matter of course that theyshould stand. Miss Janet and her brothers sat down on their low stools, at some distance from each other; but little Miss Flora had no notion ofsubmitting to their restraints at her early age, and she scrambled upthe window-seat to look abroad as far as she could, which was throughthe high iron gates to the tall houses on the other side the Wynd. 

Lady Rachel saw the boys and Janet looking at each other with smiles, and this turned her attention to the child in the window, who wasnodding her little curly head very energetically to somebody outside. 

"Come down, Flora, " said her aunt. 

But Flora was too busy, nodding, to hear that she was spoken to. 

"Flora, come down. Why are you nodding in that way?"

"Lady nods, " said Flora. 

Lady Rachel rose deliberately from her seat, and approached the window, turning pale as she went. After a single glance in the court-yard, shesank on a chair, and desired her nephew Orme to ring the bell twice. Orme who saw that something was the matter, rang so vigorously as tobring the butler in immediately. 

"John, you see?" said the pale lips of Lady Rachel, while she pointed, with a trembling finger, to the court-yard. 

"Yes, my lady; the doors are fastened. "

"And Lord Carse not home yet?"

"No, my lady. I think perhaps he is somewhere near, and cannot gethome. "

John looked irresolutely towards the child in the window. Once moreFlora was desired to come down, and once more she only replied, "Ladynods at me. "

Janet was going towards the window to enforce her aunt's orders, but shewas desired to keep her seat, and John quickly took up Miss Flora in hisarms and set her down at her aunt's knee. The child cried andstruggled, said she would see the lady, and must infallibly have beendismissed to the nursery, but her eye was caught, and her mind presentlyengaged by Lady Rachel's painted fan, on which there was a burningmountain, and a blue sea, and a shepherdess and her lamb--all very gay. Flora was allowed to have the fan in her own hands--a very rare favour. But presently she left off telling her aunt what she saw upon it, dropped it, and clapped her hands, saying, as she looked at the window, "Lady nods at me. "

"It is mamma!" cried the elder ones, starting to their feet, as the ladythrust her face through the flowers, and close to the window-pane. 

"Go to the nursery, children, " said Lady Rachel, making an effort torise. "I will send for you presently. " The elder ones appeared glad toescape, and they carried with them the struggling Flora. 

Lady Rachel threw up the sash, crossed her arms, and said, in the mostformal manner, "What do you want, Lady Carse?"

"I want my children. "

"You cannot have them, as you well know. It is too late. I pity you;but it is too late. "

"I will see my children. I will come home and live. I will make thattyrant repent setting up anyone in my place at home. I have it in mypower to ruin him. I--"

"Abstain from threats, " said Lady Rachel, shutting the window, andfastening the sash. 

Lady Carse doubled her fist, as if about to dash in a pane; but the irongates behind her creaked on their hinges, and she turned her head. Achair was entering, on each side of which walked a footman, whose liveryLady Carse well knew. Her handsome face, red before, was now moreflushed. She put her mouth close to the window, and said, "If it hadbeen anybody but Lovat you would not have been rid of me this evening. I would have stood among the chairmen till midnight for the chance ofgetting in. Be sure I shall to-morrow, or some day. But now I am off. "She darted past the chair, her face turned away, just as Lord Lovat wasissuing from it. 

"Ho! ho!" cried he, in a loud and mocking tone. "Ho, there! my LadyCarse! A word with you!" But she ran up the Wynd as fast as she couldgo. 

"You should not look so white upon it, " Lord Lovat observed to LadyRachel, as soon as the door was shut. "Why do you let her see her powerover you?"

"God knows!" replied Lady Rachel. "But it is not her threats alone thatmake us nervous. It is the being incessantly subject--"

She cleared her throat; but she could not go on. 

Lord Lovat swore that he would not submit to be tormented by a virago inthis way. If Lady Carse were his wife--

"Well! what would you do?" asked Lady Rachel. 

"I would get rid of her. I tell your brother so. I would get rid ofher in one way, if she threatened to get rid of me in another. She mayhave learned from her father how to put her enemies out of the way. "

Lady Rachel grew paler than ever. Lord Lovat went on. 

"Her father carried pistols in the streets of Edinburgh and so may she. Her father was hanged for it; and it is my belief that she would have noobjection to that end if she could have her revenge first. Ay! youwonder why I say such things to you, frightened as you are already. Ido it that you may not infuse any weakness into your brother's purposes, if he should think fit to rid the town of her one of these days. Come, come! I did not say rid the world of her. "

"Merciful Heaven! no!"

"There are places, you know, where troublesome people have no means ofdoing mischief. I could point out such a place presently, if I wereasked--a place where she might be as safe as under lock and key, withoutthe trouble and risk of confining her, and having to consider the law. "

"You do not mean a prison, then?"

"No. She has not yet done anything to make it easy to put her in prisonfor life; and anything short of that would be more risk than comfort. If Carse gives me authority, I will dispose of her where she can be freeto rove like the wild goats. If she should take a fancy to jump down aprecipice, or drown herself, that is her own affair, you know. "

The door opened for the entrance of company. Lord Lovat whispered oncemore, "Only this. If Carse thinks of giving the case into my hands, don't you oppose it. I will not touch her life, I swear to you. "

Lady Rachel knew, like the rest of the world, that Lord Lovat's swearingwent for no more than any of his other engagements. Though she wouldhave given all she had in the world to be freed from the terror of LadyCarse, and to hope that the children might forget their unhappy mother, she shrank from the idea of putting any person into the hands of thehard, and mocking, and plotting Lord Lovat. As for the legality ofdoing anything at all to Lady Carse while she did not herself break thelaw, that was a consideration which no more occurred to Lady Rachel thanto the violent Lord Lovat himself. 

Lady Rachel was exerting herself to entertain her guests, and had sentfor the children, when, to her inexplicable relief, the butler broughther the news that Lord Carse and his son Willie were home, and wouldappear with all speed. They had been detained two hours in a tavern, John said. 

"In a tavern?"

"Yes, my lady. Could not get out. Did not wish to collect more people, to cause a mob. It is all right now, my lady. "

When Lord Carse entered, he made formal apologies to his guests first, and his sister afterwards, for his late appearance. He had been delayedby an affair of importance on his way home. His rigid countenance wassomewhat paler than usual, and his manner more dictatorial. His hardand unwavering voice was heard all the evening, prosing and explaining. The only tokens of feeling were when he spoke to his eldest son Willie, who was spiritless, and, as the close observer saw, tearful; and when hetook little Flora in his arms, and stroked her shining hair, and askedher if she had been walking with the nurse. 

Flora did not answer. She was anxiously watching Lady Rachel'scountenance. Her papa bade her look at him and answer his question. She did so, after glancing at her aunt, and saying eagerly, in a loudwhisper, "I am not going to say anything about the lady that came to thewindow, and nodded at me. "

It did not mend the matter that her sister and brothers all said atonce, in a loud whisper, "Hush! Flora. "

Her father sat her down hastily. Lord Carse's domestic troubles werepretty well-known throughout Edinburgh; and the company settled it intheir own minds that there had been a scene this afternoon. 

When they were gone, Lord Carse gave his sister his advice not toinstruct any very young child in any part to be acted. He assured herthat very young children have not the discretion of grown people, andgave it as his opinion that when the simplicity, which is extremelyagreeable by the domestic fireside, becomes troublesome or dangerous insociety, the child is better disposed of in the nursery. 

Lady Rachel meekly submitted; only observing what a singular and painfulcase was that of these children, who had to be so early trained to avoidthe very mention of their mother. She believed her brother to be themost religious man she had ever known; yet she now heard him mutteroaths so terrible that they made her blood run cold. 

"Brother! my dear brother, " she expostulated. 

"I'll tell you what she has done, " he said, from behind his set teeth. "She has taken a lodging in this very Wynd, directly opposite my gates. Not a child, not a servant, not a dog or cat can leave my house withoutcoming under her eye. She will be speaking to the children out of herwindow. "

"She will be nodding at Flora from the court-yard as often as you areout, " cried Lady Rachel. "And if she should shoot you from her window, brother. "

"She hints that she will; and there are many things more unlikely, considering (as she herself says) whose daughter she is. --But, no, " hecontinued, seeing the dreadful alarm into which his sister was thrown. "This will not be her method of revenge. There is another that pleasesher better, because she suspects that I dread it more. --You know what Imean?"

"Political secrets?" Lady Rachel whispered--not in Flora's kind ofwhisper, but quite into her brother's ear. 

He nodded assent, and then he gravely informed her that hisacquaintance, Duncan Forbes, had sent a particular request to see him inthe morning. He should go, he said. It would not do to refuse waitingon the President of the Court of Session, as he was known to be inEdinburgh. But he wished he was a hundred miles off, if he was to heara Hanoverian lecture from a man so good natured, and so dignified by hisoffice, that he must always have his own way. 

Lady Rachel went to bed very miserable this night. She wished that LadyCarse and King George, and all the House of Brunswick had never existed;or that Prince Charlie, or some of the exiled royal family, would comeover at once and take possession of the kingdom, that her brother andhis friends might no longer be compelled to live in a state of suspicionand dread--every day planning to bring in a new king, and every dayobliged to appear satisfied with the one they had; their secret, or somepart of it, being all the while at the mercy of a violent woman whohated them all. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

THE TURBULENT. 

When Lord Carse issued from his own house the next morning to visit thePresident, he had his daughter Janet by his side, and John behind him. He took Janet in the hope that her presence, while it would be noimpediment to any properly legal business, would secure him from anypolitical conversation being introduced; and there was no need of anyapology for her visit, as the President usually asked why he had not thepleasure of seeing her, if her father went alone. Duncan Forbes's goodnature to all young people was known to everybody; but he declaredhimself an admirer of Janet above all others; and Janet never feltherself of so much consequence as in the President's house. 

John went as an escort to his young lady on her return. 

Janet felt her father's arm twitch as they issued from their gates; and, looking up to see why, she saw that his face was twitching too. She didnot know how near her mother was, nor that her father and John had theirears on the stretch for a hail from the voice they dreaded above allothers in the world. But nothing was seen or heard of Lady Carse; andwhen they turned out of the Wynd Lord Carse resumed his usual air andstep of formal importance; and Janet held up her head, and tried to takesteps as long as his. 

All was right about her going to the President's. He kissed herforehead, and praised her father for bringing her, and picked out forher the prettiest flowers from a bouquet before he sat down to business;and then he rose again, and provided her with a portfolio of prints toamuse herself with; and even then he did not forget her, but glancedaside several times, to explain the subject of some print, or to drawher attention to some beauty in the one she was looking at. 

"My dear lord, " said he, "I have taken a liberty with your time; but Iwant your opinion on a scheme I have drawn out at length for Government, for preventing and punishing the use of tea among the common people. "

"Very good, very good!" observed Lord Carse, greatly relieved about thereasons for his being sent for. "It is high time, if our agriculture isto be preserved, that the use of malt should be promoted to the utmostby those in power. "

"I am sure of it, " said the President. "Things have got to such a pass, that in towns the meanest people have tea at the morning's meal, to thediscontinuance of the ale which ought to be their diet; and poor womendank this drug also in the afternoons, to the exclusion of thetwopenny. "

"It is very bad; _very_ unpatriotic; very immoral, " declared Lord Carse. "Such people must be dealt with outright. "

The President put on his spectacles, and opened his papers to explainhis plan--that plan, which it now appears almost incredible should havecome from a man so wise, so liberal, so kind-hearted as Duncan Forbes. He showed how he would draw the line between those who ought and thosewho ought not to be permitted to drink tea; how each was to bedescribed, and how, when anyone was suspected of taking tea, when heought to be drinking beer, he was to tell on oath what his income was, that it might be judged whether he could pay the extremely high duty ontea which the plan would impose. Houses might be visited, and cupboardsand cellars searched, at all hours, in cases of suspicion. 

"These provisions are pretty severe, " the President himself observed. "But--"

"But not more than is necessary, " declared Lord Carse. "I should saythey are too mild. If our agriculture is not supported, if the malt taxfalls off, what is to become of us?"

And he sighed deeply. 

"If we find this scheme work well, as far as it goes, " observed thePresident, cheerfully, "we can easily render it as much more stringentas occasion may require. And now, what can Miss Janet tell us on thissubject? Can she give information of any tea being drunk in the nurseryat home?"

"Oh! to be sure, " said Janet. "Nurse often lets me have some with her;and Katie fills Flora's doll's teapot out of her own, almost everyafternoon. "

"Bless my soul!" cried Lord Carse, starting from his seat inconsternation. "My servants drink tea in my house! Off they shall go--every one of them who does it. "

"Oh! papa. No; pray papa!" implored Janet. "They will say I sent themaway. Oh! I wish nobody had asked me anything about it. "

"It was my doing, " said the President. "My dear lord, I make it myrequest that your servants may be forgiven. "

Lord Carse bowed his acquiescence; but he shook his head, and lookedvery gloomy about such a thing happening in his house. The Presidentagreed with him that it must not happen again, on pain of instantdismissal. 

The President next invited Janet to the drawing-room to see a greyparrot, brought hither since her last visit--a very entertainingcompanion in the evenings, the President declared. He told Lord Carsehe would be back in three minutes, and so he was--with a lady on hisarm, and that lady was--Lady Carse. 

She was not flushed now, nor angry, nor forward. She was quiet andladylike, while in the house of one of the most gentlemanly men of histime. If her husband had looked at her, he would have seen her so muchlike the woman he wooed and once dearly loved, that he might havesomewhat changed his feelings towards her. But he went abruptly to thewindow when he discovered who she was, and nothing could make him turnhis head. Perhaps he was aware how pale he was, and desired that sheshould not see it. 

The President placed the lady in a chair, and then approached LordCarse, and laid his hand on his shoulder, saying, "You will forgive mewhen you know my reasons. I want you to join me in prevailing on thisgood lady to give up a design which I think imprudent--I will say, wrong. "

It was surprising, but Lady Carse for once bore quietly with somebodythinking her wrong. Whatever she might feel, she said nothing. ThePresident went on. 

"Lady Carse--"

He felt, as his hand lay on his friend's shoulder, that he winced, as ifthe very name stung him. 

"Lady Carse, " continued the President, "cannot be deterred by anyaccount that can be given her of the perils and hardships of a journeyto London. She declares her intention of going. "

"I am no baby; I am no coward, " declared the lady. "The coach would nothave been set up, and it would not continue to go once a fortnight ifthe journey were not practicable; and where others go I can go. "

"Of the dangers of the road, I tell this good lady, " resumed thePresident, "she can judge as well as you or I, my lord. But of theperils of the rest of her errand she must, I think, admit that we may bebetter judges. "

"How can you let your Hanoverian prejudices seduce you intocountenancing such a devil as that woman, and believing a word that shesays?" muttered Lord Carse, in a hoarse voice. 

"Why, my good friend, " replied the President, "it does so vex my veryheart every day to see how the ladies, whom I would fain honour fortheir discretion as much as I admire them for their other virtues, arewild on behalf of the Pretender, or eager for a desperate andtreasonable war, that you must not wonder if I take pleasure in meetingwith one who is loyal to her rightful sovereign. Loyal, I must suppose, at home, and in a quiet way; for she knows that I do not approve of herjourney to London to see the minister. "

"The minister!" faltered out Lord Carse. 

He heard, or fancied he heard his wife laughing behind him. 

"Come, now, my friends, " said the President, with a good-humouredseriousness, "let me tell you that the position of either of you is nojoke. It is too serious for any lightness and for any passion. I donot want to hear a word about your grievances. I see quite enough. Isee a lady driven from home, deprived of her children, and tormentingherself with thoughts of revenge because she has no other object. I seea gentleman who has been cruelly put to shame in his own house and inthe public street, worn with anxiety about his innocent daughters, andwith natural fears--inevitable fears, of the mischief that may be doneto his character and fortunes by an ill use of the confidence he oncegave to the wife of his bosom. "

There was a suppressed groan from Lord Carse, and something like atitter from the lady. The President went on even more gravely. 

"I know how easy it is for people to make each other wretched, andespecially for you two to ruin each other. If I could but persuade youto sit down with me to a quiet discussion of a plan for living togetheror apart, abstaining from mutual injury--"

Lord Carse dissented audibly from their living together, and the ladyfrom living apart. 

"Why, " remonstrated the President, "things cannot be worse than they arenow. You make life a hell--"

"I am sure it is to me!" sighed Lord Carse. 

"It is not yet so to me, " said the lady. "I--"

"It is not!" thundered her husband, turning suddenly round upon her. "Then I will take care it shall be. "

"For God's sake, hush!" exclaimed the President, shocked to the soul. 

"Do your worst, " said the lady, rising. "We will try which has the mostpower. You know what ruin is. "

"Stop a moment, " said the President. "I don't exactly like to have thisquiet house of mine made a hell of. I cannot have you part on theseterms. "

But the lady had curtseyed, and was gone. For a minute or two nothingwas said. Then a sort of scream was heard from upstairs. 

"My Janet!" cried Lord Carse. 

"I will go and see, " said the President. "Janet is my especial pet, youknow. "

He immediately returned, smiling, and said, "There is nothing amiss withJanet. Come and see. "

Janet was on her mother's lap, her arms thrown round her neck, while themother's tears streamed over them both. "Can you resist this?" thePresident asked of Lord Carse. "Can you keep them apart after this?"

"I can, " he replied. "I will not permit her the devilish pleasure shewants--of making my own children my enemies. "

He was going to take Janet by force: but the President interfered, andsaid authoritatively to Lady Carse that she had better go: her time wasnot yet come. She must wait; and his advice was to wait patiently andharmlessly. 

It could not have been believed how instantaneously a woman in suchemotion could recover herself. 

She put Janet off her knee. In an instant there were no more traces oftears, and her face was composed, and her manner hard. 

"Good-bye, my dear, " she said to the weeping Janet. "Don't cry so, mydear. Keep your tears; for you will have something more to cry forsoon. I am going home to pack my trunk for London. Have my friends anycommands for London?"

And she looked round steadily upon the three faces. 

The President was extremely grave when their eyes met; but even his eyesank under hers. He offered his arm to conduct her downstairs, and tookleave of her at the gate with a silent bow. 

He met Lord Carse and Janet coming downstairs, and begged them to stayawhile, dreading, perhaps, a street encounter. But Lord Carse was benton being gone immediately--and had not another moment to spare. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE WRONG JOURNEY. 

Lady Carse and her maid Bessie--an elderly woman who had served her fromher youth up, bearing with her temper for the sake of that familyattachment which exists so strongly in Scotland, --were busy packingtrunks this afternoon, when they were told that a gentleman must speakwith Lady Carse below stairs. 

"There will be no peace till we are off, " observed the lady to her maid. In answer to which Bessie only sighed deeply. 

"I want you to attend me downstairs, " observed the lady. "But thisprovoking nonsense of yours, this crying about going a journey, has madeyou not fit to be seen. If any friend of my lord's saw your red eyes, he would go and say that my own maid was on my lord's side. I must godown alone. "

"Pray, madam, let me attend you. The gentleman will not think oflooking at me: and I will stand with my back to the light, and the roomis dark. "

"No; your very voice is full of tears. Stay where you are. "

Lady Carse sailed into the room very grandly, not knowing whom she wasto see. Nor was she any wiser when she did see him. He was muffled up, and wore a shawl tied over his mouth, and kept his hat on; so thatlittle space was left between hat, periwig, and comforter. Heapologised for wearing his hat, and for keeping the lady standing--hisbusiness was short:--in the first place to show her Lord Carse's ring, which she would immediately recognise. 

She glanced at the ring, and knew it at once. 

"On the warrant of this ring, " continued the gentleman, "I come fromyour husband to require from you what you cannot refuse, --either as awife, or consistent with your safety. You hold a document, --a letterfrom your husband, written to you in conjugal confidence five years ago, from London, --a letter--"

"You need not describe it further, " said the lady. "It is my chieftreasure, and not likely to escape my recollection. It is a letter fromLord Carse, containing treasonable expressions relating to the royalfamily. "

"About the treason we might differ, madam; but my business is, not toargue that, but to require of you to deliver up that paper to me, onthis warrant, " again producing the ring. 

The lady laughed, and asked whether the gentleman was a fool or took herto be one, that he asked her to give up what she had just told him wasthe greatest treasure she had in the world, --her sure means of revengeupon her enemies. 

"You will not?" asked the gentleman. 

"I will not. "

"Then hear what you have to expect, madam. Hear it, and then take timeto consider once more. "

"I have no time to spare, " she replied. "I start for London early inthe morning; and my preparations are not complete. "

"You must hear me, however, " said the gentleman. "If you do not yieldyour husband will immediately and irrevocably put you to open shame. "

"He cannot, " she replied. "I have no shame. I have the advantage ofhim there. "

"You have, however, personal liberty at present. You have that tolose, --and life, madam. You have that to lose. "

Lady Carse caught at the table, and leaned on it to support herself. Itwas not from fear about her liberty or life; but because there was acruel tone in the utterance of the last words, which told her that itwas Lord Lovat who was threatening her; and she _was_ afraid of him. 

"I have shaken you now, " said he. "Come: give me the letter. "

"It is not fear that shakes me, " she replied. "It is disgust. Thedisgust that some feel at reptiles I feel at you, my Lord Lovat. "

She quickly turned and left the room. When he followed she had her footon the stairs. He said aloud, "You will repent, madam. You willrepent. "

"That is my own affair. "

"True, madam, most true. I charge you to remember that you haveyourself said that it is your own affair if you find you have cause torepent. "

Lady Carse stood on the stairs till her visitor had closed the housedoor behind him, struggled up to her chamber, and fainted on thethreshold. 

"This journey will never do, madam, " said Bessie, as her mistressrevived. 

"It is the very thing for me, " protested the lady. "In twelve hoursmore we shall have left this town and my enemies behind us; and then Ishall be happy. "

Bessie sighed. Her mistress often talked of being happy; but nobody hadever yet seen her so. 

"This fainting is nothing, " said Lady Carse, rising from the bed. "Itis only that my soul sickens when Lord Lovat comes near; and the visitorbelow was Lord Lovat. "

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Bessie. "What next?"

"Why, that we must get this lock turned, " said her lady, kneeling on thelid of a trunk. "Now, try again. There it is! Give me the key. Getme a cup of tea, and then to bed with you! I have a letter to write. Call me at four, to a minute. Have you ordered two chairs, to save allrisk?"

"Yes, madam; and the landlord will see your things to the coach officeto-night. "

Lady Carse had sealed her letter, and was winding up her watch with hereyes fixed on the decaying fire, when she was startled by a knock at thehouse door. Everybody else was in bed. In a vague fear she hastened toher chamber, and held the door in her hand and listened while thelandlord went down. There were two voices besides his; and there was anoise as of something heavy brought into the hall. When this was done, and the bolts and bars were again fastened, she went to the stair-headand saw the landlord coming up with a letter in his hand. The letterwas for her. It was heavy. Her trunks had come back from the coachoffice. The London coach was gone. 

The letter contained the money paid for the fare of Lady Carse and hermaid to London, and explained that a person of importance havingoccasion to go to London with attendants, and it being necessary to usehaste, the coach was compelled to start six hours earlier than usual;and Lady Carse would have the first choice of places next time;--that isin a fortnight. 

Bessie had never seen her mistress in such a rage as now: and poorBessie was never to see it again. At the first news, she was off herguard, and thanked Heaven that this dangerous journey was put off for afortnight; and much might happen in that time. Her mistress turnedround upon her, said it was not put off, --she would go on horsebackalone, --she would go on foot, --she would crawl on her knees, sooner thangive up. Bessie was silent, well knowing that none of these ways wouldor could be tried, and thankful that there was only this one coach toEngland. Enraged at her silence, her mistress declared that no one whowas afraid to go to London was a proper servant for her, and turned heroff upon the spot. She paid her wages to the weeping Bessie, and withthe first light of morning, sent her from the house, herself closing thedoor behind her. She then went to bed, drawing the curtains close roundit, remaining there all the next day, and refusing food. 

In the evening, she wearily rose, and slowly dressed herself, --for thefirst time in her life without help. She was fretted and humbled at thelittle difficulties of her toilet, and secretly wished, many times, thatBessie would come back and offer her services, though she was resolvedto appear not to accept them without a very humble apology from Bessiefor her fears about London. At last, she was ready to go down to tea, dressed in a wrapping-gown and slippers. When halfway down, she heard astep behind her, and looked round. A Highlander was just two stairsabove her: another appeared at the foot of the flight; and more were inthe hall. She knew the livery. It was Lovat's tartan. They draggedher downstairs, and into her parlour, where she struggled so violentlythat she fell against the heavy table, and knocked out two teeth. Theyfastened down her arms by swathing her with a plaid, tied a cloth overher mouth, threw another over her head, and carried her to the door. Inthe street was a sedan chair; and in the chair was a man who took herupon his knees, and held her fast. Still she struggled so desperately, that the chair rocked from side to side, and would have been thrownover; but that there were plenty of attendants running along by the sideof it, who kept it upright. 

This did not last very long. When they had got out of the streets, thechair stopped. The cloth was removed from her head; and she saw thatthey were on the Linlithgow road, that some horsemen were waiting, oneof whom was on a very stout horse, which bore a pillion behind thesaddle. To this person she was formally introduced, and told that hewas Mr Forster of Corsebonny. She knew Mr Forster to be a gentlemanof character; and that therefore her personal safety was secure in hishands. But her good opinion of him determined her to complain andappeal to him in a way which she believed no gentleman could resist. She did not think of making any outcry. The party was large; the roadwas unfrequented at night; and she dreaded being gagged. She thereforeonly spoke, --and that as calmly as she could. 

"What does this mean, Mr Forster? Where are you carrying me?"

"I know little of Lord Carse's purposes, madam; and less of the meaningof them probably than yourself. "

"My Lord Carse! Then I shall soon be among the dead. He will gothrough life with murder on his soul. "

"You wrong him, madam. Your life is very safe. "

"No; I will not live to be the sport of my husband's mercy. I tell you, sir, I will not live. "

"Let me advise you to be silent, madam. Whatever we have to say will bebetter said at the end of our stage, where I hope you will enjoy goodrest, under my word that you shall not be molested. "

But the lady would not be silent. She declared very peremptorily herdetermination to destroy herself on the first opportunity; and no onewho knew her temper could dispute the probability of her doing that, orany other act of passion. From bewailing herself, she went on to saythings of her husband and Lord Lovat, and of her purposes in regard tothem, which Mr Forster felt that he and others ought not, for her ownsake, to hear. He quickened his pace, but she complained of cramp inher side. He then halted, whispered to two men who watched for hisorders, and had the poor lady again silenced by the cloth being tiedover her mouth. She tried to drop off, but that only caused the strapwhich bound her to the rider to be buckled tighter. She found herselftreated like a wayward child. When she could no longer make opposition, the pace of the party was quickened, and it was not more than two hourspast midnight when they reached a country house, which she knew tobelong to an Edinburgh lawyer, a friend of her husband's. 

Servants were up--fires were burning--supper was on the table. The ladywas shown to a comfortable bedroom. 

From thence she refused to come down. Mr Forster and another gentlemanof the party therefore visited her to explain as much as they thoughtproper of Lord Carse's plans, and of their own method of proceeding. 

They told her that Lord Carse found himself compelled, for familyreasons, to sequestrate her. For her life and safety there was no fear;but she was to live where she could have that personal liberty of whichno one wished to deprive her, without opportunity of intercourse withher family. 

"And where can that be?" she asked. "Who will undertake to say that Ishall live, in the first place, and that my children shall not hear fromme, in the next?"

"Where your abode is to be, we do not know, " replied Mr Forster. "Perhaps it is not yet settled. As for your life, madam, I have engagedto transfer you alive and safe, as far as lies in human power. "

"Transfer me! To whom?"

"To another friend of your husband's, who will take equal care of you. I am sorry for your threats of violence on yourself. They compel me todo what I should not otherwise have thought of--to forbid your beingalone, even in this your own room. "

"You do not mean--"

"I mean that you are not to be left unwatched for a single instant. There is a woman in the house--the housekeeper. She and her husbandwill enter this room when I leave it; and I advise you to say nothing tothem against this arrangement. "

"They shall have no peace with me. "

"I am sorry for it. It will be a bad preparation for your furtherjourney. You would do better to lie down and rest, --for which ampletime shall be allowed. "

The people in charge of the house were summoned, and ordered, in thelady's hearing, to watch her rest, and on no account to leave the roomtill desired to do so. A table was set out in one corner, with meat andbread, wine and ale. But the unhappy lady would not attempt either toeat or sleep. She sat by the fire, faint, weary and gloomy. Shelistened to the sounds from below till the whole party had supped, andlain down for the night. Then she watched her guards, --the womanknitting, and the man reading his Bible. At last, she could hold up nolonger. Her head sank on her breast, and she was scarcely conscious ofbeing gently lifted, laid upon the bed, and covered up warm with cloakand plaid. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

NEWSPAPERS. 

Lady Carse did not awake till the afternoon of the next day; and thenshe saw the housekeeper sitting knitting on the same chair, and lookingas if she had never stirred since she took her place there in the middleof the night. The man was not there. 

The woman cheerfully invited the lady to rise and refresh herself, andcome to the fire, and then go down and dine. But Lady Carse's spiritwas awake as soon as her eyes were. She said she would never rise--never eat again. The woman begged her to think better of it, or sheshould be obliged to call her husband to resume his watch, and to letMr Forster know of her refusal to take food. To this the poor ladyanswered only by burying her face in the coverings, and remaining silentand motionless, for all the woman could say. 

In a little while, up came Mr Forster, with three Highlanders. Theylifted her, as if she had been a child, placed her in an easy chair bythe fireside, held back her head, and poured down her throat a basinfull of strong broth. 

"It grieves me, madam, " said Mr Forster, "to be compelled to treat youthus--like a wayward child. But I am answerable for your life. Youwill be fed in this way as often as you decline necessary food. "

"I defy you still, " she cried. 

"Indeed!" said he, with a perplexed look. She had been searched by thehousekeeper in her sleep; and it was certain that no weapon and no drugwas about her person. She presently lay back in the chair, as ifwishing to sleep, throwing a shawl over her head; and all withdrewexcept the housekeeper and her husband. 

In a little while some movement was perceived under the shawl, and therewas a suppressed choking sound. The desperate woman was swallowing herhair, in order to vomit up the nourishment she had taken--as anotherlady in desperate circumstances once did to get rid of poison. Thehousekeeper was ordered to cut off her hair, and Mr Forster then ratherrejoiced in this proof that she carried no means of destroying her life. 

As soon as it was quite dark she was compelled to take more food, andthen wrapped up warmly for a night ride. Mr Forster invited her topromise that she would not speak, that he might be spared the necessityof bandaging her mouth. But she declared her intention of speaking onevery possible occasion; and she was therefore effectually preventedfrom opening her mouth at all. 

On they rode through the night, stopping to dismount only twice; andthen it was not at any house, but at mere sheepfolds, where a fire waskindled by some of the party, and where they drank whisky, and laughedand talked in the warmth and glow of the fire, as if the poor lady hadnot been present. Between her internal passion, her need of more foodthan she would take, the strangeness of the scene, with the sparklingcold stars overhead, and the heat and glow of the fire under the wall--amidst these distracting influences the lady felt confused and ill, andwould have been glad now to have been free to converse quietly, and toaccept the mercy Mr Forster had been ready to show her. He was aswatchful as ever, sat next her as she lay on the ground, said at lastthat they had not much further to go, and felt her pulse. As the greylight of morning strengthened, he went slower and slower, and encouragedher to lean upon him, which her weakness compelled her to do. He sentforward the factor of the estate they were now entering upon, desiringhim to see that everything was warm and comfortable. 

When the building they were approaching came in view, the poor ladywondered how it could ever be made warm and comfortable. It was alittle old tower, the top of which was in ruins, and the rest as drearylooking as possible. Cold and bare it stood on a waste hill-side. Itwould have looked like a mere grey pillar set down on the scantypasture, but for a square patch behind, which was walled in by a hardugly wall of stones. A thin grey smoke arose from it, showing thatsomeone was within; and dogs began to bark as the party drew near. 

One woman was here as at the last resting place. She showed the way bythe narrow winding stair, up which Lady Carse was carried like a corpse, and laid on a little bed in a _very_ small room, whose single window wasboarded up, leaving only a square of glass at the top to admit thelight. Mr Forster stood at the bedside, and said firmly, "Now, LadyCarse, listen to me for a moment, and then you will be left with suchfreedom as this room and this woman's attendance can afford you. Youare so exhausted, that we have changed our plan of travel. You willremain here, in this room, till you have so recruited yourself by foodand rest as to be able to proceed to a place where all restraint will bewithdrawn. When you think yourself able to proceed, and declare yourwillingness to do so, I, or a friend of mine, will be at your service--at your call at any hour. Till then this room is your abode; and tillthen I bid you farewell. "

He unfastened the bandage, and was gone before she could speak to him. What she wanted to say was, that on such terms she would never leavethis room again. She desired the woman to tell him so; but the womansaid she had orders to carry no messages. 

Where there is no help and no hope, any force of mere temper is sure togive way, as Mr Forster well knew. Injured people who have done nowrong, and who bear no anger against their enemies, have an inwardstrength and liberty of mind which enable them to bear on firmly, and tobe immovable in their righteous purposes; so that, as has been shown bymany examples, they will be torn limb from limb sooner than yield. LadyCarse was an injured person--most deeply injured, but she was notinnocent. She had a purpose; but it was a vindictive one; and her soulwas all tossed with passion, instead of being settled in patience. Soher intentions of starving herself--of making Mr Forster miserable bykilling herself through want of sleep and food, gave way; and then shewas in a rage with herself for having given way. When all was still inthe tower, and the silent woman who attended her knitted on for hourstogether, as if she was a machine; and there was nothing to be seen fromthe boarded window; and the smouldering peats in the fireplace looked asif they were asleep, Lady Carse could not always keep awake, and, onceasleep, she did not wake for many hours. 

When, at length, she started up and looked around her, she was alone, and the room was lighted only by a flickering blaze from the fireplace. This dancing light fell on a little low round table, on which was aplate with some slices of mutton-ham, some oatcake, three or four eggs, and a pitcher. She was ravenously hungry, and she was alone. Shethought she would take something--so little as to save her pride, andnot to show that she had yielded. But, once yielding, this wasimpossible. She ate, and ate, till all was gone--even the eggs; and itwould have been the same if they had been raw. The pitcher containedale, and she emptied it. When she had done, she could have died withshame. She was just thinking of setting her dress on fire, when sheheard the woman's step on the stair. She threw herself on the bed, andpretended to be asleep. Presently she was so, and she had another longnap. When she woke the table had nothing on it but the woman'sknitting; the woman was putting peats on the fire, and she made noremark, then or afterwards, on the disappearance of the food. From thatday forward food was laid out while the lady slept; and when she awoke, she found herself alone to eat it. It was served without knife or fork, with only bone spoons. It would have been intolerable shame to her ifshe had known that she was watched, through a little hole in the door, as a precaution against any attempt on her life. 

But her intentions of this kind too gave way. She was well aware thatthough not free to go where she liked she could, any day, find herselfin the open air with liberty to converse, except on certain subjects;and that she might presently be in some abode--she did not know what--where she could have full personal liberty, and her present confinementbeing her own choice made it much less dignified, and this caused her towaver about throwing off life and captivity together. The moment nevercame when she was disposed to try. 

At the end of a week she felt great curiosity to know whether MrForster was at the tower all this time waiting her pleasure. She wouldnot enquire lest she should be suspected of the truth--that she wasbeginning to wish to see him. She tried one or two distant questions onher attendant, but the woman knew nothing. There seemed to be no sortof question that she could answer. 

In a few days more the desire for some conversation with somebody becamevery pressing, and Lady Carse was not in the habit of denying herselfanything she wished for. Still, her pride pulled the other way. Theplan she thought of was to sit apparently musing or asleep by the firewhile her attendant swept the floor of her room, and suddenly to rundownstairs while the door was open. This she did one day, when she waspretty sure she had heard an unusual sound of horses' feet below. IfMr Forster should be going without her seeing him it would be dreadful. If he should have arrived after an absence this would afford a pretextfor renewing intercourse with him. So she watched her moment, sprang tothe door, and was down the stair before her attendant could utter a cryof warning to those below. 

Lady Carse stood on the last stair, gazing into the little kitchen, which occupied the ground floor of the tower. Two or three peopleturned and gazed at her, as startled, perhaps, as herself; and she _was_startled, for one of them was Lord Lovat. 

Mr Forster recovered himself, bowed, and said that perhaps she foundherself able to travel; in which case, he was at her service. 

"O dear, no!" she said. She had no intention whatever of travellingfurther. She had heard an arrival of horsemen, and had merely come downto know if there was any news from Edinburgh. 

Lord Lovat bowed, said he had just arrived from town, and would be happyto wait on her upstairs with any tidings that she might enquire for. 

"By no means, " she said, haughtily. She would wait for tidings ratherthan learn them from Lord Lovat. She turned, and went upstairs again, stung by hearing Lord Lovat's hateful laugh behind her as she went. 

As she sat by the fire, devouring her shame and wrath, her attendantcame up with a handful of newspapers, and Lord Lovat's compliments, andhe had sent her the latest Edinburgh news to read, as she did not wishto hear it from him. She snatched the papers, meaning to thrust theminto the fire in token of contempt for the sender; but a longing to readthem came over her, and she might convey sufficient contempt by throwingthem on the bed--and this she accordingly did. 

She watched them, however, as a cat does a mouse. The woman seemed tohave no intention of going down any more to-day. Whether the lady waswatched, and her impatience detected, through the hole in the door, orwhether humanity suggested that the unhappy creature should be permittedan hour of solitude on such an occasion, the woman was called down, anddid not immediately return. 

How impatiently, then, were the papers seized! How unsettled was theeye which ran over the columns, while the mind was too feverish tocomprehend what it read! In a little while, however, the ordinarymethod of newspaper reading established itself, and she went on from oneitem to another with more amusement than anxiety. In this mood, andwith the utmost suddenness, she came upon the announcement, in largeletters, of "The Funeral of Lady Carse!" It was even so! In one paperwas a paragraph intimating the threatening illness of Lady Carse; in thenext, the announcement of her death; in the third, a full account of herfuneral, as taking place from her husband's house. 

Her fate was now clear. She was lost to the world for ever! In themidst of the agony of this doom she could yet be stung by the thoughtthat this was the cause of Lord Lovat's complaisance in sending her thenewspapers; that here was the reason of the only indulgence which hadbeen permitted her!

As for the rest, her mind made short work of it. Her object must now beto confound her foes--to prove to the world that she was not dead andburied. From this place she could not do this. Here there was no scopeand no hope. In travelling, and in her future residence, there might bea thousand opportunities. She could not stay here another hour, and soshe sent word to Mr Forster. His reply was that he should be happy toescort her that night. From the stair-head she told him that she couldnot wait till night. He declared it impossible to make provision forher comfort along the road without a few hours' notice by a horsemansent forward. The messenger was already saddling his horse, and by ninein the evening the rest of the party would follow. 

At nine the lady was on her pillion, but now comfortably clad in acountry dress--homely, but warm. It was dark, but she was informed thatthe party thoroughly knew their road, and that in four or five days theyshould have the benefit of the young moon. 

So, after four or five days, they were to be still travelling! Wherecould they be carrying her?

CHAPTER FIVE. 

CROSS ROADS AND SHORT SEAS. 

Where they were carrying her was more than Lady Carse herself coulddiscover. To the day of her death she never knew what country she hadtraversed during the dreary and fatiguing week which ensued. She sawStirling Castle standing up on its mighty rock against the dim sky; andshe knew that before dawn they had entered the Highlands. 

But beyond this she was wholly ignorant. In those days there were nomilestones on the road she travelled. The party went near no town, stopped at no inn, and never permitted her an opportunity of speaking toanyone out of their own number. They always halted before daylight atsome solitary house--left open for them, but uninhabited--or at somecowshed, where they shook down straw for her bed, made a fire, andcooked their food; and at night they always remounted, and rode for manyhours, through a wild country, where the most hopeful of captives couldnot dream of rescue. Sometimes they carried torches while ascending anarrow ravine, where a winter torrent dashed down the steep rocks andwhirled away below, and where the lady unawares showed her desire tolive by clinging faster to the horseman behind whom she rode. Sometimesshe saw the whole starry hemisphere resting like a dome on a vastmoorland, the stars rising from the horizon here and sinking there, asat sea. 

The party rarely passed any farmsteads or other dwellings; and when theydid silence was commanded, and the riders turned their horses on thegrass or soft earth, in order to appear as little as possible like acavalcade to any wakeful ears. Once, on such an occasion, Lady Carsescreamed aloud; but this only caused her to be carried at a gallop, which instantly silenced her, and then to be gagged for the rest of thenight. She would have promised to make no such attempt again, such ahorror had she now of the muffle which bandaged her mouth, but nobodyasked her to promise. On the contrary, she heard one man say toanother, that the lady might scream all night long now, if she liked;nobody but the eagles would answer her, now she was among the Frasers. 

Among the Frasers! Then she was on Lord Lovat's estates. Here therewas no hope for her; and all her anxiety was to get on, though everystep removed her further from her friends, and from the protection oflaw. But this was exactly the place where she was to stop for aconsiderable time. 

Having arrived at a solitary house among moorland hills, Mr Forstertold her that she would live here till the days should be longer, andthe weather warm enough for a more comfortable prosecution of herfurther journey. He would advise her to take exercise in the garden, small as it was, and to be cheerful, and preserve her health, inexpectation of the summer, when she would reach a place where allrestrictions on her personal liberty would cease. He would now bid herfarewell. 

"You are going back to Edinburgh, " said she, rising from her seat by thefire. "You will see Lord Carse. Tell him that though he has buried hiswife, he has not got rid of her. She will haunt him--she will shamehim--she will ruin him yet. "

"I see now--" observed a voice behind her. She turned and perceivedLord Lovat, who addressed himself to Mr Forster, saying, "I see nowthat it _is_ best to let such people live. If she were dead, we cannotsay but that she might haunt him; though I myself have no great beliefof it. As it is, she is safe out of his way--at any rate, till she diesfirst. I see now that his method is the right one. "

"Why, I don't know, my lord, " replied Lady Carse. "You should considerhow little trouble it would have cost to put me out of the way in mygrave; and how much trouble I am costing you now. It is some comfort tome to think of the annoyance and risk, and fatigue and expense, I amcausing you all. "

"You mistake the thing, madam. We rejoice in these things, as incurredfor the sake of some people over the water. It gratifies our loyalty--our loyalty, madam, is a sentiment which exalts and endears the meanestservices, even that of sequestrating a spy, an informer. "

"Come, come, Lovat, it is time we were off, " said Mr Forster, who wasat once ashamed of his companion's brutality, and alarmed at its effectupon the lady. She looked as if she would die on the spot. She had notbeen aware till now how her pride had been gratified by the sense of herown importance, caused by so many gentlemen of consequence entering intoher husband's plot against her liberty. She was now rudely told that itwas all for their own sakes. She was controlled not as a dignified andpowerful person, but as a mischievous informer. She rallied quickly--not only through pride, but from the thought that power is power, whencesoever derived, and that she might yet make Lord Lovat feel this. She curtseyed to the gentlemen, saying, "It is your turn now to jeer, gentlemen; and to board up windows, and the like. The day may come whenI shall sit at a window to see your heads fall. "

"Time will show, " said Lord Lovat, with a smile, and an elegant bow. And they left her alone. 

They no longer feared to leave her alone. Her temper was well-known tothem; and her purposes of ultimate revenge, once clearly announced, werea guarantee that she would, if possible, live to execute them. Shewould make no attempts upon her life henceforward. Weeks and monthspassed on. The snow came, and lay long, and melted away. Beyond thegarden wall she saw sprinklings of young grass among the dark heather;and now the bleat of a lamb, and now the scudding brood of themoor-fowl, told her that spring was come. Long lines of wild geese inthe upper air, winging steadily northwards, indicated the advancingseason. The whins within view burst into blossom; and the morningbreeze which dried the dews wafted their fragrance. Then the broodingmists drew off under the increasing warmth of the sun; and the ladydiscovered that there was a lake within view--a wide expanse, windingaway among mountains till it was lost behind their promontories. Shestrained her eyes to see vessels on this lake, and now and then she didperceive a little sail hoisted, or a black speck, which must be arowboat traversing the waters when they were sheeny in the decliningsun. These things, and the lengthening and warmth of the days, quickened her impatience to be removed. She often asked the people ofthe house whether no news and no messengers had come; but they did notimprove in their knowledge of the English tongue any more than she didin that of the Gaelic, and she could obtain no satisfaction. In thesunny mornings she lay on the little turf plat in the garden, or walkedrestlessly among the cabbage-beds (being allowed to go no further), orshook the locked gate desperately, till someone came out to warn her tolet it alone. In the June nights she stood at her window, only onesmall pane of which would open, watching the mists shifting and curlingin the moonlight, or the sheet lightning which now and then revealed thelake in the bosom of the mountains, or appeared to lay open the wholesky. But June passed away, and there was no change. July came andwent--the sun was visibly shortening his daily journey, and leaving anhour of actual darkness in the middle of the night: and still there wasno prospect of a further journey. She began to doubt Mr Forster asmuch as she hated Lord Lovat, and to say to herself that his promises offurther personal liberty in the summer were mere coaxing words, utteredto secure a quiet retreat from her presence. If she could see him, foronly five minutes, how she would tell him her mind!

She never again saw Mr Forster: but, one night in August, while she wasat the window, and just growing sleepy, she was summoned by the woman ofthe house to dress herself for a night ride. She prepared herselfeagerly enough, and was off presently, without knowing anything of thehorsemen who escorted her. 

It was with a gleam of pleasure that she saw that they were approachingthe lake she had so often gazed at from afar: and her heart grew lighterstill when she found that she was to traverse it. She began to talk, inher new exhilaration; and she did not leave off, though nobody replied. But her exclamations about the sunrise, the clearness of the water, andthe leaping of the fish, died away when she looked from face to face ofthose about her, and found them all strange and very stern. At last, the dip of the oars was the only sound; but it was a pleasant andsoothing one. All went well this day. After landing, the partyproceeded westwards--as they did nightly for nearly a week. It matteredlittle that they did not enter a house in all that time. The weatherwas so fine, that a sheepfold, or a grassy nook of the moorland, servedall needful purposes of a resting place by day. 

On the sixth night, a surprise, and a terrible surprise, awaited thepoor lady. Her heart misgave her when the night wind brought the soundof the sea to her ears--the surging sea which tosses and roars in therocky inlets of the western coast of Scotland. But her dismay wasdreadful when she discovered that there was a vessel below, on boardwhich she was to be carried without delay. On the instant, dreadfulvisions arose before her imagination, of her being carried to a foreignshore, to be delivered into the hands of the Stuarts, to be punished asa traitor and spy; and of those far off plantations and dismal colonieswhere people troublesome to their families were said to be sent, to bechained to servile labour with criminals and slaves. She wept bitterly:she clasped her hands--she threw herself at the feet of the conductor ofthe party--she appealed to them all, telling them to do what they wouldwith her, if only they would not carry her to sea. Most of them lookedat one another, and made no reply--not understanding her language. Theconductor told her to fear nothing, as she was in the hands of theMacdonalds, who had orders from Sir Alexander Macdonald, of Skye, toprovide for her safety. He promised that the voyage would not be a longone; and that as soon as the sloop should have left the loch she shouldbe told where she was going. With that, he lifted her lightly, steppedinto a boat, and was rowed to the sloop, where she was received by theowner, and half a dozen other Macdonalds. For some hours they waitedfor a wind; and sorely did the master wish it would come; for the ladylost not a glimpse of an opportunity of pleading her cause, explainingthat she was stolen from Edinburgh, against the laws. He told her shehad better be quiet, as nothing could be done. Sir Alexander Macdonaldwas in the affair. He, for one, would never keep her or anyone againsttheir will unless Sir Alexander Macdonald were in it: but nothing couldbe done. He saw, however, that some impression was made on one person, who visited the sloop on business, one William Tolney, who hadconnexions at Inverness, from having once been a merchant there, and whowas now a tenant of the Macleods, in a neighbouring island. This manwas evidently touched; and the Macdonalds held a consultation inconsequence, the result of which was that William Tolney was induced tobe silent on what he had seen and heard. But for many a weary yearafter did Lady Carse turn with hope to the image of the stranger who hadlistened to her on board the sloop, taken the address of her lawyer, andsaid that in his opinion something must be done. 

In the evening the wind rose, and the sloop moved down the loch. With aheavy heart the lady next morning watched the vanishing of the last ofGlengarry's seats, on a green platform between the grey and baldmountains; then the last fishing hamlet on the shores; and, finally, aflock of herons come abroad to the remotest point of the shore fromtheir roosting places in the tall trees that sheltered Glengarry'sabode. After that all was wretchedness. For many days she was on thetossing sea--the sloop now scudding before the wind, now heaving on thetroubled waters, now creeping along between desolate looking islands, now apparently lost amidst the boundless ocean. At length, soon aftersunrise, one bright morning, the sail was taken in, and the vessel laybefore the entrance of an harbour which looked like the mouth of a smallriver. At noon the sun beat hot on the deck of the sloop. In theafternoon the lady impatiently asked what they were waiting for--if thisreally was, as she was told, their place of destination. The wind wasnot contrary; what where they waiting for?

"No, madam; the wind is fair. But it is a curious circumstance aboutthis harbour that it can be entered safely only at night. It is one ofthe most dangerous harbours in all the isles. "

"And you dare to enter it at night? What do you mean?"

"I will show you, madam, when night comes. "

Lady Carse suspected that the delay was on her account; that she was notto land by daylight, less too much sympathy should be excited by heramong the inhabitants. Her indignation at this stimulated her toobserve all she could of the appearance of the island, in case ofopportunity occurring to turn to the account of an escape any knowledgeshe might obtain. On the rocky ledges which stretched out into the sealay basking several seals; and all about them, and on every higherledge, were myriads of puffins. Hundreds of puffins and fulmars were inthe air, and skimming the waters. The fulmars poised themselves ontheir long wings; the fat little puffins poffled about in the water, andmade a great commotion where everything else was quiet. From theselower ridges of rock vast masses arose, black and solemn, someperpendicular, some with a slope too steep and smooth to permit amoment's dream of climbing them. Even on this warm day of August theclouds had not risen above the highest peaks; and they threw a gloomover the interior of the small island, while the skirting rocks and seawere glittering in the sunshine. Even the scanty herbage of the slopesat the top of the rocks looked almost a bright green where the sun fellupon it; and especially where it descended so far as to come intocontrast with the blackness of the yawning caverns with which the rockywall was here and there perforated. 

The lady perceived no dwellings; but Macdonald, who observed hersearching gaze, pointed his glass and invited her to look through it. At first she saw nothing but a dim confusion of grey rocks and dullgrass; but at length she made out a grey cottage, with a roof of turf, and a peat stack beside it. 

"I see one dwelling, " said the lady. 

"You see it, " observed Macdonald, satisfied, and resuming his glass. Then, observing the lady was not satisfied, he added, "There are moredwellings, but they are behind yonder ridge, out of sight. That iswhere my place is. "

Lady Carse did not at present discern where the dangerous sympathy withher case was to come from. But there was no saying how many dwellingsthere might be behind that ridge. She once more insisted on landing bydaylight; and was once more told that it was out of the question. Sheresolved to keep as wide awake as her suspicions, in order to see whatwas to be done with her. She was anxiously on the watch in the darknessan hour before midnight, when Macdonald said to her, "Now for it, madam!I will presently show you something curious. "

The sloop began to move under the soft breathing night wind; and in afew minutes Macdonald asked her if she saw anything before her, a littleto the right. At first she did not; but was presently told that a tinyspark, too minute to be noticed by any but those who were looking forit, was a guiding light. 

"Where is it?" asked the lady. "Why have not you a more effectuallight?"

"We are thankful enough to have any: and it serves our turn. "

"Oh! I suppose it is a smuggler's signal, and it would not do to makeit more conspicuous. "

"No, madam. It is far from being a smuggler's signal. There is awoman, Annie Fleming, living in the grey house I showed you, an honestand pious soul, who keeps up that light for all that want it. "

"Why? Who employs her?"

"She does it of her own liking. Some have heard tell, but I don't knowit for true, that when she and her husband were young she saw him drown, from his boat having run foul in the harbour that she overlooks, andthat from that day to this she has had a light up there every night. Ican say that I never miss it when I come home; and I always enter bynight, trusting to it as the best landmark in this difficult harbour. "

"And do the other inhabitants trust to it, and come in by night?"

Macdonald answered that his was the only boat on the island; but hebelieved that all who had business on the sea between this and Skye knewthat light, and made use of it, on occasion, in dangerous weather. Andnow he must not talk, but see to his vessel. 

This is the only boat on the island! He must mean the only sloop. There must be fishing boats. There must and should be, the ladyresolved; for she would get back to the mainland. She would not spendher days here, beyond the westerly Skye, where she had just learned thatthis island lay. 

The anxious business of entering the harbour was accomplished by slowdegrees, under the guidance of the spark on the hill-side. At dawn thelittle vessel was moored to a natural pier of rock, and the lady wasasked whether she would proceed to Macdonald's house immediately or takesome hours' rest first. 

Here ended her fears of being secluded from popular sympathy. She wasweary of the sea and the vessel, and made all haste to leave them. 

Her choice lay between walking and being carried by Highlanders. Shechose to walk; and with some fatigue, and no little internalindignation, she traversed a mile and a half of rocky and moorland ways, then arriving at a sordid and dreary looking farmhouse, standing alonein a wild place, to which Macdonald proudly introduced her as SirAlexander's estate on this island, of which he was the tenant. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

THE STEADFAST

It was a serene evening when, the day after her landing, Lady Carseapproached Widow Fleming's abode. The sun was going down in a clearsky; and when, turning from the dazzling western sea, the eye wanderedeastwards, the view was such as could not but transport a heart at ease. The tide was low, and long shadows from the rocks lay upon the yellowsands and darkened, near the shore, the translucent sea. At theentrance of the black caverns the spray leaped up on the advance ofevery wave, --not in threatening but as if at play. Far away over thelilac and green waters arose the craggy peaks of Skye, their projectionsand hollows in the softest light and shadow. As the sea-birds rose fromtheir rest upon the billows, opposite the sun, diamond drops fell fromtheir wings. Nearer at hand there was little beauty but what abrilliant sunset sheds over every scene. There were shadows from thecottage over the dull green sward, and from the two or three goats whichmoved about on the ledges and slopes of the upper rocks. The cottageitself was more lowly and much more odd than the lady had conceived fromanything she had yet seen or heard of. Its walls were six feet thick, and roofed from the inside, leaving a sort of platform all round, whichwas overgrown with coarse herbage. The outer and inner surfaces of thewall were of stones, and the middle part was filled in with earth; sothat grass might well grow on the top. The roof was of thatch--partstraw, part sods, tied down to cross poles by ropes of twisted heather. The walls did not rise more than five feet from the ground; and nothingcould be easier than for the goats to leap up, when tempted to grazethere. A kid was now amusing itself on one corner. As Lady Carsewalked round, she was startled at seeing a woman sitting on the oppositecorner. Her back was to the sun--her gaze fixed on the sea, and herfingers were busy knitting. The lady had some doubts at first about itsbeing the widow, as this woman wore a bright cotton handkerchief tiedover her head: but a glance at the face when it was turned towards herassured her that it was Annie Fleming herself. 

"No, do not come down, " said the lady. "Let me come up beside you. Isee the way. "

And she stepped up by means of the projecting stones of the wall, andthrew herself down beside the quiet knitter. 

"What are you making? Mittens? And what of? What sort of wool isthis?"

"It is goats' hair. "

"Tiresome work!" the lady observed. "Wool is bad enough; but theseshort lengths of hair! I should never have patience. "

The widow replied that she had time in these summer evenings; and shewas glad to take the chance of selling a few pairs when Macdonald wentto the main, once or twice a year. 

"How do they sell? What do you get for them?"

"I get oil to last me for some time. "

"And what else?"

"Now and then I may want something else; but I get chiefly oil--as whatI want most. "

The widow saw that Lady Carse was not attending to what she said, andwas merely making an opening for what she herself wanted to utter: soAnnie said no more of her work and its payment, but waited. 

"This is a dreadful place, " the lady burst out. "Nobody can live here. "

"I have heard there are kindlier places to live in, " the widow replied. "This island must appear rather bare to people who come from thesouth, --as I partly remember myself. "

"Where did you come from? Do you know where I come from? Do you knowwho I am?" cried the lady. 

"I came from Dumfries. I have not heard where you lived, my lady. Iwas told by Macdonald that you came by Sir Alexander Macdonald's orders, to live here henceforward. "

"I will not live here henceforward. I would sooner die. "

The widow looked surprised. In answer to that look Lady Carse said, "Ah! you do not know who I am, nor what brought me here, or you wouldsee that I cannot live here, and why I would rather die. --Why do not youspeak? Why do you not ask me what I have suffered?"

"I should not think of it, my lady. Those who have suffered are slow tospeak of their heart pain, and would be ashamed before God to say howmuch oftener they would rather have died. "

"I must speak, however, and I will, " declared Lady Carse. "You know Imust; and you are the only person in the island that I can speak to. --Iwant to live with you. I must. I know you are a good woman. I knowyou are kind. If you are kind to mere strangers that come in boats, andkeep a light to save them from shipwreck, you will not be cruel to me--the most ill used creature--the most wretched--the most--"

She hid her face on her knees, and wept bitterly. 

"Take courage, my lady, " said Annie. "If you have not strength enoughfor your troubles to-day, it only shows that there is more to come. "

"I do not want strength, " said the lady. "You do not know me. I am notwanting in strength. What I want--what I must have--is justice. "

"Well--that is what we are all most sure of when God's day comes, " saidAnnie. "That we are quite sure of. And we may surely hope for patiencetill then, if we really wish it. So I trust you will be comforted, mylady. "

"I cannot stay here, however. There are no people here. There isnobody that I can endure at Macdonald's, and there are none others butlabourers, and they speak only Gaelic. And it is a wretched place. They have not even bread. --Mrs Fleming, I must come and live with you. "

"I have no bread, my lady. I have nothing so good as they have atMacdonald's. "

"You have a kind heart. Never mind the bread now. We will see aboutthat. I don't care how I live; but I want to stay with you. I wantnever to go back to Macdonald's. "

The widow stepped down to the ground, and beckoned to the lady to followher into the house. It was a poor place as could be seen:--one roomwith a glazed window looking towards the harbour, a fireplace and a bedopposite the window;--a rickety old bedstead, with an exhausted flockbed and a rug upon it; and from one end of the apartment, a small dimspace partitioned off, in which was a still less comfortable bed, laidon trestles made of driftwood. 

"Who sleeps here?"

"My son, when he is at home. He is absent now, my lady: and see, thisis the only place;--no place for you, my lady. "

Lady Carse shrank back impatiently. She then turned and said, "I mighthave this larger room, and you the other. I shall find means of payingyou--"

"Impossible, madam, " the widow replied. "I am obliged to occupy thisroom. "

"For to-night, at least, you will let me have it. I cannot go back toMacdonald's to-night. I will not go back at all; and you cannot turn meout to-night. I have other reasons besides those I mentioned. I mustbe in sight of the harbour. It is my only hope. "

"You can stay here, if you will, madam: and you can have that bed. ButI can never leave this room between dark and light. I have yonder lampto attend to. "

"Oh! I will attend to the lamp. "

The widow smiled, and observed that she hoped the lady would have bettersleep than she could enjoy if she had the lamp to watch; and that was abusiness which she could not commit to another hand. In the course ofthe argument, the lady discovered that it would be a serious matter tolet out both the fire and lamp, as there was no tinder-box on theisland, and no wood, except in the season of storms, when some wasdrifted up wet. 

"I should like to live with you, and help you to keep up your lamp, "said the lady. "If you could only manage a room for me--Not that I meanto stay in this island! I will not submit to that. But while I amwaiting to get away, I should like to spend my time with you. You havea heart. You would feel for me. "

"I do feel for you, madam. This must be a terrible place for you, justto-day, --and for many days to come. But oh! my lady, if you want peaceof mind, this is the place! It is a blessing that may be had anywhere, I know. One would think it shone down from the sky or breathed out fromthe air, --it is so sure to be wherever the sky bends over, or the airwraps us round. But of all places, this is the one for peace of mind. "

"This!--this--dreary island!"

"This quiet island. Look out now, and see if you can call it dreary. Why, madam, there can hardly be a brighter glory, or a more cheerfulglow among the sons of God about the throne, than there is at thismoment over sea and shore, and near at home up to the very stone of mythreshold. Madam, I could never think this island dreary. "

"It is not always sunset, nor always summer time, " said Lady Carse, whocould not deny nor wholly resist the beauty of the scene. 

"Other beauty comes by night and in the winter, " observed the widow, "and at times a grandeur which is better than the beauty. If thesoftness of this sunshine nourishes our peace of mind, yet more does themight of the storms. The beauty might be God's messenger. The might isGod Himself. "

"You speak as if you did not fear God, " said the lady, with the lightinexperience of one to whom such subjects were not familiar. 

"As a sinner, I fear Him, madam. But as His child--Why, madam, whatelse have we in all the universe? And having Him, what more do wewant?"

"He has made us full of wants, " said the lady. "I, for one, am allbereaved, and very, very wretched. --But do not let us talk of that now. One who is alone in this place, and knows and needs nothing beyond, cannot enter into my sorrows at once. It will take long to make youconceive such misery as mine. But it will be a comfort to me to open myheart to you. And I must live within view of the harbour. I must seeevery boat that comes. They say you do. "

"I do. They are few; but I see them all. "

"And you save a good many by the spark in your window. "

"It has pleased God to save some, it is thought, who would have perishedas some perished before them. He set me that task, in a solemn way, many years ago; and any mercy that has grown out of it is His. --Do yousee any vessel on the sea, madam? I always look abroad the last thingbefore the sun goes down. My eyes can hardly be much older than yours:but they are much worn. "

"How have you so used your eyes? Is it that hair-knitting?"

"That is not good. But it is more the sharp winds, and the nightwatching, and the shine of the sea in the day. "

"I must live with you. I will watch for you, night and day. You thinkI cannot. You think I shall tire. Why, you are not weary of it. "

"Oh, no! I shall never be weary of it. "

"Much less should I. You want only to keep up your lamp. I want to getaway. All the interests of my life lie beyond this sea; and do youthink I shall tire of watching for the opportunity?--I will watchthrough this very night. You shall go to bed, and sleep securely, and Iwill keep your lamp. And to-morrow we will arrange something. Whyshould I not have a room, --a cottage built at the end of yours? Iwill. "

"If you could find anyone to build it, " suggested the widow. 

"Somebody built Macdonald's, I suppose. And yours. "

"Macdonald's is very old;--built, it is thought, at the same time withthe chapel, which has been in ruins these hundred years. My husbandbuilt ours, --with me to help him; and also his brother, who died beforeit was finished. "

"Where is your son?" inquired the lady. "If he will undertake to workfor me, I will get it done. Where is your son? And what is hisbusiness?"

"I do not know exactly where he is. "

"Well, but is he on the island?"

"I believe so. He comes and goes according to his business. In theearly summer he seeks eggs all over the island; and, somewhat later, theeider-down. When he can get nothing better he brings the birdsthemselves. "

"What do you do with them?"

"We keep the feathers, and also the skins. The skins are warm to coverthe feet with, when made into socks. If the birds are not very old, wesalt them for winter food: and at worst, I get some oil from them. ButI get most oil from the young seals, and from the livers of the fish hecatches at times. "

"Fish! then he has a boat! Does he go out in a boat to fish?"

"I can hardly say that he has a boat, " replied the mother, with anextraordinary calmness of manner that told of internal effort. "Ourcaverns run very deep into the rocks; and the ledges run out far intothe sea. Rollo has made a kind of raft of the driftwood he found: andon this he crosses the water in the caverns, and passes from ledge toledge, fishing as he goes. This is our only way of getting fish, exceptwhen a chance boat comes into the harbour. "

"Could that raft go out on a calm day, --on a very smooth sea, --to meetany boat at a distance?"

"Impossible! madam. I think it too dangerous in our smallest coves tobe used without sin. It is against my judgment that Rollo ever goesround the end of a ledge, which he has been seen to do. "

"But it is impossible to get a boat? Have you never had a boat?"

"We once had a boat, madam: and it was lost. " Even the selfish LadyCarse reproached herself for her question. It struck her now that boatand husband had been lost together; for Macdonald had told her thatAnnie Fleming had seen her husband drown. 

"I wish I knew where Rollo is, " she said to break the silence. "I thinksomething might be done. I think I could find a way. Do not you wishyou knew where he was?"

"No, madam. "

"Well! perhaps you might be uneasy about him if you did. But which waydid he go?"

The widow pointed northwards, where huge masses of rock appeared tumbledone upon another, and into the sea, at the base of a precipice twohundred feet high. She further told, in reply to a question, that Rollowent forth yesterday, without saying where he was going; and there werecaves among the rocks she had pointed out, where Rollo might possibly befishing. 

Lady Carse found it vexatious that darkness was coming on. She had apurpose; but the sun did not set the later, nor promise to rise theearlier, on that account. When the widow set before her some oatenbread and dried fish, she ate, without perceiving that none was left forher hostess. And when the widow lighted the iron lamp and set it in thewindow, the lady made only faint pretences of a wish to sit up and watchit. She also said nothing of occupying the meaner bed. She waspersuaded that her first duty was to obtain some good rest, preparatoryto going forth to seek Rollo, and induce him to take her on his raft tosome place whence she might escape to the mainland. So she lay down onthe widow's bed, and slept soundly, --her hungry hostess sitting by thesmouldering peats in the rude fireplace, --now and then smiling at theidea of her guest's late zeal about watching the lamp for her, in orderto give her a good night's rest. When daylight came, she retired to herson's bed, and had just dropped asleep when Lady Carse roused her to askfor some breakfast to take with her, as she did not know when she shouldbe back from her expedition. Again the widow smiled as she said therewas nothing in the house. At this time of the year there were nostores; and a good appetite at night left nothing for the morning. 

"O dear!" said the lady. "Well: I daresay your sitting up made youhungry enough to finish everything while I was asleep. No doubt itmust. But what to do I know not. I will not go back to Macdonald's, ifI starve for it. Perhaps I may meet some fishermen, or somebody. Iwill try. --Good morning. I shall come back: but I will not put you longout of your ways. I will get a cottage built at the end of yours assoon as possible. " The door closed behind her, and once more the widowsmiled, as she composed herself to rest on her own bed. She had alreadyreturned thanks for the blessings with which the new day had opened; andespecially that to one so lowly as herself was permitted the honour andprivilege--so unlooked for and unthought of--of dispensing hospitality. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

THE ROVING OF THE RESTLESS. 

The lady began walking at a great rate, being in a vast hurry to findRollo. She descended to the shore, knowing that if she kept on theheights she should arrive at the precipices which would forbid allaccess to the caves below. 

The tide was going down; and as soon as she reached the sands of alittle cove she was pleased to see a good many shell fish. Her firstthought was that she would collect some and carry them up for AnnieFleming's breakfast; but she immediately remembered that this would addto her fatigues, and consume her precious time; and she gave up thethought, and began picking up cockles for herself--large blue cockles, which she thought would afford her an excellent breakfast, if only shecould meet with some fresh bread and butter in some nook in the island. She turned up her skirt--the skirt of the country woman's gown which shewore--and made a bag of it for her cockles, rejoicing for the momentthat it was not one of her own silks. Then she remembered that she hadseen at the widow's a light and strong frail basket, made of thesea-bent which grew in the sands. This basket would be useful to her:so she would, after all, go up--carry some cockles for Annie, and borrowthe basket. She did so, and came away again without awakening thewidow. 

At first, Lady Carse thought that Annie was right, and that the islandwas not so dreary after all. The morning breeze was fresh andstrengthening; the waves ran up gaily upon the sands, and leaped againstthe projecting rocks, and fell back with a merry splash. And theprecipices were so fine, she longed for her sketch-book; and the romanceof her youth began to revive within her. Here was a whole day forroving. She would somehow make a fire in a cave, and cook for herself. She was sure she could live among these caves; and if she was missingfor a considerable time, the Macdonalds would think she had escaped, orwas drowned; and she could slip away at last, when some vessel put intothe harbour. She stopped and looked round; but on all the vast stretchof waters there was no vessel to be seen but the sloop in the harbour;while on shore there was no human being visible, nor any trace ofhabitation. The solitude rather pressed on her heart; but she hastenedon, and rounded the point which would shut out from her the land view, and prevent her being seen by any one from Macdonald's. She had no fearof her return being cut off by the tide. She had the whole day beforeher, and could climb the rocks to a safe height at any time. 

These were caves indeed! At sight of them her heart was in a sort oftumult very different from any it had experienced for long. She eagerlyentered the first, and drew deep breath as the thunder of the waters andthe echoes together almost confounded her senses. At the lowest tidesthere was some depth of water below, in a winding central channel. Inthe evening how black that channel must be! how solemn the whole place!Now the low sun was shining in, lighting up every point, and disclosingall the hollows, and just catching a ripple now and then, which, in itsturn, made a ripple of light on the roof; and, far in, there was anopening--a gaping chink in the side of the cave--which gave admission toa second rocky chamber. 

Lady Carse was bent on reaching this opening; and did so, at last. Shecould not cross the clear deep water in the channel below her. It wasjust too wide for a safe leap. But she found a footing over the rockswhich confined it; and on she went--now ascending, now descending almostto the water--amidst dancing lights and rising and falling echoes; onshe went, her heart throbbing, her spirits cheered--her whole soul fullof a joy which she had not experienced for long. She stepped over thelittle chasm to which the waters narrowed at last, and, reaching theopening thrust herself through it. 

She seemed to have left light and sound behind her. Dim, cool, andalmost silent was the cavern she now stood in. Its floor was thicklystrewn with fine sand, conveying the sensation that her own footstepswere not to be heard. Black pillars of rock rose from a still poolwhich lay in her way, and which she perceived only just in time toprevent her stepping into it. These pillars and other dark masses ofrock sprang up and up till her eye lost them in the darkness; and ifthere was a roof, she could not see it. A drip from above made a plashabout once in a minute in the pool; and the murmur from without was sosubdued--appeared to be so swallowed up in vastness and gloom--that theminute drop was loud in comparison. Lady Carse lay down on the softsand, to rest, and listen, and think--to ponder plans of hiding andescape. All her meditations brought her round to the same point: thatthree things were necessary to any plan of escape--a supply of food, aboat, and an accomplice. She arose, chilled and hungry, determined totry whether she could not meet with one or all of these this very day. 

As she slowly proceeded round the pool, she became aware that it was notso perfectly still as hitherto; and a gurgle of waters grew upon theear. It was only that the tide was coming up, and that the pool wasbeing fed by such influx as could take place through a few crannies. She perceived that these crannies had let in a glimmering of light whichwas now sensibly darkened. She had no fear--only the delicious awewhich thrills through the spirit on its admission to the extremeprivacies of nature. There was some light, and safe opportunity ofreturn by the way she had come. She would not go back till she hadtried whether she could get on. 

On she went--more than once in almost total darkness--more than onceslipping on a piece of wet and weedy rock where she expected to tread onthick sand--more than once growing irritable at little difficulties, ashungry people of better tempers than hers are apt to do in strangeplaces. A surprise awaited her at last. She had fancied she perceiveda glimmer of light before her; and she suddenly found herself at the topof a steep bank of sand, at the bottom of which there was an opening--avery low arch--to the outer air. While she was sliding down this bank, she heard a voice outside. She was certain of it. Presently there wasa laugh, and the voice again. If she had found Rollo, there wassomebody else too; and if Rollo was not here, there was the more to hopesomething from. 

Now the question was whether she could get through the arch. She pushedher basket through first, and then her own head; and she saw what madeher lie still for some little time. The arch opened upon a cove, deepand narrow, between projecting rocks. A small raft rose and fell on thesurface of the water; and on the raft stood a man, steading himself withhis legs wide apart, while he held a rope with both hands, and gazedintently upwards. The raft was in a manner anchored; tied with ropes tomasses of rock on each side of the cove; but it still pitched so muchthat Lady Carse thought the situation of the man very perilous: and she, therefore, made no noise, lest she should startle him. She littledreamed how safe was his situation compared with that of the comrade hewas watching. 

In a short time the man changed his occupation. He relaxed his hold ofthe rope, fastened it to a corner of the raft, gazed about him like aman of leisure, and then once more looked upwards, holding out his armsas if to catch something good. And immediately a shower of sea-birdsbegan to fall: now one, now three, now one again: down they came, headforemost, dead as a stone. Two fell into the water; but he fished themup with a stick with a noose of hair at the end, and flung them on theheap in the middle of the raft. 

When the shower began to slacken, Lady Carse thought it the time to makeherself heard. She put her head and shoulders through the low arch, andasked the man if he thought she could get through. His start at thevoice, his bewildered look down the face of the rock, and the scaredexpression of his countenance when he discovered the face that peepedout at the bottom, amused Lady Carse extremely. She did not rememberhow unlike her fair complexion and her hair were to those of the womenof these islands, nor that a stranger was in this place more rare than aghost. And as for the man--what could he suppose but that the handsomeface that he saw peeping out, laughing, from the base of the precipice, was that of some rock spirit, sent perhaps for mischief? However, incourse of time the parties came to an explanation; that is, of all thatthe lady said, the man caught one word--Macdonald; and he saw that shehad a basket of cockles, and knew the basket to be of islandmanufacture. Moreover he found, when he ventured to help her out, thather hand was of flesh and blood, though he had never before seen one soslender and white. 

When she stood upright on the margin of the creek, what a scene it was!Clear as the undulating waters were, no bottom was visible. Theirdarkness and depth sent a chill through her frame. Overhead theprojecting rocks nearly shut out the sky, while the little strip thatremained was darkened by a cloud of fluttering and screaming sea-birds. The cause of their commotion was pointed out to her. A man, whom shecould scarcely have distinguished but for the red cap on his head, wason the face of the precipice; now appearing still, now moving, she couldnot tell how, for the rock appeared to her as smooth up there as thewall of a house. But it was not so--there were ledges; and on one ofthese he stood, plundering the nests of the sea fowl, which werescreaming round his head. 

"Rollo?" the lady asked, as she turned away, her brain reeling at thesight she had seen. 

"Rollo, " replied the man, now entirely satisfied. No spirit would wantto be told who anyone was. 

And now Rollo was to descend. His comrade again stepped upon the raft, pushed out to the middle of the channel, secured the raft, grasped therope, and steadied himself. Lady Carse thought she could not look; butshe glanced up now and then, when there was a call from above, or aquestion from below, or when there was a fling of the rope or a pause inthe proceedings. When Rollo at last slid down upon the raft, hauled itto shore, and jumped on the rock beside her, he was as careless as ahedger coming home to breakfast, while she was trembling in every limb. 

And Rollo was thinking more of his breakfast than of the way he hadearned it, or of the presence of a stranger. He was a stout, and nowhungry, lad of eighteen, to whom any precipice was no more startlingthan a ladder is to a builder. And, as his mother had taught him tospeak English, and he had on that account been employed to communicatewith such strangers as had now and then come to the island duringMacdonald's absence, he was little embarrassed by the apparition of thelady. He was chiefly occupied with his pouchful of eggs, there beingmore than he had expected to find so late in the season. It was allvery well, he said, for their provision to-day; but it was a sign thatsomebody knew this cove as well as themselves, and that it was no longera property to himself and his comrade. 

"How so?" inquired the lady. "How can you possibly tell by the eggsthat anyone has been here?"

Rollo glanced at his comrade, in a sort of droll assurance that it couldbe no voice from the grave, no ghostly inhabitant of a cave, who couldrequire to have such a matter explained. He then condescendingly toldher that when the eggs of the eider-duck are taken she lays more; andthis twice over, before giving up in despair. Of course, this puts offthe season of hatching; and when, therefore, eggs are found fresh solate in the season, it is pretty plain that someone has been there totake those earlier laid. Rollo seemed pleased that the lady couldcomprehend this when it was explained to her. He gave her anencouraging nod, and began to scramble onward over the rocks, hiscompanion being already some paces in advance of him. The lady followedwith her basket as well as she could; but she soon found herself alone, and in not the most amiable mood at being thus neglected. She had notyet learned that she was in a place where women are accustomed to shiftfor themselves, and precedence is not thought of, except by thefireside, with aged people or a minister of the Gospel in presence. 

She smoothed her brow, however, when she regained sight of the youngmen. They were on their knees in the entrance of a cavern, carefullymanaging a smouldering peat so as to obtain a fire. It was ticklishwork; for the peat had been left to itself rather too long; and chipsand shavings were things never seen in these parts. A wisp of drygrass, or a few fibres of heather, were made to serve instead; and itwas not easy to create with these heat enough to kindle fresh peats. Atlast, however, it was done; and eggs were poked in, here and there, toroast. The cockles must be roasted, too; and two or three littlemouse-coloured birds, the young of the eider-duck, were broiled as soonas plucked. So much for the eating. As for the drinking, there wasnothing but pure whisky, unless the lady could drink sea-water. Thirstyas she was she thought of the drip in the cave; but, besides that it wasfar to go, and scanty when obtained, she remembered all the slime shehad seen, and she did not know whence that drip came. So she gulpeddown two or three mouthfuls of whisky, and was surprised to find howlittle she disliked it, and how well it agreed with her after her walk. 

As soon as Rollo could attend to her, she told him where she had spentthe night--how she had resolved to live with his mother, and in sight ofthe harbour--and how she wanted two or more rooms built for her at theend of the widow's cottage, unless, indeed, she could get a boat builtinstead, to take her over to the main, for which she would engage to payhereafter whatever should be asked. Rollo told his companion this; andthey both laughed so at the idea of the boat, that the lady rose ingreat anger, and walked away. Rollo attended her, and pointed to hisraft, saying that there was no other such craft as even that in theisland; and people did not think of boats, even in their dreams, thoughhe could fancy that any lady in the south might, for he had heard thatboats were common in the south. But, he went on to say, if she couldnot have a boat, she might have a house. 

"Will you help to build it?" asked the lady. "Will your companion--willall the people you know--help me to build it?"

"Why, yes, " Rollo replied. "We shall have to build some sort of acottage for the minister that is coming--for the minister and his wife;and we may as well--"

"Minister! Is there a minister coming?" cried the lady. 

"O thank God, whose servant he is! Thank God for sending medeliverance, as He surely will by these means!" She had sunk on herknees. Rollo patted her on the shoulder and said the folk werecertainly coming. What to make of Rollo she did not know. He treatedher as if she were a child. He used a coaxing way of talking, explainedto her the plainest things before her eyes, and patted her on theshoulder. She drew away, looking very haughtily at him, but he onlynodded. 

"Why was I not told before that the minister and his wife were coming?Macdonald did not tell me. Your mother did not tell me. "

"They do not know it yet. They seldom know things till I tell them; andI did not want to be kept at home to build a house till I had got somebusiness of my own done. "

He would not tell how he had obtained his information; but explainedthat it was the custom for a minister to live for some time on each ofthe outlying islands, where there were too few people to retain aconstant pastor. This island was too little inhabited to have had aminister on its shores since the chapel had gone to ruin, a hundredyears before--but the time was at hand at last. There had been adisappointment in some arrangements in the nearest neighbour islet; andMr Ruthven and his wife were appointed to reside here for a year ormore, as might appear desirable. Rollo considered this great news. Children and betrothed persons would be brought hither to be baptisedand married--arriving perhaps more than once in the course of the year;and it would be strange if the minister were not, in that time, to besent for in a boat to bury somebody. Or, perhaps, a funeral or twomight come to the old chapel. Some traffic there must be; and thatwould make it a great year for Rollo. And, to begin with, there wouldbe the house to build; and he might be sent for materials. He shouldlike that, though he did not much fancy the trouble of the building. 

After a moment's thought the lady asked him if he could not keep thesecret of the minister's coming till the last possible hour. She wouldreward him well if he would get the house built as for her. Seeing howprecious was the opportunity, she gave Rollo her confidence, showed himhow it would tend to satisfy Macdonald if she appeared to be settlingherself quietly in the island; whereas, if he knew of the approach ofvessels with strangers, he would probably imprison her, or carry heraway to some yet wilder and more remote speck in the ocean. Rollo sawsomething of her reasons, and said patronisingly, "Why, you talk like anisland woman now. You might almost have lived here, by the way youunderstand things. "

Yet better did he apprehend her promises of vast rewards, if he would doexactly as she wished. There was an air about her which enabled him tofancy her some queen or other powerful personage; and as it happened tosuit him to keep the secret till the last moment, he promised, forhimself and his comrade, to be discreet, and obey orders. 

This settled, the lady turned homewards, with a basket full of eggs, andfish, and young birds, and news for the widow that her son was safe, andnot far off, and about to come home to try his hand at building a house. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

THE WAITING OF THE WISE. 

The house proceeded well. Macdonald had no express orders about it; buthe had express orders to keep Lady Carse on the island, and, ifpossible, in a quiet and orderly state of manners. When he saw howcompletely engrossed she was in the building of this dwelling, and whata close friendship she appeared to have formed with Annie Fleming, hebelieved that she was a woman of a giddy mind and strong self-will, whomight be managed by humouring. If he could assist her in providingherself with a succession of new objects, he hoped that she might bekept from mischief and misery, as a child is by a change of toys. Hewould try this method, and trust to his chief's repaying him anyexpenses incurred for the strange lady's sake. So he granted the use ofhis ponies and his people, --now a man or two, --and now their wives, tobring stones and earth and turf, and to twist heather bands. Once ortwice he came himself, and lent a strong hand to raise a corner-stone, and help to lay the hearthstone. The house consisted of two rooms, divided by a passage. If Lady Carse had chosen to admit the idea ofremaining after the arrival of the Ruthvens, she would have added athird room; but she had resolved that she would leave the island in thevessel which brought them, or in the next that their arrival wouldbring: and she would not dwell for an instant on any doubt ofaccomplishing her purpose. 

So the thick walls rose, and the low roof was on, and the thatch wellbound down, and secured moreover with heavy stones, before the autumnstorms arrived. And before the hard rains came down, all Macdonald'sponies were one evening seen approaching in a string, laden with peat--apresent to the lady. In the course of the day there was stacked, at theend of her cottage, enough to last for some months. When the widow cameout to see it and wish her joy--for a good stack of well dried peat wasthe richest of all possessions in that region--the lady smiled ascheerfully as Annie; not at the peat, however, but at the thought thatshe should see little or none of it burn. She intended to dispose ofher winter evenings far otherwise. 

As for the widow, she was thankful now that she had never thought hersituation dreary. If, in her former solitude, when her boy was absent, she had murmured at that solitude, her present feelings would have beena rebuke to her. She was not happy now; so far from it, that her formerlife appeared, in comparison with it, as happy as she could desire. Perhaps it had been too peaceful, she thought, and she might need someexercise of patience. It was a great advantage, certainly, for bothherself and Rollo to hear the thing; the lady could tell of ways ofliving in other places, and to learn such a variety of knowledge from aperson so much better informed than themselves. But then this knowledgeappeared to be all so unsanctified! It did not make the poor ladyherself strong in heart and peaceful in spirit. It was wonderful, andvery stirring to the mind, to learn how wise people were who lived incities and what great ability was required to conduct the affairs oflife where men were gathered together in numbers; but then these wondersdid not seem to impress those who lived in the midst of them. There wasno sign that they were watching and praising God's hand working amongthe faculties of men, as more retired people do in much meaner things--in the warmth which the eider-duck gives to her eggs by wrapping them indown from her own breast, and the punctuality with which the herringshoals pass by in May and October, making the sea glitter with life andlight as they go. She feared that when people lived out of sight ofgreen pastures and still waters--and she looked at the moment upon thedown on which the goats were browsing, and the fresh water pool, wherethe dragon fly hovered for a few hot days in summer--when men lived outof sight of green pastures and still waters, she feared that they becameperplexed in a sort of Babel, where the call of the shepherd was toogentle to be heard. At least, it appeared thus from the effect uponRollo of the lady's conversation. She had always feared for him theeffect of seeing the world, as she remembered the world--of his seeingit before he had better learned to see God everywhere, and to be humbleaccordingly--and the conversation he now heard was to him much likebeing on the mainland, and even in a town. It had not made him morehumble, or more kind, or more helpful; except, indeed, to the lady--there was nothing he would not do to help her. 

And here Annie sighed and smiled at once, as the thought struck her thatwhile she was mourning over other people's corruption she was herselfnot untouched. She detected herself admitting some dislike to the ladybecause she so occupied Rollo that he had left off supplying his motherwith fishes' livers and seal-fat for oil. The best season had passed:--she had spoken to him several times not to lose the six-weeks-old seals;but he had not attended to it; and now her stock of oil was very low;and the long winter nights were before her. She must speak to Macdonaldto procure her some oil. But very strictly must she speak to herselfabout this new trouble of discontent. Did she not know that He whoappointed her dwelling-place on that height, and who marked her for herlife's task by that touch on her heart-strings the night she saw herhusband drown, would supply the means? If her light was to be set onthe hill for men to see from the tossing billows and be saved, it wouldbe taken care of that, as of old, the widow's cruise of oil did notfail. What _she_ had to look to was that the lamp of her soul did notgrow dim and go out. How lately was she thanking God for the newopportunities afforded her by the arrival of this stranger! and now shewas shrinking from these very opportunities, and finding fault witheverybody before herself!

There was some little truth in this, and it was very natural; for thiskind of trial was new to Annie. But she never yielded to it again--noteven when the trial was such as few would have been able to bear. 

As the dark blustering month of November advanced, the widow'srheumatism came on more severely than ever before. She had given up herbed to Lady Carse, and when Rollo was at home, slept on the floor, onsome ashes covered with a blanket; the only materials for a bed whichshe had been able to command, as Rollo had been too busy to getseal-skins, or go to any distance for heather while it was soft. Shehad caught cold repeatedly, and was likely to have a bad winter with herrheumatism, however soon the lady might get into her own house and yieldup the widow's bed. One gusty afternoon, when the wet fogs were drivingpast, Annie waited long for the lady and Rollo to come in to the eveningmeal. She could not think what detained them next door in such weather;for it was no weather for working--besides that, it was getting dark. She could not, with her stiff and painful limbs, go out of doors; andwhen she perceived that her smallest lamp was gone, she satisfiedherself that they had some particular work to finish for which theyneeded light, and would come in when it was done. 

But it grew dark, and the wind continued to rise, and they did notappear. They did not mean to appear this night. Macdonald had beeninformed, at last, from his chief, of the intended arrival of theminister and his lady; had been very angry at the long concealment ofthe news, and would now, Lady Carse apprehended, keep a careful watchover her, and probably confine her till the expected boats had come andgone. So she and her accomplices at once repaired to the cave--a cavewhich Rollo was sure none of Macdonald's people had discovered--wherefor some time past Rollo and his comrade had stored dried fish, suchsmall parcels of oatmeal as they could obtain, and plenty of peat forfuel. There they were now sitting at supper over a good fire, kindledin a deep sand, which would afford a warm and soft bed--they were atsupper while the widow was waiting for them in pain and anxiety--and, atlast, in cold and dreariness. 

When the fire was low, she rose painfully from her seat, to feed it, andto trim and light the lamp. Alas! there were no peats in the corner. She knew there were plenty at mid-day: but Lady Carse had, at the lastmoment, bethought herself that the fuel in the cave might be damp, andhad carried off those in the corner, desiring Rollo to bring in morefrom the stack to dry; and this Rollo had neglected to do. The firewould be quite out in an hour. Annie saw that she must attempt to getout to the stack. She did attempt it; but the stormy blast and thethick cold drizzle so drove against her that she could not stand it, andcould only with difficulty shut the door. She turned to her lamp, tolight it while the fire was yet alive. There was but little oil in it. She reached out her hand for the oil can. It was not there. Rollo hadconsidered that the lady would want light in the cave; Lady Carse hadconsidered that the widow might for one night make a good fire serve herpurposes; and so the oil can was gone to the same place with the peats. 

Annie sank down on her seat, almost subdued. Not quite subdued, however, even by this threat of the baffling of the great object of herlife. Not quite subdued, for her heart and her ear were yet open to thevoices of nature. 

The scream of a sea-bird reached her, as the creature was swept by onthe blast. 

"That is for me, " she said to herself, the blood returning to herstricken heart and pale cheek. "How God sends His creatures to teach usat the moment when we need His voice! I have seen the cormorant sittingin his hole in wintry weather, --sitting there for days together, hungryand cold, trying now and then to get out, and driven back by such ablast as he cannot meet, --by such a blast as this. And then he sits onpatiently, and moves no more till the wind lulls and the sky clears. And if his wing is weak at first it soon strengthens. The blast drivesme back to-night; but I, who have thoughts to rest upon, may well bearwhat a winged creature can. That screamer was sent to me. I wonderwhat has become of it. I hope it is not swept quite away. "

But it would not do to sit thinking while the fire was just out, and thelamp likely to burn only an hour. She lighted the lamp withdifficulty, --with a beating heart and trembling hands, lest the lastavailable spark should go out first. But the wick caught; and the lampwas placed in the window, sending, as it seemed to Annie, a gleamthrough the night of her own mind, as well as through that of the stormyair. It quickened her invention and her hopes. 

"There is an hour yet, " thought she. "I am sure it will burn an hour;and something may be sent by that time. "

She took off her cotton handkerchief, tore off the hem, and ravelled outthe cotton as quickly as she could, and twisted it into a wick which shethought she could fix by a skewer across a tin cup from which Rollodrank his whisky when at home. She brought down from the chimney andlooked over rapidly all the oily parts of the fish, and every fattyportion of the dried meat hung up in the smoke for winter use; and theseshe made a desperate endeavour to melt in the flames of her lamp. Shewrung out a few drops, --barely enough to soak her wick. This would notburn five minutes. She persevered to the last moment, --saying toherself, "Not once for these seventeen years since I saw my husbanddrown, has there been a dark night between this window and the sea. Notonce has my spark been put out: and I will not think it now. God cankindle fire where He pleases. I have heard tell that people in foreigncountries have seen a lightning-shaft dart down into a forest, and makea tree blaze up like a torch. God has His own ways. "

All the while her hands wrought so busily that she scarcely felt theiraching in the cold of the night. But now her new wick was wanted, forthe old was going out. It blazed up, but she saw it must soon be gone. She broke up her old stool, all shattered as it was already. Somesplinters she stuck one after another into the lamp; and then she burnedthe larger pieces in the hearth, saying to herself incessantly, as iffor support, "God has His own ways. "

But the rising and falling flame became more and more uncertain; and atlast, very suddenly, it went quite out. There was not, in anotherminute, a spark left. 

For a while there was silence in the cottage, now dark for the firsttime since Annie was a widow. She crept to her cold bed; and there, under cover of the strange darkness she shed a few tears. But soon shesaid to herself, "God has His own ways of kindling our spirits as wellas the flame of a lamp. Perhaps by humbling me, or by changing my dutywhen I became too fond of it, He may warm my heart to new trust in Him. His will be done! But He will let me pray that there may be none in theharbour this night who may drown, or be buffeted in the storm because Heis pleased to darken my light. "

Before she had quite calmed her heart with this prayer, there was noiseat a little distance, and red gleams on the fitful mist which drove pastthe window; and then followed a loud knocking at the door. 

It was Macdonald with his people, come to see whether the lady was safe. He looked perplexed and uneasy when Annie told him that she could notthink that the lady could be otherwise than safe, now she knew theplaces about the island so well, and was so fearless. It often happenedthat she was absent for a night and day; and no doubt the storm had thisnight detained her and her companions in some sheltered place, --someplace where, she had reason to believe, they had fire and light. As forherself, when Annie saw the torch that Macdonald carried, her eyesglistened in the blaze, and she said once more in the depth of her mind, "Surely God has His own ways. "

Macdonald was very wrathful when he learned by questioning Annie how itwas that her house was dark. As he hastily kindled the peats he broughtin from the stack, he muttered that it seemed to have pleased God toafflict the island again with a witch, after all the pains that weretaken twenty years before, as he well remembered, to clear the place ofone. This woman must be a witch--

"Nay, " said Annie. "I take her to be sent to us for good. Let us waitand learn. "

"Good? What good?"

"It is through her, you see, that I find how kind a neighbour you are, at need, " replied Annie; not adding aloud what she was thinking of, --howthis night had proved that God brings help at the least likely moments. 

"She is a witch, " Macdonald persisted. "No power short of that couldhave quenched your lamp, and drawn away your only son from honouring hisparent to be a slave to a stranger. "

As Annie could not at the moment speak, Macdonald went on raising aflame meantime by flapping the end of his plaid. 

"It is the chapel, I know. Things have never gone well for any lengthof time here since the chapel fell completely down, and the bleat of thekid came out from where the psalm ought to sound. We must applyourselves to build up the chapel; and, as there is a minister coming, wemay hope to be released from witches and every kind of curse. "

"There will be little room for any kind of curse, " thought Annie, "whenthe minister has taught us to `be kindly affectioned one to another, 'and not to make our little island more stormy with passions than it everis with tempests of wind and hail. "

"There, now, there is a good fire for you, " said Macdonald, rising fromhis knees; "and I won't ask you. Annie, what was in your mind as theblaze made your eyes shine. I won't ask you, because you might tell methat I am in need of the minister, to make me merciful to a banishedlady. Ah, your smile shows that that is what you were thinking of. ButI can tell you this: she is a wicked woman. Her father committedmurder, and she is quite able and willing to do the same thing. So Imust go and find her, and take care that her foot is set in no boat butmine. "

"Yours?"

"Yes. I must carry her out of the way of all boats but mine. Thisisland was chosen for such a purpose, and now--"

"And now, " said Annie, "if the lady is afflicted with such hardness ofheart, is it not cruel to take her away from God's word and worship, just when there is a minister coming? Oh, Macdonald! what would you doto one who should carry away your poor sick little Malcolm to SaintKilda, just when your watching eye caught sight of an eastward sail, andyou knew it was the physician coming; sent, moreover, for Malcolm'ssake? What would you think then, Macdonald?"

"I should think that if Sir Alexander was in it there could be nothingdone, and there ought to be nothing said. And Sir Alexander is in this, so I must go. "

While Macdonald and his people were beating about among the caves, asmorning drew on, Lady Carse and Rollo slipped up to the house, partly tosecure a few more comforts that they had a mind for, and partly toobtain a wide view over the sea, and a certainty whether any boats werein sight. 

"Have you brought up my oil can, Rollo?" asked his mother. "If not, youmust go for it, and never again touch it without my leave. "

"I took it, " said Lady Carse; "and I cannot spare it. "

"It cannot be spared from this room, my lady. It never left this roombefore but by my order, and it never must again. "

"It shall never leave the place where it now is, " declared Lady Carse, reddening. "I threw myself on your hospitality, and you grudge me lightin the night. You, who are housed in a cottage of your own, with afire, and everything comfortable about you--that is, every comfort thata poor woman like you knows how to value. You think yourself veryreligious, I am aware, and I rather believe you think yourselfcharitable, too; and you grudge me your oil can, when there is no onething on earth you can do for me but lend it. "

"Your way of thinking is natural, my lady, till you better know me andmy duty. But to-day I must say that the oil can is mine, and I cannotlend it. You will please desire Rollo to bring it to me. "

"I know well enough about you and your duty, as you call it. I knowyour particularity about a fancy of your own. I know well enough howobstinate you are about it, and how selfish, that you would sacrifice meto your whim about your duty, and your husband, and all that set ofnotions. And I know more. I know what it is to have a husband, andthat you ought to be thankful that yours was gone before he could playthe tyrant over you. You pretend to speak with authority because thiscottage is yours, and your precious oil can, and your rotten oldbedstead. But, besides that, I can teach you many things. You may beassured I can pay you for more oil than I shall burn to the end of mydays, and for more sleeps than I hope ever to have on your old bed. Youneed not fear but that I shall pay for everything--pay more money thanyou ever saw in your life. "

"Money will not do, madam. I must have my oil can. Rollo will fetchit. And you will lie down, my lady--lie down and rest on my old bed, without thinking of money, or of anything but ease to your head and yourweary heart. Lie down in safety here, madam, for your head and yourheart are aching sadly. "

"What do you know about my head and heart aching?"

"By more signs than one. When anyone is hunted like the deer upon thehills--"

Lady Carse groaned. 

"That is only for a while, however, " said Annie, tenderly. "When thereis peace of mind, there is no one to hunt us--no one to hurt us. Weabide here or anywhere; for the shadow of the Almighty is everywhere. No one can hunt us from it, nor hurt us within it. And I assure you, mylady, this is the place of all places for peace of mind. "

"I hurt you just now, however, " said the lady; "and I left you littlepeace of mind last night. "

"If so, it must be my own fault, " said Annie, cheerfully. "But nevermind that. I never have any troubles now hardly; and you, madam, haveso many, and such sad ones. "

"That is true, " said Lady Carse, as burning tears forced their way. "You never knew--you cannot conceive--such misery as mine. "

Annie kissed the hand which was wet with those scalding tears, and laidher own hand on the head which was shaken on the pillow with sobs. 

After a time, the lady murmured out, "This seems very childish: but itis so long--so long since anyone--since I met with any tenderness--anyaffection from anyone!"

"Is that it?" said the widow, cheerfully. "Well--this is a poor placeenough; and we are no companions for anybody beyond ourselves: but whatyou speak of is ours to give. That you may always depend on here. "

"In spite of anything I may say or do? You see how hasty I am at times. Will you love me and caress me, through anything I may say or do?"

"No doubt, " replied Annie, smiling. "It will be the happiest way if youconstrain us to love and cherish you as your due. But if not, these arecharities that God has put into every hand that is reached out to Him, that the very humblest and poorest may have the best of alms to give. "

"Alms!" sighed the lady. She shook off the kind hand that was upon heraching brow, for the thought struck upon her heart that she was adestitute beggar for those smallest offices of kindness and courtesywhich she had not affections or temper to reciprocate or claim. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

THE COVE. 

Rollo brought word that Macdonald and his people had left the easterncaves, and were now exploring the large northern one called Asdrafil. It was time the lady was returning to her hiding place. 

"O dear!" exclaimed she. "May I not rest under a roof for one night?Will Macdonald come here again so soon?"

The widow had little doubt he would. He would be popping in at alltimes of the day or night till he could learn where his prisoner was. She could not advise the lady to stay here, if she wished to remain onthe island till the minister came. 

"I must, " said Lady Carse. "But I dread that cave. I hate it, with itsechoes that startle one every moment, and the rough walls that look sostrangely in the red light of the fire. I hate it. But, " she continuedimpetuously, "no matter! I hate this place" (looking round withdisgust). "I hate every place that I ever was in. I wish I was dead. I wish I had never been born. Now don't look at me so piteously. Iwon't be pitied. I can't bear to be pitied: and do you think I will letyou pity me? No, indeed, I may have my own troubles. God knows I havetroubles enough. But I would not change places with you--no, not forall else that God or man could give me. Now what are you smiling at?Woman, do you mean to insult my misfortunes? I am brought low indeed, if I am to be smiled at by a hag in a desert--I who once--O! I see; youdon't choose to yield me the small respect of listening to what I say. "

Annie was now looking round her cottage to see what she could send downto render the lady more comfortable in her retreat. She tried to absorbher own attention in this business till Lady Carse should have exhaustedher anger and become silent. But Lady Carse once again seized the oilcan. 

"Pardon me, madam, " said Annie, "I cannot spare that, as you know. Rollo is carrying some things that I hope may make you comfortable. Ifyou see anything else that you wish for, you shall have it--anything butmy lamp and my oil. "

"The oil is the only thing I want; and a small matter it is for me, whohad dozens of wax-lights burning in my house at Edinburgh, and will havedozens more before I die. "

"Your fire must serve you, madam. I give you what I have to bestow. Mylight is not mine to give: it belongs to wanderers on the sea. Youcannot think, madam, of taking what belongs, as I may say, neither toyou nor me. "

Lady Carse had that in her countenance at this moment which alarmed thewidow for her light; and she therefore desired her son, with authority, to relieve the lady of the oil can, and trim the lamp ready for night. 

Lady Carse, setting her teeth, and looking as malicious as an ill-bredcur, said that if the light belonged to nobody here nobody else shouldhave the benefit of it; and attempted to empty the oil upon the hearth. This was more than Rollo was disposed to permit. He seized her arm withno gentle grasp, and saved all the oil but a few drops, which blazedamongst the peats. He moreover told the lady, with an air ofsuperiority, that he had almost begun to think she had as much wit asthe islanders; but that he now saw his mistake; and she must manage herown affairs. He should stay with his mother to-night. 

It was his mother who, rebuking his incivility, desired him to attendupon the lady. It was his mother who, when Lady Carse burst away fromthem and said she would be followed by nobody, awoke in Rollo somethingof the feeling which she herself entertained. 

"Carry down these things, " she said. "It is too true; as she says, thatevery place is hateful to her; and that is the more reason why we shoulddo what we can to make some comfort in the place she is in. "

"But she says such things to you, mother! I don't want to hear any moresuch things. "

"When people are in torment, Rollo, they do not know what they say. Andshe has much to torment her, poor lady! Now go; and let us try to hideher from Macdonald. If she and the minister can have speech of eachother, I trust she may become more settled in mind. You know God hasmade His creatures to differ one from another. There are some that sitall the more still in storms; and there are others that are sadlybewildered in tempests: but, if one ray of God's sun is sent to them, itis like a charm. They stop and watch it; and when it spreads aboutthem, it seems to change their nature: they lie down and bask in it, andfind content. It may be so with this lady if the minister gives her aglimpse of light from above. "

"She shall not be carried off, if David and I can hide her, " declaredRollo. "One of us must watch the Macdonalds, while the other entertainsthe lady. "

"While she entertains you, you mean, " said Annie, smiling. "She hasmany wonderful things to tell to such as we are. "

"Not more than we have to tell her. Why, mother, she knows no more--"

"Well, well, " said the mother, smiling; "you cannot do wrong in amusingher to the best of your ability, till she can see the minister, and hearbetter things. So go, my son. "

Rollo trimmed the lamp; saw that his mother was provided with fuel andwater, and departed; leaving her maternal heart cheered, so that heralmost bare cottage was like a palace to her. She was singing whenMacdonald put his head in, as he said, to bid her good night, but infact to see if Lady Carse had come home, David and Rollo acted in turnas scouts; and from their report it appeared that, though the minister'sboat had not shown itself, there was a blockade of the eastern caves. The lady's retreat was certainly suspected to be somewhere in this partof the shore; for some of Macdonald's people were always in sight. Nowand then, a man, or a couple of women, came prying along the rocks; andonce two men took shelter in a cave which adjoined that in which thetrembling lady was sitting, afraid to move, and almost to breathe, lestthe echoes should betray her. The entrance to her retreat was socuriously concealed by projections of rock, that she had nothing to fearbut from sound. But she could not be sure of this; and she would haveextinguished her fire by heaping sand upon it, and left herself in totaldarkness in a labyrinth which was always sufficiently perplexing, ifRollo had not held her hand. He stepped cautiously through the sand tothe nearest point to the foe, listened awhile, and then smiled andnodded to Lady Carse, and seemed wonderfully delighted. This excitedher impatience so much that it seemed to her that the enemy would neverdecamp. She was obliged to control herself; but by the time she mightspeak, she was very irritable. She told Rollo not to grin and fidget inthat manner, but to let her know his news. 

"Great news!" Rollo declared. "The sloop which was to bring theminister and his wife was to lie-to this very night, in a deep coveclose at hand; and the reason for its coming here, instead of into theharbour, was--the best of reasons for the lady--that Macdonald had fearsthat the Macleods who manned the vessel would be friendly to hisprisoner. So the minister and his party were to be landed in thesloop's yawl; and the sloop was to be quietly brought into the coveafter dark, that the lady, supposed to be still on the island, might nothave _any_ opportunity of getting on board. "

This did appear a most promising opportunity of deliverance. The sloopcame round when expected; and, soon after she was moored, Rollo andDavid went on their raft, and spoke from it to a man who appeared to bein command, and who was, after some time, persuaded to think that hecould, for sufficient payment, go so far out of his way as to land alady passenger on the main--the lady being in anxiety about her family, and able to pay handsomely for an early opportunity of joining them. The negotiation was rather a long one, as some of the points weredifficult to arrange; and the master of the vessel appeared somewhatcareless about the whole matter. But at last Lady Carse's anxious earheard the slight splash of the raft approaching through the water; andthen the tall figures of the young men were dimly seen between her andthe sky. Her tongue was so parched that she could not speak thequestion which swelled in her heart. 

"Come, " said Rollo, aloud. "The master will land you on the main. Youhad better get on board now, before the sea roughens. Come, they arelooking out for you. "

Lady Carse endeavoured to make haste; but her limbs would hardly supporther. Her companions lifted her upon the raft, and one held her steadywhile the other paddled. Strong arms were ready on board the sloop tohoist her up and carry her to a heap of plaids, made into a sort of bedon deck. In another moment she sprang up, saying that she must speak toher companions one more word. A sailor who stood over her held herback; but she declared that she must thank those who had rendered her agreat service. At the bidding of someone who spoke in Gaelic, thesailor withdrew his opposition, and she tottered to the side of thevessel, called to Rollo, desired him to give her love to his mother, andpromised that he and David should find that she was not ungrateful. 

Rollo and his comrade leaped ashore with a comfortable feeling thattheir business was all achieved; but yet with some little regret atlosing the excitements of their late employment, and of the lady'spresence and conversation. They talked her over while eating theirsuppers, wondered what rewards she would send, and how angry Macdonaldwould be; and they were about to lie down to sleep, when the night airwas rent by such a scream as they had never heard. They ran out uponthe rocks, and there they heard from the sloop shriek upon shriek. 

"What is it?" exclaimed David. "They are murdering her!"

"No, " said Rollo, after a pause. "They may be up to that, if this is atrick; but they would not do it here, nor so soon. They could do itmore safely between this and Saint Kilda, with a rope and heavy stone. No--they are not murdering her, whoever they may be. "

"What, then? Who are they?"

"It may be a trick, and that would put the lady in a great passion; andwhen she is in a passion, let me tell you, not all the birds in the faceof this rock can make more noise. I am not sure, but I think that is apassionate scream. "

"I wish it would leave off, " said David, turning away. "I don't likeit. "

"If you don't like it, " said Rollo, "I should hardly think she can. Imust see about it. I think it is a trick, and that she is in apassion. "

It was a trick from beginning to end. It was Macdonald's sloop; andMacdonald himself was on board, prepared to carry his prisoner to SaintKilda. The conversation overheard by Rollo in the cavern was a trick. A similar conversation had been held that day in _every_ cave known toMacdonald along that part of the shore, in hopes of some one versionbeing overheard by the lady's accomplices. She had fallen into the trapvery easily. 

"And now, " said Macdonald to a clansman, "I have nearly done with thebusiness. _We_ have only to land her in Saint Kilda; and then it willbe the Macleod's affair. I shall be glad to have done with the witch. I have no wish to carry people anywhere against their wishes; and Inever would, if Sir Alexander Macdonald were not in it. But I shallhave done with the business presently. "

CHAPTER TEN. 

WHICH REFUGE?

Macdonald's self congratulations were premature. He had more uneasinessto undergo about the lady than he had suffered yet. When her screams ofrage had sunk into sobs and moans, and these again had been succeeded bysilence, he had left her undisturbed to cry herself to sleep. Atdaylight he had gone to take a look, but she had, as he supposed, muffled herself up in the plaids provided for her, so as to cover herhead, and thus conceal her face. But it soon after appeared that theseplaids had nothing under them--the lady was not there. 

No one had seen her move; and it must have been done in the thickestdarkness of the night. One man had heard a splash in the wateralongside. A cotton handkerchief, which she had worn on her head, wasfound floating. It was to be feared that the lady had drowned herself. After searching about in the neighbourhood all day, Macdonald departedin his vessel, leaving a man to watch, in case of the body being thrownup among the rocks. He had now no doubt of her death; and with a heavyheart he went to confide this event--unfortunate for him, whether so ornot for anyone else--first to friends on the island, and next to hischief. He met the minister on his landing, and took the opportunity ofwhispering his news to some of those who came down to greet the pastor, to his own wife, and to Annie Fleming, desiring them not to inform thepastor, without his permission, that such a person as Lady Carse hadbeen among them. Then he set sail for Skye, to tell Sir Alexander, withwhat face he might, that the poor lady would trouble them no more. Itwould have been a vast relief to him to have anticipated the way inwhich his chief would receive the news--how he would say that a greatperplexity was thus solved--that no harm could ensue, as the lady wasburied so long ago at Edinburgh--and that he had himself many timesrepented having gone into the affair, and that he never would, but forpolitical and party reasons, and that he was heartily glad now to bequit of it, in any way--to say nothing of this being, after all, a happyevent for the wretched lady herself and all belonging to her. 

Meanwhile Lady Carse was not yet out of their way. She had still voiceto utter political secrets, and temper all eager to punish her foes. She had slipped away in the dark, thrown herself overboard when shefound Rollo below, got drenched with sea-water and bruised against therocks, but was safe in hiding again. 

Rollo's trouble was, that she laughed so heartily and so incessantly forsome time, that there was danger of her merriment betraying her. Hetold her at last that she must try if she would leave off laughing whenleft to herself. If she could not, she would then, at any rate, causeno one but herself to be taken. He should go by a way of his own to apoint whence he could look out and see what was doing at sea and ashore. 

When he reappeared, it was with a face which would have stopped anylaughter on the side of the lady, if the laughter had not stopped ofitself long before. She must not hope to escape by the minister's boat. Macdonald had so managed his plot as to allure the lady into his boatjust when she should have been attempting to get on board the other. Itwas too late now. 

The lady would not be finally convinced of this till, by Rollo'sassistance, she had reached the spot whence she could observe the factsfor herself. The knowledge that there was a watch set below, who wouldnot fail to take her alive, though his affair was to pick up her deadbody, kept her from yielding to audible grief, but never had she beenmore convulsed with passion. She pulled up the heather by handfuls. She dashed her head against the ground, till Rollo restrained her. 

On the dun wintry sea a vessel was sailing northwards. It had depositedthe pastor and his lady, and had actually passed and repassed the veryshore where she had been concealed. The long looked for vessel had comeand gone. Another was sailing eastwards in the direction she longed togo. This was Macdonald's; and seeing that it was going to Skye or themain, she now bitterly lamented having left it. She would not believe aword about the intention to carry her to Saint Kilda. She would ratherbelieve her own eyes, and passionately condemned herself for her hastein returning to this dreary island. 

Rollo next turned her attention to the little procession which appearedupon the hills, bringing the pastor and his wife to their new abode. She looked that way; she saw the group ascending the hill--a sight sounusual in this place, that Rollo was much excited about it; but hereyes kept filling with tears, and she was so heart-sick that she couldnot bear any thoughts but of her own troubles. She desired Rollo toleave her. She wanted to be alone; nobody had any feeling for her;people might go and amuse themselves; all she wanted was to live and diealone. 

Rollo knew that she could not do that, but he wished to go where otherswere going--said to himself that the lady would be the better for beingleft to herself for awhile, and left her accordingly. He first askedher whether he should help her down to the cave, but she made no answer, so he walked off, leaving her lying on the heather in a cold and drearyplace. 

She did not feel the cold, and she was too dreary within to be sensibleof the desolation without. How deserted she felt as she saw Rollowalking away, quickening his pace to a run when he reached the down. Itmight be said that she was without a hope in heaven or on earth, butthat passion always hopes for its own gratification--always expects it, in defiance of all probability, and in opposition to all reason. Thisis one chief mode in which the indulgence of any kind of passion iscorrupting. It injures the integrity of the faculties and thetruthfulness of the mind, inducing its victims to trust to chancesinstead of likelihood, and to dwell upon extravagances till they becomeincapable of seeing things as they are. 

So Lady Carse now presently forgot that she was alone on a hill in a farisland of the Hebrides, with no means of getting away, and no chance ofletting any friend know that she was not buried long ago--and herimagination was busy in London. She fancied herself there, and, if oncethere, how she would accomplish her revenge. She imagined herselftalking to the minister, and repeating to him the things her husband hadwritten and said against himself and the royal family. She imaginedherself introduced to the king, and telling into his anxious ear thetidings of the preparations made for driving him from the throne andrestoring the exiled family. She imagined the list made out of thetraitors to be punished, at the top of which she would put the names ofher own foes--her husband first, and Lord Lovat next. She imagined theking's grateful command to her to accompany his messengers to Scotland, that she might guide and help them to seize the offenders. She claspedher hands behind her head in a kind of rapture when she pictured toherself the party stealing a march upon her formal husband, presentingthemselves before him, and telling him what they came for--marking, andshowing him how they marked his deadly paleness, perhaps by makingcourteous inquiries about his health. She feasted her fancy on scenesin the presence of her old acquaintance, Duncan Forbes, when she woulddistress him by driving home her charges against the friends of hisyouth, and by appeals to his loyalty, which he could not resist. Shepictured to herself the trials and the sentences--and then theexecutions--her slow driving through the streets in her coach in herfull triumph, people pointing her out all the way as the lady who waspretended to be dead and buried, but who had come back, in favour withthe king, to avenge him and herself at once on their common enemies. She wondered whether Lord Lovat's cool assurance would give way at sucha moment--she almost feared not--almost shrank already from the idea ofsome wounding gibe--frowned and clenched her hands while fancying whatit would be, and then smiled at the thought of how she would smile, andbow an eternal farewell to the dying man, reminding him of her oldpromise to sit at a window and see his head fall. 

But the astonishment to all Edinburgh would be when she should look ontriumphantly to see her husband die. He had played the widower in sightof all Edinburgh, and now it would be seen how great was the lie, andnobody could dispute that the widowhood was hers. She hoped that hewould turn his prim figure and formal face her way, that she might makehim, too, an easy bow, showing how she despised the hypocrite, and howcompletely he had failed in breaking her spirit. She hoped she shouldbe in good looks at that time, not owning the power of her enemies bylooking worn and haggard. She must consider her appearance a littlemore than she had done lately in view of this future time. Her beingsomewhat weather-browned would not matter; it would be rather anadvantage, as testifying to her banishment; but she must be incomfortable plight, and for this purpose--

Here her meditations were cut short by the approach of some people. Sheheard a pony's feet on the rock, and caught sight of a woman's head, wrapped in a plaid, as the party mounted directed towards her. It wastoo late for escape--and there was no need. The woman on the pony wasAnnie; and nobody else was there but Rollo. 

"The wonder is that you are not frozen, " said Rollo, "if you have beenlying here all this time. You look as red in the face, and as warm asif you had been by the fire below in the snug sand. And that is wherewe must go now directly; for mother cannot stand the cold up here. Shewould come, as it happened she could have one of Macdonald's poniesto-day. Well, I cannot but think how you could keep yourself warm, unless you are a witch as Macdonald says you are. "

"It is the mother's heart in her, Rollo, that keeps out the cold and theharm, " said Annie. "It may be a wonder to you; for how should you knowwhat it is to have had a hope of seeing one's children, to have dreamedof nothing else, waking or sleeping, and then to find it nothing but adream. See her now, Rollo, as the cold comes over her heart. The heartcan live warm on its own thoughts, when it is chilling to hear anothervoice speak of them. "

Lady Carse was now very pale. She had once said, and then fullybelieved it, that she had no shame. It was long since she had feltshame. She felt it now, when it struck her that during all her longreveries about her escape and her restoration to the world, not onethought of her children had entered into the imagery of her dream. Likeall people of strong passions, she had taken for granted that there wassomething grand and fine in the intensity of her feelings. Now, for amoment, the clear mirror of Annie's mind was held up before her own, andshe saw herself as she was. For one instant she perceived that she wasworthy of her husband's detestation. But she was not one to toleratepainful and humbling ideas long. She recurred to her unequalled wrongs, and was proud and comforted. She walked down to her retreat withoutlooking behind her, leaving Rollo to tether the pony, and help hismother down as he could. 

When Annie entered the cave, the drops were standing on her face, sogreat had been the pain to her rheumatic limbs on descending to theshore. 

"But, " said she, as she sank down on the sand by the smouldering fire, "I could not but come, when I heard from Rollo that you were stillbreathing God's air. "

"Do you mean that that was good news or bad?"

"Oh, good! Surely good news. At first, for a moment after Macdonaldtold me you were drowned in the night, I felt thankful that yourtroubles were over. But I soon saw it the right way; and when Rollowhispered you were--"

"What do you mean by seeing it the right way? How do you know that yourfirst feeling was not the right one? I am sure it was the kindest tome. You think yourself religious, and so you ought to be glad when anunhappy person is `where the wicked cease from troubling, and the wearyare at rest. '"

Annie did not reply. She was looking at the fire, and by its light itmight be seen that tears were gathering in her eyes. 

"Ah!" said the irritable lady, "you, and such as you, who think youabide in the Scriptures so that nothing can move you; what becomes ofyou when you are answered by Scripture?"

"I do not feel myself answered, " Annie quietly replied. "Oh, indeed!"

"I feel what you said out of Scripture to be quite true; and that it isa great blessing that God has set the quiet grave before our eyes forsuch as can find no other rest. But I would not forget that there isanother and a better rest, without waiting for the grave. "

"You are so narrow, Annie! You judge of everybody by yourself!"

"That is a great danger I know, " Annie agreed. "And I cannot speak frommy own knowledge of being troubled by the wicked. But I have read andheard much of good men who were buffeted by the wicked for the best partof their lives, and at last got over being troubled by it, and more thanthat. "

"Ah! gloried in it, no doubt. Everyone is proud of something; and theywere proud of that. "

"Some such I fear there may have often been, madam; but I was notthinking of those that could fall into such a snare as being proud ofthe ill-will of their brethren. I was thinking of some who felt the illopinion of their brethren to be very humbling, and who humbledthemselves to bear it. Then in time they had comfort in forgiving theirenemies, and at last they grew fit for a sweeter pleasure still whichyet remained. Not that, as I believe, they spoke of it, unless atmoments when the joy would speak for itself; but then it has been knownto burst forth from the lips of the persecuted--from some as cruellypersecuted as you, madam, that of all the thrillings that God's spiritmakes in men's hearts, there is none so sweet as the first stirrings ofthe love of enemies. "

There was no answer, and Annie went on. 

"I could believe that there is no love so altogether good--at least forus here. It is as yearning as that of a mother for her child, and astender as that of lovers; and I should say, more holy than either, fortheirs is natural to them in their mortal life, though it may be thepurest part of it; the other love is an instinct belonging to theimmortal life, a tongue of fire, sent down upon the head of a chosen onehere and there, gifting them with the language of angels, to tell us onthis side the grave what we shall find beyond. One must see that tosuch as these the wicked have ceased from troubling, and their wearinesshas long sunk into rest without help from death. "

Lady Carse sighed. 

"This was why I was glad, madam, to hear that death had not overtakenyou yet. If you may enter into a living rest which we may see, thatwill, under God's blessing, be better than the blank rest of going awayfrom your enemies, when their old wrongs may be still in your heart, making death a stinging serpent instead of a guiding dove. "

Some sweet old words here occurred to Lady Carse, linked with a sweetold psalm tune--words of longing to have wings like a dove, to flee awayand be at rest. She murmured these words; and they brought softeningtears. 

"You see, madam, " said Annie, "your nest is made for you. You have beenpermitted to flee away from your enemies! now you are not to have wings, for the sails of the vessels are out of sight, and this makes it plainthat here is to be your nest. It is but a stormy place to abide in, tobe sure; but if Christ be sought, He is here to command peace, and thewinds and the sea obey Him. "

"I cannot stay here, " sobbed Lady Carse. "I cannot give up my hopes andmy efforts--the only aim of my life. "

"It _is_ hard, " said the widow, with starting tears. "The last thingthat a mother can give up, --the very last thing she can lay freely intoGod's hand is her yearning for her children. But you will--"

"It is not my children that I most want. You say falsely that they arethe last to be given up. There is--"

"Falsely!" cried Rollo, springing to his feet. "My mother speakfalsely! If you dare--"

"Gently, my boy, " said Annie. "We have not heard what the lady means. "

"Be quiet, Rollo, " said Lady Carse. "Your mother speaks falsely asregards me; but I do not say that it is not after her own kind that shespeaks. If God gives me to see my children, I will thank him devoutly;but there is another thing that I want more--revenge on all my enemies, and on my husband first. "

Rollo looked breathlessly at his mother. Her face was calm; but hecould see in the dim red light its expression of infinite sorrow. Sheasked her son to help her to rise and go. 

"I came, " said she to Lady Carse, "to entreat you to come among us, andrest in a spirit of surrender to God, on His clear showing that Hechooses this to be your abiding place; and one reason for my coming wasto tell you that the minister has brought his children, lest the sightof a child's face should move you too suddenly. But I see that yourthoughts are on other things; and that your spirit of surrender has yetto be prayed for. Next Sabbath, we are to have worship once more, and--"

"Where?"

"In the old chapel, if it can be enclosed by that time. If not, we mustwait another week: but I think it will be done. It needs but a word, madam, and the minister will ask all our prayers for one underaffliction--"

"By no means. I forbid you to speak of me, in one way or another, tothe minister or his wife. I insist on my wishes being observed inthis. "

"Certainly, madam. It is not for us to interfere with your plans. "

"Then go; go both of you: and do not come near me without my leave. Iwant to be alone--I want to be at rest; that is--"

"Ay--at rest, " said Annie, half aloud. She was thinking that therewould be prayers from one heart at least in the chapel for peace to atroubled spirit. 

And she did not wait for the Sabbath to pray. As, assisted by her son, she painfully ascended to the heights, she saw the birds fly in and out, and hover round on the face of the precipice, as at a bidding she didnot hear, she could not but silently ask that God would send His dove toharbour in the hollow of this rock with one who sorely needed avisitation of His peace. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

FOLDING THE FLOCK. 

After the busiest week known in the island by anybody living there, theSabbath-day came in, calm and mild. The winters, however stormy, werenever severely cold in this sea-beaten spot. It was seldom that ice wasseen; and it was never more than half an inch thick. When, as on thisSunday, the wind was lulled and the sky was clear, the climate was asmild as in spring on the mainland. As soon as the aspect of the sunriseshowed the experienced that the day would be fair, busy hands moved intothe old roofless chapel the pulpit and benches which the pastor hadbrought with him--the pulpit being a mere desk of unpainted wood, andthe benches of the roughest sort. For these the interior space of theold building had been cleared during the week; the floor was troddenhard and even; the walls were so far repaired as to make a completeenclosure; and some rough stones were placed as steps whereby to enterthe burying-ground. Some willing hands had done more--had cleared theburying-ground of stones, so that the graves, though sunk, and unmarkedby any memorial but a rough and broken headstone here and there, couldbe distinguished by an eye interested in searching out the dead of acentury ago. 

Another week, if sufficiently fair, was to see the walls finished andthe roof on: and afterwards would be discharged the pious task ofenclosing the burying-ground, and preparing room for those whom deathwould lay to rest in their own island. While the minister remainedhere, no more of the dead would be carried over the sea to some placewhere there was a pastor to commit them to the grave. Room was to besecured for the graves of the fifty people who were now living on theisland, and for their children after them: and to all the inhabitantsthe island appeared a better place when this arrangement was made. 

In the weak sunlight of that Sunday morning appeared gay groups ofpeople, all excited with the great thought that they were going to thekirk. They were wonderfully cell clad. How such clothes could come outof such dwellings would have been a marvel to any stranger. Festivaldays were so rare that a holiday dress lasted for many years. Thewomen's cloth coats fitted at any age; and the caps with gay ribbons andbright cotton handkerchiefs did not wear out. On this remarkable dayall wore their best, and a pretty sight it was to see the whole fiftypeople drawing towards the chapel as the pastor, his wife, and twochildren, issued from their lowly abode to meet the flock for the firsttime. 

Presently the island might have appeared deserted. Far round as the eyecould reach not a human being was visible outside the chapel. Butsomething was heard which told that the place was not only inhabited, but Christianised. The slow psalm rose into the still air. Everyonewho could speak could sing a psalm. It was a practice lovingly kept upin every house. Some voices were tremulous, and a few failed; but thiswas from emotion. The strongest was Annie's, for hers was the mostpractised. It was her wont to sing some of the many psalms she knew onsummer days, when she sat at work on the platform of her house, and onwinter nights, when Rollo was away. Now that she was once more joiningin social worship, her soul was joyful, and she sang strong and clear--perhaps the more so for the thought of the one absent person, pining inthe cavern on the shore, or looking from afar, in desolation of heart, at the little throng who came privileged to worship. Perhaps Annie'svoice might unconsciously rise as if to reach the lonely one, and inviteher to come to the house of God and seek rest. However this might be, Annie's tones so animated some hearts and strengthened some voices asthat the psalm might be, and was, heard a long way off. It reached anunwilling ear, and drew forward reluctant steps. The links of oldassociation, are, however, the strongest of chains, and no charm is somagical as that of religious emotion. Lady Carse was drawn nearer andnearer, in hope of hearing ano, her psalm, till the solemn tones ofprayer reached her, and presently she was crouching under the walloutside, weeping like a sinner who dares not knock at the gate ofheaven. 

Before the service was quite finished, angry voices were heard fromwithout, almost overpowering that of the pastor as he gave the blessing. One of Macdonald's people, who had stepped out to collect the poniesfor some of the women and children, had seen the lady, and, after onestart back as from the ghost of a drowned woman, had laid hold of hergown, and said she must stay where she could be spoken with by Macdonaldon his return from Skye. She struggled to escape, and did break away--not down the hill, but into the chapel. 

The consternation was inexpressible. The people, supposing her drowned, took her for a ghost, though there was no ghostly calm about her; buther eyes were swollen, her hair disordered, her lips quivering withviolent emotion. There was a solemnity about her, too; for extremeanguish is always solemn, in proportion as it approaches to despair. She rushed to the front of the pulpit, and held out her hands, exclaiming aloud to Mr Ruthven that she was the most persecuted andtormented of human beings; that she appealed to him against herpersecutors; and if he did not see her righted, she warned him that hewould be damned deeper than hell. Mrs Ruthven shuddered, and left herseat to place herself by her husband. And now she encountered the poorlady's gaze, and, moreover, had her own grasped as it had never beenbefore. 

"Are these children yours?" she was asked. 

"Yes, " faltered Mrs Ruthven. 

"Then you must help me to recover mine. Had you ever, "--and here sheturned to the pastor--"had you ever an enemy?" Her voice turned hoarseas she uttered the word. 

"No--yes--Oh, yes!" said he. "I have had enemies, as every man has. "

"Then, as you wish them abased and tormented, you must help me to abaseand torment mine--my husband, and Lord Lovat--"

"Lord Lovat!" repeated many wondering voices. 

"And Sir Alexander Macdonald; and his tenant of this place; and--"

As Mr Ruthven looked round him, perplexed and amazed, one ofMacdonald's people went up to him, and whispered into his ear that thislady had come from some place above or below, for she was drowned lastweek. Mr Ruthven half smiled. 

"I will know, " cried the lady, "what that fellow said. I will hear whatmy enemies tell you against me. My only hope is in you. I am stolenfrom Edinburgh; they pretended to bury me there--Eh? what?" she cried, as another man whispered something into the pastor's other ear. "Mad!There! I heard it. I heard him say I was mad. Did he not tell you Iwas mad?"

"He did; and one cannot--really I cannot--"

As he looked round again in his perplexity, the widow rose from herseat, and said, "I know this lady; my son and I know her better thananyone else in the island does; and we should say that she is not mad. "

"_Not_ mad!" Mr Ruthven said, with a mingling of surprise in his tonewhich did not escape the jealous ear of Lady Carse. 

"Not mad, sir; but grievously oppressed. If you could quietly hear thestory, sir, at a fitting time--"

"Ay, ay; that will be best, " declared Mr Ruthven. 

"Let me go home with you, " said Lady Carse. "I will go home with you;and--"

Mrs Ruthven exchanged a glance with her husband, and then said, in anembarrassed way, while giving a hand to each of the two children whowere clinging to her, that their house was very small, extremely smallindeed, with too little room for the children, and none whatever leftover. 

"It is my house, " exclaimed Lady Carse, impatiently. "It was built witha view to you; but it was done under my orders, and I have a claim uponit. And what ails the children?" she cried, in a tone which made theyounger cry aloud. "What are they afraid of?"

"I don't know, I am sure, " said their mother, helping them, however, tohide their faces in her gown. "But--"

Again Annie rose and said, "There could be no difficulty about a placefor the lady if she would be pleased to do as she did before--live inher cottage. The two dwellings might almost be called one, and if thelady would go home with her--"

Gratitude was showered on Annie from all the parties. As the lady movedslowly towards the widow's house, holding Annie's arm, and weeping asshe went, and followed by the Ruthvens, the eyes of all the Macdonaldsgazed after her, in a sort of doubt whether she were a witch, or aghost, or really and truly a woman. 

As soon as Macdonald's sloop could be discerned on its approach the nextday, Mr Ruthven went down, and paced the shore while daylight lasted, though assured that the vessel would not come up till night. As soon asa signal could be made in the morning for the yawl, he passed to thesloop, where he had a conference with Macdonald, the consequence ofwhich was, that as soon as he was set ashore the sloop again stood outto sea. 

Mrs Ruthven and Lady Carse saw this, as they stood hand in hand at thedoor of the new dwelling. They kissed each other at the sight. Theyhad already kissed each other very often, for they called themselvesdear and intimate friends who had now one great common object in life--to avenge Lady Carse's wrongs. 

"Well, what news?" they both cried, as Mr Ruthven came towards them, panting from the haste with which he had ascended. 

"The tenant is gone back, " said he, "he has returned to Sir Alexander tocontradict his last news--of your being drowned. By-the-way, I promisedto contradict it, too--to the man who is watching for the body everytide. "

"Oh, he must have heard the facts from some of the people at thechapel. "

"If he had he would not believe them, Macdonald says, on any otherauthority than his. Nor will he leave his post till he finds the body, or--"

"Or sees me, " cried Lady Carse, laughing. "Come, let us go and call tohim, and tell him he may leave off poking among the weeds. Come; I willshow you the way. "

And she ran on with the spirits and pace of a girl. Mr and MrsRuthven looked at each other with smiles, and Mrs Ruthven exclaimed, "What a charming creature this was, and how shocking it was to think ofher cruel fate. " Mr Ruthven shook his head and declared that heregarded the conduct of her persecutors with grave moral disapprobation. Meantime Lady Carse looked back, beckoned to them with her hand, andstamped with her foot, because they were stopping to talk. 

"What a simple creature she is! So childlike!" exclaimed Mrs Ruthven. 

"We must quicken our pace, my dear, " replied her husband. "It would notbe right to detain the lady when she wishes to proceed. "

But now Lady Carse was beckoning to somebody else--to little KateRuthven, who, with her brother Adam, was peeping from the door of theirnew home. 

"Come, Katie, " said her mother, "don't you see that Lady Carse callsyou? Bring Adam, and go with us. "

Kate turned very red, but did not come. Lady Carse came laughing backto fetch them; but they bolted into the house, and, when still pursued, scrambled under a bed. When caught, they screamed. 

"Well, to be sure, " cried their mother; "what behaviour when a lady asksyou to go with her! I declare I am quite ashamed. "

Papa now came up, and said--

"My dears, I do not approve such behaviour as this. "

Kate began to sob, and Adam followed her example. 

"There, now, do not cry, " said papa; "I cannot permit you to cry. Youmay go with Lady Carse. Lady Carse is so kind as to wish you to go withher. You will like to go with the lady. Why do you not reply, mydears. You must reply when spoken to. You will like to go with thelady--eh?"

"No, " murmured Kate. 

"No, " whispered Adam. 

"I am astonished, " papa declared. "I never saw them conduct themselvesin this manner before. Did you, my dear?"

"No; but it is an accident, I dare say. Something has put them out. "

"I must ascertain the cause, however, " papa declared. "Such an incidentmust not pass uncorrected. Listen to me, my dears, and answer me when Iask you a question. Look at this lady. "

Kate slowly lifted her eyes, and Adam then did the same. They seemed onthe verge of another scream; and this was not extraordinary; for LadyCarse was not laughing now, but very far from it. There was somethingin her face that made the children catch at mamma's gown. 

"Listen to me, my dears, " papa went on; "and reply when I ask you aquestion. This good lady is going to live with us--"

A deeper plunge into the folds of mamma's gown. 

"And from this time forwards you must love this lady. You love thislady now, my dears, don't you?"

After as long a pause as they dared make, the children said, "No. "

"Well, I never heard--!" exclaimed mamma. 

"What can possess them?" inquired papa. "My dears, why do you not lovethe lady, eh, --Kate?"

"I don't know, " said Kate. 

"You don't know?--That is foolish. Adam, why do you not love this ladywho is to live with us? Do not tell me that you don't know, for that isfoolish. Why do you not love the lady?"

"Because I can't. "

"Why, that is worse still. How perverse, " he said, looking at theladies, "how perverse is the human heart. My dear, you can, and youmust do what is right. You may love me and your mamma first, and nextyou must love this lady. Say you will try. "

"I'll try, " said Kate. 

Adam whimpered a little longer; but then he also said, "I'll try. "

"That is right. That is the least you can say after your extraordinarybehaviour. Now you may go with the lady, as she is so kind as to wishit. "

Lady Carse moved off in silence; and the children, tightly grasping eachother's hands, followed as if going to a funeral. 

"Jump, my dears, " said papa, when they had reached the down. "Jumpabout: you may be merry now. "

Both looked as if they were immediately going to cry. "What now, Adam?"stooping down that the child might speak confidentially to him, butsaying to Lady Carse as he did so, that it was necessary sometimes tocondescend to the weakness of children. "Adam, tell me why you are notmerry, when I assure you you may. "

"I can't, " whispered Adam. 

"You can't! What a sudden fit of humility this boy has got, that hecan't do anything to-day. Unless, however, it be true, well-groundedhumility, I fear--"

Mamma now tried what she could do. She saw, by Lady Carse's way ofwalking on by herself, that she was displeased; and, under theinspiration of this grief, Mrs Ruthven so strove to make her childrenagreeable by causing them to forget everything disagreeable, that theywere soon like themselves again. Mamma permitted them to look for hens'eggs among the whins, because they had heard that when she was a littlegirl she used to look for them among bushes in a field. There was nooccasion to tell them at such a critical moment for their spirits thatit was mid-winter, or that whins would be found rather prickly bypoultry, or that there were no hens in the island but Mrs Macdonald'swell sheltered pets. They were told that the first egg they found wasto be presented to Lady Carse; and they themselves might divide thenext. 

Their mother's hope, that if they did not find hens' eggs, they mightlight upon something else, was not disappointed. Perhaps she took carethat it should not. Adam found a barley-cake on the sheltered side of abush; and it was not long before Kate found one just as good. They weredesired to do with these what they would have done with the eggs--present one to Lady Carse and divide the other. As they were veryhungry, they hastened to fulfil the condition of beginning to eat. Again grasping one another's hands, they walked with desperate courageup to Lady Carse, and held out a cake, without yet daring, however, tolook up. 

"Well, what is that?" she asked sharply. 

"A barley-cake. "

"Who bade you bring it to me?"

"Mamma. "

"You would not have brought it if mamma had not bid you?"

"No. "

"Allow me to suggest, " observed papa, "that they would not haveventured. It would be a liberty unbecoming their years to--"

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Lady Carse; "I hate these put-up manners. No, miss--no, young master--I will not take your cake. I take gifts onlyfrom those I love; and if you don't love me, I don't love you--and sothere is a Rowland for your Oliver. "

The children did not know anything about Rowlands and Olivers; but theysaw that the lady was very angry--so angry that they took to theirheels, scampered away over the downs, and never stopped till theyreached home, and had hidden themselves under the bed. 

They were not followed. Punishment for their act of absconding wasdeferred till Lady Carse's errand should be finished. When once downamong the rocks, Lady Carse was eager to show her dear friends all thesecrets of her late hiding. As soon as Macdonald's watchman wasconvinced by the lady that she was not drowned, and by the minister thathe might go home--as soon as he was fairly out of sight, the wonders ofthe caves were revealed to the pastor and his wife. The party were sointerested in the anecdotes belonging to Lady Carse's season of retreat, that they did not observe, sheltered as they were in eastern caves, thata storm was coming up from the west--one of the tempests whichfrequently rise from that quarter in the winter season, and break overthe Western Islands. 

The children were aware of it before their parents. When they foundthey were not followed, they soon grew tired of whispering under thebed, and came cautiously forth. 

It was very dark, strangely dark, till a glare of lightning came, whichwas worse than the darkness. But the thunder was worse: it growledfearfully, so as to make them hold their breath. The next clap madethem cry. After that cry came help. 

The widow heard the wail from next door, and called to the children fromher door; and glad enough were they to take refuge with a grown-upperson who smiled and spoke cheerfully, in spite of the thunder. 

"Are you not afraid of the thunder?" asked Kate, nestling so close tothe widow that she was advised to take care lest the sharp bone knittingneedles went into her eyes. "But are not you afraid of the thunder?"

"Oh, no!"

"Why?"

"Because I am not afraid of anything. "

"What, not of anything at all?"

"Not of anything at all. And there are many things much more harmfulthan thunder. "

"What things?"

"The wind is, perhaps, the most terrible of all. "

"How loud it is now!" said Adam, shivering as the rushing storm drownedhis voice. When the gust had passed, the widow said, "It was not thewind that made all that noise, it was a dash of hail. Ah! if I do fearanything, it is large hail; not because it will hurt me, but because itmay break my window, and let in the wind to blow out my lamp. "

"But why do not things hurt you? If the lightning was to kill you--"

"That would not hurt me, " said the widow, smiling. "I do not call thatbeing hurt, more than dying in any other way that God pleases. "

"But if it did not kill you quite, but hurt you--hurt you very muchindeed--burned you, or made you blind?"

"Then I should know that it was no hurt, but in some way a blessing, because the lightning comes from God. I always like to see it, because--There!" she said, as a vivid flash illumined the place. "Didyou ever see anything so bright as that? How should we ever fancy thebrightness of God's throne, if He did not send us a single ray, now andthen, in this manner--one single ray, which is as much as we can bear?I dare say you have heard it read in church how all things are God'smessengers, without any word being said about their hurting us, --`fireand hail;' here they are!"

When that gust was past, she went on, "`Snow and vapour, stormy windsfulfilling His word. ' Here we are in the midst of the fire and the hailand the stormy winds. If we looked out, perhaps we might see the `snowand vapour. '"

The children did not seem to wish it. 

"Then again, " the widow went on, "we are told that `He causeth His windto blow, and the waters flow. ' I am sure I can show you that. I amsure the sea must have risen much already, before such a wind as this. Come!" she continued, wrapping her plaid round herself and the children;"keep close to me and you will not be cold. The cold has not come yet:and if we stand under the sheltered side of the house we shall not beblown. Hark! there is the roar of the waves when the thunder stops. Now we shall see how `He causeth His wind to blow and the waters flow. '"

She looked so cheerful and promised them such a sight, that they did notlike to beg to stay within. Though the hail came pelting in gusts, there was no rain at present to wet them. The wind almost strangledthem at the first moment; but they were under the eastern gable of thecottage in an instant, out of the force of the blast. 

There they sat down, all huddled together; and there the children sawmore than they had been promised. 

The tempest had not yet reached Skye; and they could see, in theintervals of rolling clouds, mountain peaks glittering with snow. 

"There is the snow!" said the widow. "And see the vapours!--thetumbling, rolling vapours that we call steam-clouds! Look how thelightning flash darts out of them! and how the sea seems swelling andboiling up to meet the vapours! A little way from the land, the windcatches the spray and carries it up and away. If the wind was now fromthe east, as it will be in spring, that spray would wash over us, anddrench us to the skin in a minute. "

"What, up here?"

"Oh, yes, and higher still. There! Adam felt some then. " And well hemight. The sea was now wrought into such tumult that its waves rolledin upon the rocks with tremendous force, causing the caverns to resoundwith the thundering shock, and the very summit of the precipices tovibrate. Every projection sent up columns of spray, the sprinklings ofwhich reached the heights, bedewing the window of the cottage, andsending in the party under the gable. 

"There now, " said the widow, when she had fed her fire, and sat down, "we have seen a fine sight to-day; and there will be more to-morrow. "

"Shall we see it to-morrow?"

"Oh, yes; if you like to come to me to-morrow, I think I can promise toshow you the shore all black with weed thrown up by the storm, and, perhaps we may get some wood. These storms often cast up wood, sometimes even thick logs. We must not touch the logs; they belong toSir Alexander Macdonald, but we may take the smaller pieces, those of uswho can get down before other people have taken them away. If theminister is not aware of this, we must tell him, and the weeds will begood to manure his kail-bed, if he can find nothing better. "

"Will you go to-morrow and pick up some wood?"

"If I can get down alone; but I cannot climb up and down as I used todo. I will show you something prettier than wood or weed that I pickedup, after one of these storms, when I was younger. " And she took out ofher chest three shells, one very large and handsome, which had been castupon the western shore some years before. Adam thought this sobeautiful that he begged to have it; but the widow could not give itaway. She told him she must keep it for a particular reason; but hecould see it whenever lie liked to come to her for the purpose. 

But Adam thought he might pick up such an one himself, if he could goto-morrow to the western shore; and his friend could not say that thiswas impossible. Oh! then, would she not go and show him the way? Wouldshe not try if he and Kate helped her with all their strength? Theywere very strong. If she would stand up they would show her how strongthey were. She stood up, and they tried to carry her. Their faces wereexceedingly red, and they were very near lifting up their friend, andshe was laughing and wondering whether they could carry her down therocks in that way, when the door burst open and Lady Carse appeared. 

"The children must come home, " said she to Annie; "they have no businesshere. "

"I called them in, my lady, when the thunder frightened them. "

"They should not have come. They should have told you that they wereunder their parents' displeasure. "

All now looked grave enough. The children stole away home, skilfullyavoiding taking hold of the lady's offered hands. She pulled the doorafter her in no gentle manner. She did not much care whether thechildren were fond of her; but it was somehow disagreeable to her thatthey should be happy with her next-door neighbour. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

THE STEWARD ON HIS ROUNDS. 

The return of Macdonald's boat was a great event; and especially to theinhabitants of the hill-side cottages. Macdonald was accompanied by SirAlexander's steward, who brought some furniture and finishings for thechapel and the minister's dwelling, and, for the first time, a parcelfor Lady Carse. 

When the package was brought up from the shore, Lady Carse rushed in totell Annie the news, and to bid her come and see the unpacking. 

The poor lady was sure that by means of Mr Johny, or through some otherchannel, tidings of her existence and banishment had reached her friendsat Edinburgh, and that this parcel contained some warrant of release. With raised colour and sparkling eyes, she talked of her departure thenext morning; of how it would be best to travel, when she once set footon the main; of how soon she could reach Edinburgh, and whether it wouldnot be better to go first to London, to lay her own case and the treasonof her enemies before the Prime Minister. Mrs Ruthven agreed to allshe said. Mr Ruthven walked to and fro before the door, stopping atevery turn to offer his congratulations. Annie looked anxious andeager. 

When the package was deposited before the door, and the glee of theparty was at the highest, the children capered and shouted. Anniequietly checked this, and kept them by her side; whereupon Lady Carsesmiled at Mrs Ruthven, and said she pitied people who were grave whengood fortune befell their friends, and who could not bear even to letchildren sympathise in it. 

"You mistake me, madam, " said Annie. "If this package was fromEdinburgh, I should feel more like dancing myself than stopping thechildren's dancing; but I sadly fear this comes from no further off thanSkye. I know the Skye packages. "

"Nonsense!" cried Lady Carse. "I know nobody in Skye. I hate croakers. Some people take a pleasure in spoiling other people's pleasure. "

"That is a temper that I do not approve of, " observed Mr Ruthven. "This life is to some such a vale of tears that I think it is ungratefulnot to pluck the few flowers of innocent pleasure which grow by thewayside. I should think that a Christian temper would be ready toassist the enjoyment. Here, my good men--"

"What stupid fellows those men are!" cried Lady Carse. "They areactually going away without helping us to uncord the package. "

She called after them; but in answer to her scolding, the men onlystared; which made Lady Carse tell them they were idiots. A word or twofrom Annie in Gaelic brought them back directly, and obtained from themwhat aid was needed. 

"Shall I enquire, madam, " asked Annie, "anything that you may wish toknow?"

"No, " replied Lady Carse, sharply. "_You_ speak Gaelic, I think, " shesaid to Mr Ruthven. "Will you learn from the men all you can aboutthis package, and tell me every word they say?"

Mr Ruthven bowed, cleared his throat, and began to examine the men. Lady Carse meantime said to Mrs Ruthven, in Annie's hearing, that shemust wait, and restrain her patience a little while. There was nosaying what might be in the package, and they must be by themselves whenthey opened it. 

Mrs Ruthven said she would send the children away; and Annie offered totake them home with her. 

"The children!" exclaimed Lady Carse. "Oh, bless them! what harm canthey do? Let _them_ stay by all means. I hope there will be nobody tospoil _their_ pleasure. "

Annie curtseyed, and withdrew to her own house. As she shut the doorand sank into a chair, she thought how bad her rheumatic pains were. Her heart was swelling a little too; but it soon subsided as she said toherself, "A vale of tears, indeed, is this life; or rather a waste andhowling wilderness, to that poor lady with her restless mind. God knowsI would not reckon hardly with her, or anyone so far from peace of mind. Nor can I wonder, when I pity her so much, that others should also, andforget other things when she is before their eyes. I did think, when Iheard the minister was coming--But I had no right to expect anythingbeyond the blessing of the sabbath, and of burial, and the ordinances. And oh, there is the comfort of the sabbath! The Word is preached, andthere is prayer and praise now on sabbath-days for a year to come; or, perhaps, as many years as I shall live. If this was a place for peaceof mind before, what can trouble us now?" The closing psalm of lastsabbath had never been out of her ears and her heart since. She nowbegan to sing it, softly at first, but louder as her soul warmed to it. She was soon stopped by a louder sound; a shrill cry from the nexthouse, and presently Mrs Ruthven rushed in to know what she was to do. Lady Carse was hysterical. The package had contained no news from herfriends, but had brought cruel disappointment. It contained someclothing, a stone of sugar, a pound of tea, six pecks of wheat, and ananker of spirits; and there was a slip of paper to say that the samequantity of these stores would be brought yearly by the steward when hecame to collect the heather rent. At this sentence of an abode of yearsin this place, Lady Carse had given way to despair; had vowed she wouldchoke the steward in his sacks of feathers, that she might be tried formurder on the main; and then she had attempted to scatter the wheat, andto empty out the spirits, but that Mr Ruthven had held her hand, andtold her that the anker of spirits was, in fact, her purse--her means ofpurchasing from Macdonald and others her daily meat and such service asshe needed. But now she was in hysterics, and they did not know what todo next. Would Mrs Fleming come?

Annie thought the lady would rather not see her; told Mrs Ruthven howto treat the patient, and begged that the children might be sent to her, if they were in the way. 

The children were with Annie all the rest of the day; for their fatherand mother were exceedingly busy writing letters, to go by the steward. 

In the evening the steward paid them a visit, in his round back to theboat. He was very civil, brought with him a girl, the handiest andcomeliest he said, that he could engage among Macdonald's people, towait upon Lady Carse; gave order for the immediate erection of a sort ofouthouse for her stores, and desired her to say if there was anythingelse she was pressingly in want of. She would not say a word to him ofone kind or another, but turned him over to the minister. But theminister could not carry his own points. He could not induce thesteward to convey a single letter of the several written that day. Thesteward was sorry: had hoped it was understood that no letter was toleave the island, --no written paper of any kind, --while Lady Carseresided there. He would not take these to Sir Alexander: he would notask him to yield this point even to the minister. Sir Alexander'sorders were positive; and it was clear that in these parts that settledthe question. 

While the argument was going on, Lady Carse rose from her seat, andpassed behind the steward, to leave the room. She caught up the lettersunperceived, and unperceived slipped them into the steward's pocket: sothat while he bowed himself out, declining to touch the letters, he wasactually carrying them with him. 

Helsa, Lady Carse's new maid, witnessed this prank; and, not daring tolaugh at the moment, made up for this by telling the story to heracquaintance, the widow, when sent for the children at night. 

"That will never do, " Annie declared. "Harm may come of it, but nogood. "

And this set her thinking. 

The consequence of her meditation was that she roused the family fromtheir beds when even Lady Carse had been an hour asleep. When MrRuthven found that there was neither fire nor illness in the case, hedeclared to Annie his disapprobation of untimely hours; and said that ifthose who had a lamp to keep burning became in time forgetful of thedifference between night and day, they should remember that it was notso with others; and that the afflicted especially, who had griefs andagitations during the day, should be permitted to enjoy undisturbed suchrest as might be mercifully sent them. 

Annie listened respectfully to all this, and acknowledged the truth ofit. It was, however, a hope that Lady Carse might possibly sleephereafter under the same roof with her children, if this night were notlost, which made her take the liberty of rousing the minister at such anhour. 

She was confident that the steward would either bring back the letters, as soon as he put his hand upon them, or destroy them; for such a thingwas never heard of as an order of Sir Alexander's being disobeyed. Shehad thought of a way of sending a note, if the minister could write on asmall piece of paper what would alarm the lady's friends. She had nowand then, at long intervals, a supply from a relation from Dumfries, ofa particular kind of thread which she used to knit into little socks andmittens for sale. This knitting was now too fine for her eyes: but thesteward did not know this; and he would no doubt take her order, as hehad done before. She believed he would come up to return the lettersquite early in the morning. If she had a ball of thread ready, he wouldtake it as a pattern: and this ball might contain a little note;--a verysmall one indeed, if the minister would write it. 

"How would the receiver know there was a note?" asked Mr Ruthven. 

"It might be years before the ball was used up, " Mrs Ruthven observed:"or it might come back as it went. "

"I thought, " said Annie, "that I would give the order in this way. Iwould say that I want four pieces of the thread, all exactly the samelength as the one that goes. The steward will set that down in hisbook; and he always does what we ask him very carefully. Then myrelation will unwind the ball to see what the length is, and come uponthe note; and then--"

"I see. I see it all, " declared Mr Ruthven. "Do not you, my dear?"

"Oh yes; I see. It will be delightful, will it not, Lady Carse?"

"That is as it may be, " said Lady Carse. "It is a plan which may worktwo ways. "

"I do not see how it can work to any mischief, " Annie quietly declared. "I will leave you to consider it. If you think well of the plan, Ishall be found ready with my thread. If the steward returns, it will bevery early, that he may not lose the tide. "

As might be expected, Annie's offer was accepted; for even Lady Carse'sprejudiced mind could point out no risk, while the success might beeverything. There was something that touched her feelings in thepatient care with which the widow sat, in the lamplight, winding thethread over and over the small slip of paper, so as to leave no speckvisible, and to make a tight and secure ball. 

The slip of paper contained a request that the reader would let MrHope, advocate, Edinburgh, know that Lady Carse was not dead, thoughpretended to be buried, but stolen away from Edinburgh, and now confinedto the after-mentioned island of the Hebrides. Then followed LadyCarse's signature and that of the minister, with the date. 

"It will do! It will do!" exclaimed Mrs Ruthven. "My dear, dear LadyCarse--"

But Lady Carse turned away, and paced the room, "I don't wonder, I amsure, " declared Mrs Ruthven, "I don't wonder that you walk up and down. To think what may hang on this night--Now, take my arm, --let me supportyou. "

And she put her arm around the waist of her dear friend. But Lady Carseshook her off, turned weeping to Annie, and sobbed out, "If you saveme--If this is all sincere in you, and--"

"Sincere!" exclaimed Annie, in such surprise that she almost dropped theball. 

"O yes, yes; it is all right, and you are an angel to me. I--"

"What an amiable creature she is!" said Mrs Ruthven to her husband, gazing on Lady Carse. "What noble impulses she has!"

"Very fine impulses, " declared the minister. "It is very affecting. Ifind myself much moved. " And he began pacing up and down. 

"Sincere!" Annie repeated to herself in the same surprise. 

"Oh, dear!" observed Mrs Ruthven, in a whisper, which, however, thewidow heard: "how long it takes for some people to know some otherpeople. There is Mrs Fleming, now, all perplexed about the dearcreature. Why, she knew her; I mean, she had her with her before weever saw her, and now we know her--Oh! how well, how thoroughly we knowher--we know her to the bottom of her heart. "

"A most transparent being, indeed!" declared Mr Ruthven. "As guilelessas a child. "

"Call me a child; you may, " sobbed Lady Carse. "None but children andsuch as I quarrel with their best friends. She has been to me--"

"You reproach yourself too severely, my dear lady, " declared theminister. "There are seasons of inequality in us all; not that I intendto justify--"

His wife did not wait for the end, but said, "Quarrel, my dear soul?Quarrel with your best friends? You do such a thing! Let us seewhether you ever quarrel with us; and we _are_ friends, are we not; youand we? Let us see whether you ever quarrel with us! Ah!"

Annie had finished her work; and she was gone before the long kiss ofthe new friends was over. 

"It is only two days more to the sabbath, " thought she. Then shesmiled, and said, "Anyone might call me a child, counting the days as ifI could not wait for my treat. But, really, I did not know what thecomfort of the sabbath would be. The chapel is all weather-tight now;and thank God for sending us a minister!"

As all expected, up came the steward; very early and very angry. Nobodyfrom the minister's house cared to encounter him. He threw the lettersdown upon the threshold of the door, and shouted out that his bringingthem back was more than the writer deserved. If he had read them, andmade mischief of their contents, nobody could, under the circumstances, have blamed him. Here they were, however, as a lesson to the family notto lose their time, and waste their precious ink and paper in writingletters that would never leave the island. 

As he was turning to go away, the widow opened her door, and asked if hewould excuse her for troubling him with one little commission which shehad not thought of the day before, and she produced the ball of thread. 

Lady Carse was watching through a chink in a shutter. She saw thesteward's countenance relax, and heard his voice soften as he spoke tothe widow. She perceived that Annie had influence with him, if shewould use it faithfully and zealously. Next she observed the care withwhich he wrote in his note book Annie's directions about her commission, and how he deposited the precious ball in his securest pocket. She feltthat this chance of escape, though somewhat precarious, was the bestthat had yet occurred. 

Before the steward was out of sight she opened the shutter, though itcreaked perilously, and kissed her hand to the surprised Annie, who waswatching her agent down the hill. Annie smiled, but secured caution byimmediately going in. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

TRUE SOLITUDE. 

The season advanced, bringing the due tokens of the approach of summer. The gales came from the east instead of the west, and then subsided intomild airs. The mists which had brooded over sea and land melted away, and, as the days lengthened, permitted the purple heights of the rockySaint Kilda to be seen clear and sharp, as the sun went down behindthem. The weed which had blackened the shore of the island at the endof winter was now gone from the silver sands. Some of it was buried inthe minister's garden as manure. The minister began to have hopes ofhis garden. He had done his best to keep off the salt spray by buildingthe wall ten feet high; and it was thought that just under the wall afew cabbages might grow; and in one corner there was an experiment goingforward to raise onions. Kate and Adam told the widow, from day to day, the hopes and fears of the household about this garden; and it was thenthat she knew that her son Rollo was now gardener, as he had been headbuilder of the wall. 

From Rollo himself she heard less and less of his proceedings andinterests. Anxious as she was, she abstained from questioning orreproving him on the few occasions when he spent an hour with her. Shewas aware of his high opinion of himself, and of the point he made ofmanaging his own affairs; and she knew that there were those next doorwho would certainly engross him if anything passed in his mother's houseto make him reluctant to stay there. She therefore mustered all hercheerfulness when he appeared on the threshold, gave him her confidence, made him as comfortable as she could, and never asked him whence he hadcome, or how long he would stay. She had a strong persuasion that Rollowould discover in time who was his best friend, and was supremelyanxious that when that time came there should be nothing to get over inhis return to her--no remembrance of painful scenes--no sting ofreproach--no shame but such as he must endure from his own heart. Strong as was her confidence in the final issue, the time did seem longto her yearning spirit, lonely as she was. Many a night she listened tothe melancholy song of the throstle from the hill-side, and watched themild twilight without thinking of sleep, till was silent; and was stillawake when the lark began its merry greeting to the dawn which wasstreaking the east. Many a day she sat in the sun watching the pathwaysby which she hoped her son might come to her; and then perhaps she wouldhear his laugh from behind the high garden wall, and discover that hehad been close at hand all day without having a word to say to her. Howmany true and impressive things passed through her mind that she thoughtshe would say to him! But they all remained unsaid. When theopportunity came she saw it to be her duty to serve him by waiting andloving, feeling and trusting that rebuke from God was the only shockwhich would effectually reach this case, and reserving herself as theconsoler of the sinner when that hour should arrive. 

As for the other parties, they were far too busy--far too much devotedto each other to have any time to spare for her, or any thought, exceptwhen the children were wished out of the way, or when the much moreardent desire was indulged that her house could be had for the residenceof Lady Carse and her maid. In spite of all the assurances given toLady Carse that her presence and friendship were an unmixed blessing, the fact remained that the household were sadly crowded in the newdwelling. There was talk, at times, of getting more rooms built: butthen there entered in a vague hope that the widow's house might beobtained, which would be everything pleasant and convenient. At thosetimes she was thought of, but more and more as an obstruction--almost anintruder. Now and then, when she startled them by some little act ofkindness, they remarked that she was a good creature, they believed, though they considered that there was usually something dangerous aboutpeople so very reserved and unsociable. 

One day this reserved and unsociable person volunteered a visit to herastonished neighbours. She walked in, in the afternoon, looking ratherpaler than usual, and somewhat exhausted. Mr Ruthven was outside thedoor, smoking his pipe after dinner. He came in with the widow, andplaced a stool for her. His wife was not in the room. Lady Carse waslying on the settle, flushed and apparently drowsy. She opened her eyesas Annie and the minister entered, and then half-closed them again, without stirring. 

"Yes, I have been walking, " said the widow, in answer to Mr Ruthven'sobservation. "But it is not that that has tired me. I have been onlyas far as Macdonald's. But, sir, I must go further to-night, unless Ican interest you to do what must be done without loss of time. "

The minister raised his eyebrows, and looked inquiringly. "I havelearned, sir, that from this house invitations have been sent tosmugglers to begin a trade with these islands, and that it is about tobegin; and that this has been done by corrupting my son. I see wellenough the object of this. I see that Lady Carse hopes to escape to themain by a smuggling vessel coming to this coast. I can enter into this. I do not wonder at any effort the poor lady makes--"

"You insufferable woman!" cried Lady Carse, starting up from herhalf-sleep with a glowing face and a clenched hand. "Do you dare topity me?"

"I do, madam: and I ask of you in return--I implore you to pity me. This is the bitterest day to me since that which made my boy fatherless. I have this day discovered that my fatherless boy has been corrupted bythose who--"

"I do not approve of innuendo, " declared Mr Ruthven. "I recommend youto name names. "

"Certainly, sir. My son has been made a smuggler by the persuasion andmanagement of Lady Carse; and, as I have reason to believe, sir, withyour knowledge. "

"Here is treachery!" cried Lady Carse. "We must make our part good. Iwill--I know how--"

She was hastening out, when the minister stopped her at the door. Shemade some resistance, and Annie heard her say something about a pistolon the top of the bed, and the wonder if her father's daughter did notknow how to use it. 

Even in the midst of her own grief, Annie could not but remark toherself how the lady's passions seemed to grow more violent, instead ofcalming down. 

"You had better go, Mrs Fleming, " said Mr Ruthven. "Make nodisturbance here, but go, and I will come in and speak to you. "

"How soon?" Annie anxiously enquired. 

"As soon as possible--immediately. Go now, for Lady Carse is veryangry. "

"I will, sir. But I owe it to you to tell you that the adventure is putan end to. I have been to Macdonald's and told him, speaking as Rollo'smother, of the danger my son was in; and Macdonald will take care thatno smuggling vessel reaches this coast to-night or in future. "

"Go instantly!" exclaimed Mr Ruthven, and, seeing Lady Carse'scountenance, Annie was glad to hasten out of her reach. 

The widow sat down on the threshold of her cottage awaiting theminister. Her heart throbbed. A blessing might be in store at the endof this weary day. Good might come out of evil. She might now have anopportunity of appealing to her minister--of opening her heart to himabout the cares which she needed to share with him, and which shouldhave been his cares as pastor. She trusted she should be enabled tospeak freely and calmly. 

She prayed that she might; but her body was exhausted, so that she couldnot overcome to her satisfaction the agitation of her mind. It did notmend the matter that she was kept waiting very long; and when MrRuthven came out at his own door, it was with some difficulty that Annierose to make respectful way for him. 

"Be seated, " said Mr Ruthven, in a tone of severity; "I have much tosay to you. "

Both seated themselves. Mr Ruthven cleared his throat, and said--

"It is the most painful part of a pastor's duty to administer reproof, and more especially to members of his flock whose years should havebrought them wisdom and self-control. "

Annie clasped her hands on her knees, and looked meekly in his face. 

"I should have hoped, " Mr Ruthven went on, "that a Christian woman ofyour standing, and one who is blest, as you yourself have been known toacknowledge, with a life of peace, would have had compassion on a mostsuffering sister, and have rather striven to alleviate her sorrows, andto soften her occasional self-reproach for what she amiably calls herinfirmities of sensibility, than have wounded and upbraided her, andtreacherously cut off her frail chance of release from a most unjustcaptivity. "

"I!--I wound and upbraid Lady Carse!"

"Now, do not compel me to remind you of what you ought to know fullwell--the deceitfulness of the human heart. Listen to me. "

Again Annie looked gently in his face. 

"I left that poor lady, already overwhelmed with misfortune, prostratedanew by your attack of this afternoon. I left her dissolved in tears--shaken by agitation; and I resolved that my first act of duty should beto remonstrate privately--observe, I say privately--against theheartlessness which could pour in drops of bitterness to make thealready brimming cup overflow. Now, what have you to say?"

"I should wish to know, sir, what part of my conduct it is that iswrong. If I knew this, I am sure--"

"If you knew! My good woman, this blindness and self-satisfactionappear to show that this life of peace, which you yourself acknowledgeyours has been, has gone somewhat too far--has not been altogetherblessed to you. If you are really so satisfied with yourself as to beunable to see any sin within you--"

"Oh, sir! Do not think me impatient if I make haste to say that I neverharboured such a thought. It makes me sink with shame to think of myever having possibly such a thought. What I asked for, sir, was to knowmy sin towards Lady Carse, that I might make reparation if I could, and--will it please you, sir, to tell me--"

"Tell me, rather, what sin you are conscious of; and we shall then getat the bottom of this last offence. Come, let me hear!"

Annie looked down, hesitated, blushed deeply, and said she supposed itwas owing to her not being accustomed to the blessing of having a pastorthat she found it so difficult to open her heart now that the blessingwas given for which she had so often prayed. She would strive toovercome the difficulty. After a pause she said her chief trouble abouther state of mind was that some of her trust and peace seemed to haveleft her. 

"Ah! the moment it is put to the test!" said Mr Ruthven. 

"Just so, sir; that is what I said to myself. As long as I lived alone, out of the sound of any voice but Rollo's, I thought my peace wassettled, and that I was only waiting for the better peace which is tocome hereafter. Then, when Rollo was away, and my mind was searchingdoubtfully after him, where he might be, and whether safe or killed, Icould always find rest, and say to myself that he was in God's hand, todie _now_ or to live to close my eyes. But now, sir, there is a sadnesscome over me; though I am obliged to your dear children for manycheerful hours--I would not forget that. But as for my own child, whenI hear his voice merry from behind your garden wall, when I have beenlonging for days to see his face--or when your children tell me thingsthat he has said, just while my ear is pining for his voice, I findmyself less settled in mind than I was--much less settled, sir, than Ithink a Christian woman ought to be. "

"And this indicates more than you tell me, " observed Mr Ruthven. "Whatcan you have done to drive your son from his home and from his mother'sside? Some mistake there must be, to say the very least--some fatalmistake, I will call it, for I would not be severe--some awful mistake. Eh?"

"Perhaps so, sir. " And she smothered a sigh. 

The minister then gave her, at some length, his views on education, insisting much on the duty of making young people happy at home; endingwith saying that no young man could, he thought, expect much comfort inthe society of a mother who could be so reckless of anybody's peace asshe had shewn herself that afternoon. He hoped she would take what hesaid in good part. It was not pleasant to him to deal rebuke but hemust not shrink from it; and he rose to go. 

"Certainly, sir, " said Annie, rising too, and holding by the bed tosteady herself. "But, sir, if you would please to tell me particularlywhat you think I have done so wrong to-day--Sir, you would not have melet my son be made a smuggler?"

"You should--Nothing can be clearer than that you should--I wonder youneed to be told that you should have spoken to me. Instead of which, you went quietly and told Macdonald. "

"I am sure, sir, I thought you knew all about it. "

"What of that? I am here at hand, to be your adviser--not to be treatedwith disrespect. I leave you now to think over what I have said. Itrust the result will be that you will make what reparation you can toLady Carse: though it is foolish to talk of reparation; for the mischiefdone is, I fear, irreparable. I leave you to think of this. Goodevening!"

Annie thought of all that had passed; and of a few other things. Shethought that while it was clear that a pastor might take a wrong view ofthe state of mind and conduct of one of his flock, it was a privilege toknow, at least, what view he took. He was faithful, as far as plainspeaking went: and that was much. And then, it is so rarely that anycensure is uttered for which there is absolutely no foundation, that itis usually profitable to receive it. While feeling that "it is a smallthing to be judged of man's judgment, " it may be a great thing to know aman's unfavourable opinion of us. She would soon recover from thisconversation; and then, if she had obtained any wisdom from it, it wouldbe, after all, the marking blessing of this day. She was not aware ofanother: that Mr Ruthven had been somewhat touched by what she had saidof Rollo--his eyes somewhat opened. 

Once more her mind rested on the idea now become so prominent with her. "The sabbath is coming round again, " she thought. "It pleases God togive us a complete blessing then. It is His word that is spoken then--His judgment that we are judged by. Nothing comes between us and Himthen. There is always the sabbath now to think of. "

Tired as she was, or as she thought herself till she found herselfenjoying the repose of the moonlight shore, there was one more walknecessary before Annie could try to sleep. 

The sea was calm, and there was scarcely any wind. If the smugglingvessel had approached the island in any part, it could hardly have gotaway again. She had not seen it from her hill-side; but she must besatisfied that it was not on the northern shore. The western was safeenough, from its being overlooked from Macdonald's farm. 

Annie had just reached the longest and widest stretch of beach when thelarge moon rose out of the still waters. There was not even theslightest veil of mist obscuring the horizon; and the fluctuation of thewater-line was distinct upon the clear disk of the moon. The gush ofquivering light which instantaneously reached from the horizon to herfeet illumined Annie's heart no less than the scene around her. Theripple of the little waves which played upon the pebbles was music toher ear. In a tranquil and hopeful spirit she thought of her errand, and looked steadily over the whole expanse of the sea, where, under thebroad moonlight, and a sky which had at this season no darkness in it, there was certainly no vessel in sight. 

Pursuing her walk northwards, she perceived a small dark object lying onthe silvery sands. When she reached it, she found it was a little cask, which the smell declared to contain rum. By the smell, and the caskbeing light, it was clear that some of the spirit had been spilled. Annie found a small hole, beside which lay a quill. She feared thatthis told too plainly of the neighbourhood of smugglers, and her heartsunk. She went on, and immediately saw another dark object lying on thebeach--a person, as she thought. It was a woman, in the common countryclothing, sound asleep. Annie hastened to wake her, thinking it unsafeto sleep under the moon's rays. To her extreme surprise she found itwas Lady Carse. 

She could imagine the lady to have come down in hope of meeting asmuggling vessel. She would not have wondered to meet her wanderingamong the coves; but that on such an errand, at such a time, she shouldbe asleep, was surprising. 

Annie tried gentle means to rouse her, which would enable her to slipaway as the lady awoke, sparing her the pain of her presence. Sherattled the pebbles with her foot, coughed, and at last sang--but allwithout causing the lady to stir. Then the widow was alarmed, andstooped to look closer. The sleeper breathed heavily, her head was hot, and her breath told the secret of her unseasonable drowsiness. Annieshrank back in horror. At first she concluded that much of Lady Carse'sviolent passion was now accounted for. But she presently considered itmore probable that this was a single instance of intemperance, caused bythe temptation of finding a leaking cask of spirit on the sands, just ina moment of disappointment, and perhaps of great exhaustion. Thisthought made Annie clear what to do. 

She went back to the cask, made the hole larger with a stone, and pouredout all the rum upon the sand. The cask was now so light that she couldeasily roll it down to the margin of the tide, where she left it, halffull of sea-water. Having thus made all safe behind her, she proceededto the coves, where she found, not any signs of a vessel, but one ofMacdonald's men on the watch. From him she learned that Macdonald hadgone out to look for the smuggling boat; had seen it, and turned itback; and that the smuggling crew had been obliged to throw overboardsome of their cargo to lighten their vessel for flight. Macdonaldthought they would hardly venture hither again for some time to come. This was good news; but there was better; Rollo was not with thesmugglers. He was out fowling this afternoon. Perhaps by this time hemight be at home. 

Annie's errand was finished; and she might now return and rest. Macdonald's man spoke of his hope of some goods being washed up by thenext tide. Annie told him nothing of the cask, nor of what she had donewith the rum. She commended him to his watch, and left him. 

Lady Carse was still sleeping, but less heavily. She roused herselfwhen spoken to, started up, and looked about her, somewhat bewildered. "I took the liberty, madam, of speaking to you, to waken you, " saidAnnie; "because the moon is up, and was shining on your head, which isconsidered bad for the health. "

"Really, " said Lady Carse, "it is very odd. I don't know how I couldthink of falling asleep here. I suppose I was very tired. "

"You look so now, madam. Better finish your sleep at home. And first, if I may advise you, you will throw some salt water on your head, anddrink some fresh at the spring, when we come to it. The people here saythat bathing the head takes away the danger from sleeping under themoon's rays. "

Lady Carse had no objection to do this, as her head was hot; and nowAnnie hoped that she would escape detection by the Ruthvens, so that shealone would know the secret. Both drank at the spring, and after thatit might be hoped that there would be little more smell of spirits aboutthe one than the other. 

When they passed the cask, now beginning to float in the rising tide, Lady Carse started. It was clear that she now remembered what had madeher sleep. "There is a cask!" said she, in her hurry. 

"Yes, a cask of sea-water, " Annie quietly observed. "I emptied out thebad stuff that was in it, and--"

"You did! What right had you?"

"It was contraband, " said Annie. "Macdonald saw the cargo thrown over:nobody would have claimed it, and plenty would have helped themselves towhat is unfit to drink. So I poured it out upon the sand. "

"Very free and easy, I must say, " observed Lady Carse. 

"Very, " Annie agreed; "but less of a liberty than some would have taken, if I had left it to tempt them. I threw away only what is some man'sunlawful property. Others would have thrown away that which belongs toGod, and is very precious in His eyes--the human reason, which he hasmade but a little lower than the glory of the angels. "

Lady Carse spoke no more--not even when they reached their own doors. Whether she was moody or conscience-stricken, Annie could not tell. Allthe more anxious was she to do her part; and she went in to pray thatthe suffering lady might be saved from this new peril--the most fearfulof the snares of her most perilous life. Annie did not forget to praythat those who had driven the sufferer to such an extremity as that shecould not resist even this means of forgetting her woes, might be struckwith such a sense of their cruelty as to save their victim before it wastoo late. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

HELSA'S NEWS. 

One day when Annie was trimming her lamp, she observed Helsa, LadyCarse's maid, watching the process earnestly from the door, where shewas looking in. "Come in, Helsa, " said the widow, in Gaelic, which wasmore familiar to the girl than English. "Come in, if you have nothingbetter to do than to see me trim my lamp. "

"I am afraid about that lamp, and that is the truth, " replied Helsa. "Ihad charge of a lamp at Macdonald's once, when my mother went to themain for a week; but then, if it went out, nobody was much the worse. If this one goes out, and anybody drowns in the harbour, and the blameis mine, what shall I do?"

"The blame yours!" said the widow, looking at her. 

"Yes; when you live at Macdonald's, and I have to keep the lamp. I amnot sure that I can keep awake all the night when winter comes: but theysay I must. "

Helsa was surprised to find that the widow knew nothing of the plan thatLady Carse now talked of more than anything else: that Annie was to goand live at Macdonald's, that Lady Carse and her maid might have thewidow's house, where Helsa was to do all the work in the day, and tokeep the lamp at night. The girl declared that the family never sat atmeals without talking of the approaching time when they could all havemore room and do whatever they pleased. Adam had cried yesterday aboutthe widow going away; but he had been forbidden to cry about what wouldmake Lady Carse so much happier; and when Kate had whispered to him thatLady Carse would no longer live in their house, Adam had presently driedhis tears, and began to plan how he would meet the widow sometimes onthe western sands, to pick up the fine shells she had told him of. Helsa went on to say that she could have cried longer than the boy, forshe was afraid to think of being alone with Lady Carse at times when--

Annie interrupted her by saying, with a smile, "You need not have anydread of living in this house, Helsa. I have no thought of leaving it. There is some mistake. "

Helsa was delighted with this assurance. But she proved her point--thatthe mistake was not hers--that such a plan _was_ daily, almost hourly, spoken of next door as settled. She was going on to tell how hermistress frightened her by her ways: her being sleepy in the afternoons, unless she was very merry or dreadfully passionate, and so low in themornings that she often did little but cry; but the widow checked this. While at Mrs Ruthven's house Helsa should make no complaints to anybodyelse; or, if she had serious complaints to make, it should be toMacdonald. Helsa pleaded that Macdonald would then perhaps take awaythe anker of spirits, as being at the bottom of the mischief; and thenLady Carse would kill her. She had once shown her a pistol; but nobodycould find that pistol now. Helsa laughed, and looked us if she couldhave told where it was. In a moment, however, she was grave enough, hearing herself called by her mistress. 

"I shall say I came to learn about the lamp, " said she; "and that istrue, you know. "

"Why do not you speak English, both of you?" demanded Lady Carse fromthe door. "You both speak English. I will have no mysteries. I willknow what you were saying. "

Helsa faltered out that she came to see how Widow Fleming managed herlamp. 

"Was it about the lamp that you were talking? I will know. "

"If we had any objection, madam, to your knowing what we were saying, "interposed Annie, "we are by no means bound to tell. But you are quitewelcome to it. I have been assuring Helsa that there is some mistakeabout my leaving this house. Here have I lived, and here I hope todie. "

"We must talk that matter over, " declared Lady Carse. "We are socrowded next door that we can bear it no longer; and I _must_ live insight of the harbour, you know. "

And she went over all the old arguments, while she sent Helsa to bringin Mr Ruthven, that he might add his pastoral authority to her claims. After having once declared herself immovable, Annie bore all in silence;the pleas that her lamp was so seldom wanted; that it would be welltended for her, while she could sleep all night, and every night; thatit had become a passion with Lady Carse to obtain this house, and thatanyone was an enemy who denied her the only thing she could enjoy. These pleas Annie listened to in silence, and then to reproaches on herselfishness, her obstinacy, her malice and cruelty. When both hervisitors had exhausted their arguments, she turned to Lady Carse, andintimated that now they had all spoken their minds on this subject, shewished to be alone in her own house. Then she turned to Mr Ruthven, and told him that whatever he had to say as her pastor, she would gladlylisten to. 

"In some other place than this, " he declared with severity. "I havetried rebuke and remonstrance here, beside your own hearth, with aperseverance which I fear has lowered the dignity of my office. I havedone. I enter this house no more as your pastor. "

Annie bowed her head, and remained standing till they were gone; thenshe sank down, melting into tears. 

"This, then, " and her heart swelled at the thought; "this, then, is theend of my hope--the brightest hope I ever had since my great earthlyhope was extinguished! I thought I could bear anything if there wasonly a pastor at hand. And now--but there is my duty still; nothing cantake that away. And I am forgetting that at this very moment, when Ihave so little else left! crying in this way when I want better eyesthan mine are now for watching the sea. I have shed too many tears inmy day; more than a trusting Christian woman should; and now I must keepmy eyes dry and my heart firm for my duty. And I cannot see that I havedone any wrong in staying by the duty that God gave me, and the housethat I must do it in. With this house and God's house--" And herthoughts recurred, as usual, to the blessing of the sabbath. She shouldstill have a pastor in God's house, if not in her own. And thus shecheered her heart while she bathed her eyes that they might serve forher evening gaze over the sea. 

She was destined, however, to be overtaken by dismay on the sabbath, andin that holy house where she had supposed her peace could never bedisturbed. The pastor read and preached from the passage in the 18thchapter of Matthew, which enjoins remonstrance with sinners, first inprivate, then in the presence of one or two witnesses, and at lastbefore the church. The passage was read so emphatically that Annie'sheart beat thick and fast. But this did not prepare her for whatfollowed. In his sermon the pastor explained that though the scripturalexpression was, "If thy brother trespass, " the exhortation was equallyapplicable to any Christian sister who should offend. He declared thatif any Christian sister was present who was conscious of havingtrespassed on the comfort and natural feelings of an afflicted andpersecuted personage whom they had the honour to entertain among them, he besought the offending sister to enquire of herself whether she hadnot been rebuked first alone, then in the presence of a witness--alas!in vain; and whether, therefore, the time had not come for a rebukebefore the Church. He would, however, name no one, but leave yet someplace for repentance; and so forth. 

Annie's natural dismay, terrible as it was, soon yielded before theappeal to her conscience, which the pastor supposed would appal her. She knew that she was right; and in this knowledge she raised her bowedhead, and listened more calmly than many others. If there had been anydoubt among the small congregation as to who was meant, Lady Carse wouldhave dispersed it. She sat in the front row, with the minister'sfamily. Unable to restrain her vindictive satisfaction, she started upand pointed with her finger, and nodded at Annie. The pitying calm gazewith which Annie returned the insult went to many hearts, and even toMrs Ruthven's so far so that she pulled the lady by the skirt, andimplored her to sit down. 

There are many precious things which remain always secrets to those whodo not deserve to know them. For instance, tyrants know nothing of theanimating and delicious reaction which they cause in the souls of theirvictims. The cheerfulness, sweetness and joy of their victims has everbeen, and will ever be, a perplexity to oppressors. It was so now toMr Ruthven, after an act of tyranny perpetrated, as most acts oftyranny are, under a mistaken, an ignorant and arrogant sense of duty. Not only did the widow stand up with others for the closing psalm--hervoice was the firmest, sweetest, clearest in the assembly--so sweet andclear that it came back even upon her own ear with a sort of surprise. As for others, all were more or less moved. But their emotion had thecommon effect of making them draw back from the object of it. After theservice, nobody spoke to Annie. She heeded this but little, absorbed asshe was in thankfulness in finding that the privileges of God's housewere not disturbed--that her relation to Him and her rights of worshipwere not touched by any fallibility in His minister. As she reached theentrance of the churchyard, Macdonald overtook her, and made her use hisarm for the descent of the irregular steps. A few words from Helsa hadput him in possession of the case. He desired the widow not to thinkfor a moment of leaving her house. Everybody wished to do what could bedone to reconcile the stranger lady to her abode in the island; butthere was a point beyond which he was sure Sir Alexander would notpermit encroachment. His advice was to serve and please her in smallaffairs, and leave it to Sir Alexander to deal with her in such animportant one as her having a house to herself. Annie smiled, and saidthis was exactly her plan. 

That evening was, to the inhabitants of the island, the most memorableone of the year--of the generation--of the century. This was not fullyknown at the time. The most memorable days often appear just like otherdays till they are past; and though there was some excitement and bustlethis evening, no one on the island saw the full meaning of what wasbefore his eyes. 

A little before sunset, the widow plainly saw a larger vessel than oftenvisited those seas approaching from the south-west. It was larger thanMacdonald's sloop. She was straining her eyes to see whether it had twomasts or three, when she heard the children's voices below. She calledthem up to her platform for the help of their young eyes; but when theycame, they could spare little attention for the distant vessel, so fullwere they of the news that their mother had run down to the harbour totry to speak to some sailors who had landed from a boat which had comeup the harbour while everybody was at church. It was such a pity thattheir father was gone, just at this time, to visit a sick person atMacdonald's farm! But their mother went directly, as fast as she couldrun, and Lady Carse and Helsa were to follow her as soon as Helsa hadput up a bundle. 

To recall Mr Ruthven was the first thing Annie thought of. She did notventure to send the children over for him, lest their hurry andexcitement, or any air of mystery, should give the alarm to Macdonald. She set out alone, doubtful as she was how and how soon she couldaccomplish the walk, and bitterly lamenting that her son was not withincall. With her best exertions, her progress was so slow that she metthe pastor a quarter of a mile from Macdonald's house. 

Breathless as she was, Mr Ruthven would have from her a full, true, andparticular account of all she knew, and many declarations that she didnot know as much again, before he would walk on. At last, however, hedid set forth quickly on the shortest path to the harbour, while Annieturned slowly homewards over the ridge. 

She was on the hill-side, not far from home, when she saw the well-knowngroup of neighbours--the pastor's family--coming homewards, slowly andwith many delays. She heard loud angry voices; and when she approached, she saw tokens of distress in them all. Mr Ruthven was very pale, andHelsa very red. Mrs Ruthven was in tears, and Lady Carse's clothes andhair were dripping wet. It was clear that she had been in the water. 

"Alas! you have missed the boat!" exclaimed Annie. 

Lady Carse had just lost the chance of escape, as all believed; and allwere now quarrelling as to whose fault it was. Mrs Ruthven was turningback from the shore, breathless from haste and vexation, as Lady Carseand Helsa came down. The boat, with several armed men in it, had pushedoff when Mrs Ruthven appeared. They made no reply to her signs, butlay on their oars at a little distance from the beach till Lady Carseand her maid came down. After some delay, and many signals of entreatyfrom the ladies, the boat again approached, and the man in command of itwas told that a lady of quality, wrongfully imprisoned in this island, desired to be carried to the main, and that, once among her friends inEdinburgh, she could give rewards for her escape to any amount. Therewas a short consultation in the boat, a laugh, and a decisive pull toshore. A sailor jumped out and seized the lady to carry her in. Whether it was the unaccountable shout of triumph that she set up, orsomething else that startled the sailor, he hastily set down his burdenon the rock, looked her in the face, and then spoke to his comrades inthe boat. They laughed again, but beckoned him on. He placed her inthe boat, but she stumbled, swayed over, caught at the side of the boatas she went over, and very nearly upset it. The men swore at her, declared her to be no lady in distress, but a tipsy gipsy, laid her downon the shore, and rowed away. Mr Ruthven now declared that he could donothing in such a case. Lady Carse, now sobered from everything butpassion, protested that if he had had any sense or presence of mind, hemight have detained the strangers till she could produce from herpackage proof of her rank and quality. If the wranglers could but haveknown who these strangers were, and whence came the distant vessel towhich their boat belonged, all would have joined in thanksgiving for thelady's escape from their hands. 

Annie had no more suspicion of the truth than they. She could onlyattempt to calm them, and make the best of matters by showing thatpossibly all might not be over yet. It was now nearly dark. If shecould light two lamps for this once, it might bring back the boat. Ifthe people on board were familiar with her light and its purpose, thesingular circumstance of its being double might attract their curiosity;if strangers, they might attend to the signal from prudence. 

Mr Ruthven, being extremely cross, could see nothing but nonsense inthis plan. Lady Carse, being offended with her friends, thought it thewisest and most promising scheme conceivable. Mr Ruthven would nothear of spending a night down in the harbour, watching for a boat whichwould never come. To ask such a thing of him after his sabbath-day'sservices, and all for a woman's freak, was such a thing as--as he wouldnot describe. He could not think of doing such a thing. Lady Carsesaid he was no friend of hers if he did not. While Mrs Ruthventrembled and wept, Annie said that if she could only learn where Rollowas, all would be easy. Rollo would watch in the harbour, she was sure. 

Mr Ruthven caught at this suggestion for saving his night's rest, andwent off to seek Rollo; not so rapidly, however, but that he heard theremark sent after him by Lady Carse, that it was a pretty thing for aman to stand up in his pulpit, where nobody could answer him, andlecture people about Christian duty, and then to be outdone in the firsttrial by the first of his flock that came into comparison with him. Annie could not bear to hear this. She desired Helsa to assist LadyCarse to bed, that her clothes might be speedily dried, in readiness forany sudden chance of escape. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

ANNIE'S NEWS. 

Dull and sad was the first meal at the Ruthvens' the next morning. LadyCarse could eat nothing, having cried herself ill, and being in feverishexpectation still of some news--she did not know what. Mr Ruthvenfound fault with the children so indefatigably, that they gulped downtheir porridge and slipped out under Helsa's arm as she opened the door, and away to the next house, where the voice of scolding was never heard. The pastor next began wondering whether Rollo was still playing thewatchman in the harbour--tired and hungry; and he was proceeding towonder how a clever lad like Rollo could let himself be made such a foolof by his mother, when Helsa cut short the soliloquy by telling thatRollo was at home. He had come up just now with the steward. 

"The steward, " cried Lady Carse, springing to her feet. "I knew it! Isee it all!" And she wrung her hands. 

"What is it? my dear love, my precious friend, --what _is_ the matter?Compose yourself!" said Mrs Ruthven, soothingly. 

But the lady would not hear of being soothed. It was plain now that thedistant vessel, the boat, the sailors, were sent by her friends. If MrRuthven had only been quick enough to let them know who she was, sheshould by this time have been safe. How could they suppose that she wasLady Carse, dressed as she was, agitated as she was! A word from MrRuthven, the least readiness on his part, would have saved her. Andnow, here was the steward come to baffle all. Sir Alexander Macdonaldhad had eyes for her deliverers, though her nearest friends had none. Annie was her best friend after all. It was Annie's ball of thread, nodoubt, that had roused her friends, and made them send this vessel; andAnnie alone had shown any sense last night. 

Mr Ruthven did not understand or approve of very sudden conversions;and this was really a sudden conversion, after pointing at the widowFleming in church yesterday. He ought to state too that he did notapprove of pointing at individuals in church. He should be sorry thathis children should learn the habit; and--

"You would?" interrupted Lady Carse. "Then take care I do not point ather next sabbath as the only friend I have on this island. "

"My dear creature!" said Mrs Ruthven, "pray do not say such severethings: you will break my heart. You do the greatest injustice to ouraffection. Only let me show you! If this wicked steward prevents yourescape now, I will get away somehow, and tell your story to all theworld; and they shall send another vessel for you; and I will come withit, and take you away. I will indeed. "

"Nonsense, my dear, " said Lady Carse. 

"Nonsense, my dear, " said the pastor. 

Lady Carse laughed at this accord. Mrs Ruthven cried. 

"If you get away, " said Lady Carse, more gently, "you may be sure youwill not leave me behind. "

"It is all nonsense, the whole of it, about this vessel and thesteward, " Mr Ruthven pronounced. "The steward comes, as usual, for thefeather-rent. "

"It is not the season for the feather-rent, " declared Lady Carse. 

"The steward comes when it suits his convenience, " decided the pastor;"the season is a matter of but secondary regard. "

"You are mistaken, " said the lady. "I have lived here longer than you;and I know that he comes at the regular seasons, and at no other time. "

"Oh, here are the children, " observed Mrs Ruthven, hoping to break upthe party. "My dears, don't leave the room; I want you to stay besideme. There now, you may each carry your own porridge-bowl into thekitchen, and then you may come back for papa's and mine. "

Mr Ruthven stalked out into the garden, to find fault with hiscabbages, if they were not growing dutifully. Lady Carse stood by thewindow, fretted at the thick seamy glass which prevented her seeinganything clearly. Mrs Ruthven sat down to sew. 

"Mamma, " said Adam, presently, "what is a Pretender?"

"A what, my dear?--a Pretender? I really scarcely know. That is aquestion that you should ask your papa. A Pretender?"

"No, no, Adam. It is Adventurer. That was what the steward said. Iknow it, because that is the name of one of papa's books. I will showit you. "

"I know that, " said Adam. "But Widow Fleming called it Pretender, too. "

"What's that?" cried Lady Carse, turning hastily from the window. "Whatare you talking about?"

The children looked at each other, as they usually did when somebodymust answer the lady. "What are you talking about?"

"The steward says the Pretender has come: and we do not know what thatmeans. "

"The Pretender come!" cried Mrs Ruthven, letting fall her work. "Whatshall we do for news? Run, my dears, and ask Widow Fleming all aboutit. I can't leave Lady Carse, you see. "

The children declared they dared not go. Widow Fleming was busy; andshe had sent them away. "Then go and tell your father. Ask him to comein. " Mr Ruthven was shocked into his usual manners when he saw LadyCarse unable to stand or speak. His assurances that he did not believeher in any personal danger, if the report were ever so true, were thrownaway. Her consternation was about a different aspect of the matter. She at once concluded that the cause of the Stuarts would be triumphant. She saw in imagination all her enemies victorious--her husband and LordLovat successful in all their plottings, high in power and glory; whileshe, who could have given timely intimation of their schemes--she whocould have saved the throne and kingdom--was confined to this islandlike an eagle in a cage. For some time she sat paralysed by heremotions; then she rose and went in silence to Annie's dwelling. Thesteward was just departing, and he seemed in the more haste for thelady's appearance; but Annie stopped him--gravely desired him to remainwhile she told the lady what it concerned her to know. She then said, "I learn from the steward, madam, that it is known throughout Edinburghthat you are still in life, and that you are confined to someout-of-the-way place, though, the steward believes, the real place isnot known. "

"It is not known, " the steward declared; "and it is anything but kind ofyou, in my opinion, Mrs Fleming, to delude Lady Carse with any hope ofescape. Her escape is, and will always be, impossible. "

"I think it my business, " said Annie, "to inform the lady of whatever Ihear of her affairs. I think she ought to have the comfort of knowingthat her friends are alarmed: and I am sure I have no right to concealit from her. "

The steward walked away, while the lady stood lost in reverie. One setof ideas had driven out the other. She had forgotten all about theJacobite news, and she stood staring with wide open eyes, as the visionof her escape and triumph once more intoxicated her imagination. 

Annie gently drew her attention to the facts, telling her that it wasclear that the ball of thread had done its duty well. The alarm hadbegun with Mr Hope, the advocate. He had demanded that the coffinsupposed to contain the remains of Lady Carse should be taken up andsearched. When he appeared likely to obtain his demand, Lord Carse hadavoided the scandal of the proceeding by acknowledging that it had beena sham funeral. Annie believed that now the lady had only to wait aspatiently as she could, in the reasonable hope that her friends wouldnot rest until they had rescued her. 

At this moment Lady Carse's quick sense was caught by Adam's pulling thewidow's gown and asking in a whisper, "What is a Pretender?" and byAnnie's soft reply, "Hush, my dear!"

"Hush! do you say?" exclaimed Lady Carse, with a start. "What do youmean by saying `hush'? Is the Pretender come? Answer me. Has thePretender landed in Scotland?"

"He has not landed, madam. He is in yonder vessel. You had a greatdeliverance, madam, in not being taken away by his boat last night. "

"Deliverance! There is no deliverance for me, " said the lady. "Everyhope is dashed. There is no kindness in holding out new hopes to me. My enemies will not let me stay here now my friends know where to findme. I shall be carried to Saint Kilda, or some other horrible place;or, if they have not time to take care of me while they are setting uptheir new king, they will murder me. Oh, I shall never live to seeEdinburgh again: and my husband and Lovat will be lording it there, andlaughing at me and my vain struggles during all these years, while I liehelpless in my grave, or tossing like a weed in these cruel seas. IfGod will but grant my prayer, and let me haunt them! Stop, stop: do notgo away. "

"I must, madam, if you talk so. "

"Stop. I want to know about this Pretender. Why did you not tell ussooner? Why not the moment you knew?"

"I considered it was the steward's business to tell what he thoughtproper: but I have no objection to give all the particulars. I know hewhom they call Prince Charlie is in yonder vessel, which carrieseighteen guns. It cannot hold many soldiers; and Sir Alexander does notbelieve that he will be joined by any from his islands. He is thoughtto have a good many officers with him--"

"How many?"

"Some say twenty; some say forty. It is pretty sure that Glengarry willjoin him--"

"Glengarry! Then all is lost. "

"Sir Alexander thinks not. He and Macleod have written to the LordPresident, that not a man from these islands will join. "

"They have written to Duncan Forbes! Now, if they were wise, they wouldsend me to him--You need not look so surprised. He is a friend of mine;and glad enough he would be at this moment to know what I could tell himof the Edinburgh Jacobites. Where is the Lord President at this time?"

"In the north, I think, preparing against the rising. "

"Ay; at his own place near Inverness. If I could but get a letter tohim--Perhaps he knows already that I am not dead. If I could see SirAlexander! Oh! there are so many ways opening, if I had but the leasthelp from anybody to use the opportunity! Sir Alexander ought to knowthat I am a loyal subject of King George; and that my enemies are not. "

"True, " said Annie. "I will endeavour to speak to the steward againbefore he sails, and tell him that. "

"I will speak to him, myself. Ah! I see your unwillingness; but I havelearnt--it would be strange if I had not--to trust nobody with mybusiness. With Prince Charlie so near, there is no saying who is aJacobite, and who is not. I will see the steward myself. "

Annie knew that this would fail; and so it did. The steward'sdispositions were not improved by the lady's method of pleading. Hetold her that Sir Alexander's loyalty to King George had nothing to dowith his pledge that Lord Carse should never more be troubled by her. He had pledged his honour that she should cause no more disturbance, andno political difficulties would make him forfeit his word. The stewardgrew dogged during the interview. 

Did her friends in Edinburgh know that she was alive? she demanded. "Perhaps so. "

Did they know where she was? "Perhaps so. "

Then, should she be carried somewhere else? "Perhaps so. "

To some wretched, outlandish place, further in the ocean? "Perhaps so. "

Would they murder her rather than yield her up? "Perhaps so. "

The steward's heart smote him as he said this, but he forgave himself onthe plea that the vixen brought it all upon herself. So, when she askedthe further question--

"Is there any chance for the Pretender?--any danger that he maysucceed?" the answer still was "Perhaps so. "

Mr Ruthven, who was prowling about in search of news, heard these lastwords, and they produced a great effect upon him. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

TIMELY EVASION. 

Mr Ruthven was walking up and down his garden that afternoon in adisturbed state of mind, when his wife came to him and asked him what hethought Lady Carse could be in want of. She was searching among hisbooks and boxes as if she wanted something. He hastened in. 

"Yes, " Lady Carse replied, in answer to his question; "I want thatpistol that used to be kept on the top of your bed. You need not lookso frightened. I am not going to shoot you, nor anybody you ought tocare for. "

"I should like to understand, however, " observed the pastor. "It isunusual for ladies to employ fire-arms, I believe, except inapprehension of the midnight thief: and I am not aware of any dangerfrom burglars in these islands. "

"Why no, " replied the lady. "We have no great temptation to offer toburglars; and nothing to lose worth the waste of powder and bullet. "

"Then, if I may ask--"

"O yes; you may ask what I want the pistol for. It strikes me that theboat from yonder vessel may possibly be sent back for me yet. They maythink me a prize worth having, if the stupid people carried my storyright. I would go with them--I would go joyfully--for the chance ofshooting that young gentleman through the head. "

"Young gentleman!" repeated Mr Ruthven, aghast. 

"Yes, the young Pretender. My father lost his life for shooting a LordPresident. His daughter is the one to go beyond him, by getting rid ofa Prince Charlie. It would be a tale for history, that he was disposedof among these islands by the bravery of a woman. Why, you look soaghast, " she continued, turning from the husband to the wife, "that--Yes, yes. Oh, ho! I have found you out!--you are Jacobites! I see itin your faces. I see it. There now, don't deny it Jacobites you are--and henceforth my enemies. "

With stammering eagerness, both husband and wife denied the charge. Thefact was, they were not Jacobites; neither had they any sustainingloyalty on the other side. They understood very little of the matter, either way; and dreaded, above everything, being pressed to take anypart. They thought it very hard to have their lot cast in preciselythat corner of the empire where it was first necessary to take some partbefore knowing what the nation, or the majority, meant to do. First, they prevented the lady's finding the pistol, as the safest proceedingon the whole; next, they wished themselves a thousand miles off, soearnestly and so often, that it occurred to them to consider whetherthey could not accomplish a part of this desire, and get a hundred milesaway, or fifty, or twenty--somewhere, at least, out of sight of thePretender's privateer. 

In a few hours the privateer was out of sight--"Gone about north, " thesteward declared, "for supplies:" as nobody was willing to give them anyhelp while under the shadow of Macdonald and Macleod. In the evening, little Kate rushed into Annie's cottage, silently threw her arms aboutthe widow's neck, and almost strangled her with a tight hug. Adamfollowed, and struggled to do the same. When he wanted to speak, hebegan to cry; and grievously he cried, sobbing out, "What will you dowithout me? You can't see the boats at sea well now; and soon, perhaps, you will hardly be able to see them at all. And I was to have helpedyou: and now what will you do?"

"And papa would not let us come sooner, " said the weeping Kate, "becausewe had to pack all our things in such a hurry. He said we need not cometo you till he came to bid you good-bye. But I made haste, and then Icame. "

"But, my dears, when are you going? where are you going?"

"Oh, we are going directly: the steward is in such a hurry! And papasays we are not to cry; and we are not to come back any more. And weshall never get any of those beautiful shells on the long sands, thatyou promised me; and--"

Here Mr Ruthven entered. He had no time to sit down. He told thechildren that they must not cry; but that they might kiss their friend, and thank her for her kindness to them, and tell her that they shouldnever see her any more. There was so much difficulty with the sobbingchildren on this last point, that he gave it up for want of time, threatening to see about making them more obedient when he was settledon the mainland. While they clung to Annie, and hid their faces in hergown, he explained to her that his residence in this island had notanswered to his expectation; that he did not find it a congenial sphere;that he was a man of peace, to whom neither domestic discord, nor theprospect of war and difficulty without, were agreeable; and that he was, therefore, taking advantage of the steward's vessel to remove himself tosome quiet retreat, where the pastoral authority might be exercisedwithout disturbance, and a man like himself might be placed in a morecongenial sphere. He was then careful to explain that, in speaking ofdomestic discord, he was far from referring to Mrs Ruthven, who, hethought he might say, however liable to the failings of humanity, wasnot particularly open to blame on the ground of conjugal obedience. Shewas, in fact, an excellent wife; and he should be grieved to cause themost transient impression to the contrary. It was, in truth, anotherperson--a casual inmate of his family--whom he had in his eye; a ladywho--

"I understand, sir. If you will allow me to go home with you--"

"Permit me to conclude what I was saying, Mrs Fleming. That unhappylady, in favour of whose temper it is impossible to say anything, hascaused us equal uneasiness by another tendency of late--a tendency toindulge--"

But Annie did not, at such a moment, stand upon ceremony. She was bythis time leading the children home, one in each hand. 

"So you are really going away, and immediately?" said she to MrsRuthven. 

"Immediately, " replied the heated, anxious Mrs Ruthven. 

"Where is Lady Carse?"

The question again brought tears into Mrs Ruthven's swollen eyes. 

"I do not know. Mr Ruthven wishes to be gone before she returns fromher walk. "

"We leave her the entire house to herself, " declared the pastor, nowentering. "Will you bear our farewell message to her, and wish her joyfrom us of being possessor of the whole house; and of--"

"Here she comes, " said Annie, quietly. "Lady Carse, " she said, "this isa remarkable day. Here is another way opening for your deliverance--away which appears to me so clear that you have only to be patient for afew weeks or months before your best wishes are fulfilled. Mrs Ruthvenwill now be able to do for you what she has so often longed to do. Sheis going to the main--perhaps to Edinburgh; she will see Mr Hope, andothers of your friends; and tell your story. She will--"

"She will not have anything of the sort to do, " interrupted Lady Carse. "I shall go and do it myself. I told her, some time since, thatwhenever she quitted this island I would not be left behind. I shall domy own business myself, if you please. "

"That is well, " interposed the pastor; "because I promised the steward, passed my solemn word to him, as a condition of my departure, that itshould never become known through me or mine that Lady Carse had everbeen seen by any of us. I entirely approve of Lady Carse managing herown affairs. "

Annie found means to declare solemnly to Mrs Ruthven her convictionthat no such promise could be binding on her, and that it was herbounden duty to spare no effort for the poor lady's release. 

She was persuaded that Mrs Ruthven thought and felt with her; and thatsomething effectual would at last be done. 

The children now most needed her consolations. 

"Do not be afraid, " she said cheerfully to them. "I shall never forgetyou. I shall think of you every day. Whenever you see a sea-birdwinging over this way, send me your love: and when I see our birds gosouth, I will send my love to you. "

"And whenever, " said Helsa, "you see a light over the sea, you willthink of Widow Fleming's lamp, won't you?"

"And whenever, " said Lady Carse, with a solemnity which froze up thechildren's tears, and made them look in her face, "whenever, in thisworld or the next, you see a quiet angel keeping watch over a sinful, unhappy mortal, you may think of Widow Fleming and me. Will you?"

The awe-struck children promised, with a sincerity and warmth whichtouched Lady Carse with a keen sense of humiliation; not the less keenbecause she had brought it upon herself by a good impulse. 

The pastor and his family were presently gone; and without Lady Carse. The steward guarded against that by bringing Macdonald to fasten herinto her house, and guard it, till the boat should be out of reach. 

Annie did not intrude upon her unhappy neighbour for the first fewhours. She thought it better to wait till she was wished for. 

"Our pastor gone!" thought she, as she sat alone. "No more children'svoices in this dwelling! No more worship in the church on sabbaths!Thus is our Father always giving and taking away, that we may fix ourexpectations on Him alone. But He always leaves us enough. He leavesus our duty and our sabbaths, whether the church be open or in ruins. And He has left me also an afflicted neighbour to comfort andstrengthen. Now that she thinks she depends on me alone, I may be thebetter able to lead her to depend on Him. "

And she was presently absorbed in meditating how best to do this mostneedful work. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THE LAMP BURNS. 

Annie had supposed that her life would be almost as quiet an one as itused to be when the minister and his family were gone. Lady Carse washer neighbour, to be sure; but every day showed more and more that evento such restless beings as Lady Carse, a time of quiet must come. Herhealth and strength had been wasting for some months, and now a changecame over her visibly from week to week. She rarely moved many yardsfrom the house, spending hours of fine weather in lying on the grasslooking over the sea; and when confined to the house by the cold, indozing on the settle. 

This happened just when her prison was, as it were, thrown open, or, atleast, much less carefully guarded than ever before. Prince Charlie'ssuccesses were so great as to engross all minds in this region, andalmost throughout the whole of the kingdom. Wherever the Macdonalds andthe Macleods had influence, there was activity, day and night. Everyman in either clan, every youth capable of bearing arms, was raised anddrilled, and held in readiness to march, as soon as arms should beprovided by the government. 

Annie had many anxieties about Rollo, --many feelings of longing anddread to hear where he was, and what he was doing. The first good newsshe had was that of the whole population of Skye and the neighbouringislands, not one man had joined the Pretender. The news was carefullyspread, in order that it might produce its effect on any waverers, thatSir Alexander Macdonald had written to Lord President Forbes that notone man under him or Macleod had joined the Pretender's army; and thathe should soon be ready to march a force of several hundred men, if armscould be sent or provided for them against their arrival at Inverness. Meantime, no day passed without the men being collected in parties, andexercised with batons, in the absence of fire-arms. Rollo came to thevery first drill which took place on the island; and great was hismother's relief; and great the satisfaction with which she made haste toequip him, according to her small means, for a march to Inverness. 

Here was an object too for Lady Carse. She fretted sadly, but not quiteidly, about her strength failing just now when boats came to the islandso often that she might have had many chances of escape if she could nowhave borne night watching, and exposure to weather and fatigue. Shecomplained and wept much; but all the time she worked as hard as Annieto prepare Rollo for military service; for her very best chance nowappeared to be his seeing Lord President Forbes, and telling him herstory. The widow quite agreed in this; and it became the most earnestdesire of the whole party, --Helsa's sympathies being drawn in, --that thesummons to march might arrive. Somebody was always looking over towardsSkye; and there was so much traffic on these seas at present, that somenew excitement was perpetually arising. Now a meal bark arrived, telling of the capture of others by the prince's privateer: and nextthere was a seizure of fish for the king's service. Now all eyes wereengaged, for days together, in watching the man-of-war which hoveredround the coasts to prevent the rebels being reinforced by water, andarms being landed from foreign vessels: and then there were rumours, andsometimes visions, of suspicious boats skulking among the islands, or astrange sail being visible on the horizon. Such excitements made theisland appear a new place, and changed entirely the life of theinhabitants. The brave enjoyed all this: the timid sickened at it; andLady Carse wept over it as coming too late for her. 

"The lady looks ill, " the steward observed to the Widow Fleming, one daywhen, as often happened now, he came without notice. "She is so shrunk, she is not like the same person. "

Annie told how she had lost strength and spirits of late. She had notbeen down even to the harbour for two months. 

"Ay, it is a change, " said the steward. "I was saying to Macdonald justnow that we have been rather careless of late, having had our heads sofull of other matters. I almost wondered that she had not slippedthrough our fingers in the hurry and bustle: but I see now how that is. However, Macdonald will keep a somewhat stricter watch; for, as I toldhim, it concerns Sir Alexander's honour all the more that she should notget loose, now that those who committed her to his charge are undersuspicion about their politics--Ah! you see the secret is getting outnow, --the reason of her punishment. She wanted to ruin them, no doubt, by telling what she knew; and they put her out of the way for safety. "

"Is her husband with the Pretender then? And is Lord Lovat on thatside? They are the two she is most angry with. "

"Lord Carse is safe enough. He is a prudent man. He could not get intofavour with the king and the minister:--they knew two much harm of himfor that. So he has made himself a courtier of the Prince of Wales. Hehas no idea of being thrust upon the dangers of rebellion while theevent is uncertain; so he attaches himself in a useless way to thereigning family. And if Prince Charlie should succeed, Lord Carse caneasily show that he never favoured King George or his minister, or didthem any good. --As for Lovat, he is ill and quiet at home. "

"Which side is he on?"

"He complains bitterly of his son being disobedient to him, and put uponhis disobedience by his Jacobite acquaintance. If the young man joinsPrince Charlie, it is thought that his father will stand by King George, that the family estates may be safe whichever way the war ends, --Blessme! what a sigh! One would think--Come now, what's the matter?"

"The wickedness of it!" said Annie. 

"Oh! is that all? Lovat's wickedness is nothing new; and what bettercould you expect from his son? By the same rule, I have greatexpectations of your son. As you are sound, he will be sound too, anddo his king and country good service. You are both on the same side, and not like the master of Lovat and his father. "

"We have no estates to corrupt our minds, " observed Annie. "We haveonly our duty to care for. "

"Ay, then, you are on the same side. "

"Rollo is ready to march with the men of these islands. I am on noside, sir. I do not understand the matter, and I have nothing to dowith it. There is no occasion for me to take any side. "

"Why yes; as it happens, there is, Mrs Fleming: and that is one of thethings that brought me here to-day. Sir Alexander Macdonald desiresthat you will oblige him by not burning your lamp in the night till thetroubles are over. "

"I am sorry that there is anything in which I cannot oblige SirAlexander Macdonald: but I must burn my lamp. "

"But hear: you do not know his reasons. There are some suspiciousvessels skulking about among these islands; and you ought to show themno favour till they show what they are. "

"You do not think, sir, you cannot surely think that anybody on thisisland is in danger from the enemy. There is nothing to bring themhere, --no arms, nor wealth of any kind;--nothing that it would be worththe trouble of coming to take. "

"Oh no: you are all safe enough. No enemy would lose their time here. But that is no reason why you should give them help and comfort withyour beacon-light. "

"You mean, sir, that if a storm drives them hither, or they lose theirway, you would have them perish. Yes; that is what you mean, and that Icannot do. I must burn my lamp. "

"But my good friend, consider what you are doing. Consider theresponsibility if you should succour the king's enemies!"

"I did consider it well, sir, some years ago, and made up my mind. Thatwas when the pirates were on the coast. "

"You don't mean that you would have lighted pirates to shore?"

"I could not refuse to save them from drowning: and He who set me myduty blessed the deed. "

"I remember hearing something of that. But if the pirates did nomischief, your neighbours owe you nothing for that. You may thank thepoverty of the island. "

"Perhaps so, " said Annie, smiling. "And if so, I am sure we may thankGod for the poverty of the island which permits us to save men's lives, instead of letting them drown. And now you see, sir--"

"I see you are as wilful on this point as I heard you were. I would notbelieve it, because I always thought you a superior woman. But now--Iwish I could persuade you to see your duty better, Mrs Fleming. "

"As my duty appears to me, sir, it is to save people's lives withoutregard to who they are, and what their business is. "

"If the Pretender should come--"

"He would go as he came, " said Annie, quietly. "He would get nothinghere that could hurt the king, while the men of the island are gone toInverness. "

"Well, to be sure, if you would succour and comfort pirates, there isnobody whom you would not help. "

"That is true, sir. "

"But it is very dangerous, Mrs Fleming. Do you know the consequencesof aiding the enemy?"

"I know the consequences of there being no light above the harbour, "said Annie, in a low voice. 

The steward knew it was useless to say more. He thought it better toput into her hand some newspapers which contained a startling account ofthe progress of the rebels, embellished with many terrifying fictions oftheir barbarity, such as were greedily received by the alarmists of thetime. 

"Here, " said he. "You can look these over while I go to speak toMacdonald about removing the lady to some remoter place while we haveonly women on the island. Pray look over these papers, and then youwill see what sort of people you may chance to bring upon yourneighbours, if you persist in burning your lamp. But Sir Alexander mustput forth his authority--even use force, if necessary. What do you sayto that?"

"Some old words, " said Annie, smiling, "given to those who are broughtbefore governors. It shall be given me in that same hour what I shallspeak. "

"I will look in for the papers as I return, " said the steward. "You areas wilful on your own points as your neighbour. But you must give way, as you preach that she ought--"

"I do not preach that, sir, I assure you. I wish, for her own peace, that she would yield herself to God's disposal; but I would have her, inthe strength of law and justice, resist the oppression of man. "

The steward smiled, nodded, and left Annie to read the newspapers. 

The time was short. Lady Carse was asleep; but Annie woke her, and leftone paper with her while she went home to read the other. She wasabsorbed in the narrative of the march of the rebels southwards, andtheir intention of proceeding to London, eating children, as thenewspaper said, after the manner of Highlanders, all the way as theywent, when Lady Carse burst in, trembling from head to foot, and unableto speak. She showed to Annie a short paragraph, which told that avessel chartered by Mr Hope, advocate, of Edinburgh, and bound to theWestern Islands, had put into the Horseshoe harbour in Lorn, to land alady whom the captain refused to carry to her destination through aquarrel on the ground of difference of political sentiment. The lady, wife of a minister of the kirk, had sought the aid of the residenttenant to be escorted home through the disturbed districts in Argyle, while the vessel proceeded on its way--not unwatched, however, as MrHope's attachment to the house of Stuart was no secret, etcetera, etcetera. 

The widow was perplexed; but Lady Carse knew that Mr Hope, her lawyerand her friend, was a Jacobite--the only fault he had, she declared. She was persuaded that the lady was Mrs Ruthven, and that the vesselwas on its way to rescue her--might arrive at any hour of the day ornight. 

"But, " said Annie, "this lady is loyal to King George, and youreproached the Ruthvens for being on the other side. "

"O! I was wrong about her, no doubt. I detest him; but she is a goodcreature; and I was quite wrong ever to suspect her. "

"And you think your loyalty to the king would do you no harm with MrHope? You think he would exert himself for you without thinking of yourpolitics?"

"Why, don't you see what is before your eyes?" cried Lady Carse. "Is itnot there, as plain as black and white can make it?"

The fact was so, though the lady's reasoning was not good. The vessel, with armed men in it, was sent by Mr Hope to rescue Lady Carse; andMrs Ruthven was to act as guide. In consequence of a quarrel betweenthe captain and her, she was set ashore at the place where the littletown of Oban has since arisen; and the vessel sailed on out of sight. It was an illegal proceeding of Mr Hope's, and resorted to only whenhis attempts to obtain a warrant from the proper authority to search forand liberate Lady Carse were frustrated by the influence of her husbandand his friends. 

"He will be coming! Burn the paper!" cried Lady Carse impatiently, looking from the door. 

"Better not. Indeed we had better not, " said Annie quietly. "They haveno suspicion, or they would not have let us see the paper. They do notknow that Mr Hope is your agent; and Mrs Ruthven's name is notmentioned. If we do not return both the papers, there will besuspicion; and you will be carried to Saint Kilda. If we quietly returnboth papers, the danger may pass. "

"O! burn it, and say it was accident. How slow you are!"

"I cannot tell a lie, " said Annie. "And the steward would only getanother copy of the paper, and look over it carefully, --No, we have onlyto give him back the papers, and thank him, without agitation. "

"I cannot do that, " exclaimed Lady Carse. "If you will not tell a liein such a case, I shall act one. I shall go and pretend to be asleep. I could not contain myself to speak to that man, with my deliverersalmost within hearing perhaps, and that detestable Saint Kilda withinsight. "

She commanded herself so far as to appear asleep, when the stewardlooked in, on his return. Annie remarked on the news of the rebels, andsaw him depart evidently unaware of the weighty nature of what hecarried in his pocket. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

OPENINGS. 

The autumn of this year is even now held in memory in the island as thedearest ever known. The men were all gone to Inverness, to act underthe orders of President Forbes in defending the king's cause; and thewomen they left behind pined for news which seldom or never came. Asthe days grew short and dark, there was none of the activity and mirthwithin doors which in northern climates usually meet the advances ofwinter. In the cluster of houses about Macdonald's farm, there wasdulness and silence in the evenings, and anxious thoughts about fathers, husbands, and brothers, with dread of the daylight which would bringround the perpetual ineffectual watch for a boat on the waters, bearingnews of the brave companies of the Macdonalds and Macleods. SirAlexander remained in Skye, to watch against treason and danger there, while Macleod had gone with the two companies. Such a thing asmurmuring against the chief was never heard of; but there were few ofthe women who did not silently think, now and then, that Sir Alexandermight let them have a little more news--might consider their anxiety, and send a messenger when he had tidings from Inverness. This wasunjust to Sir Alexander, who was no better off for news than themselves. The rebels were so far successful that messengers could not carryletters with any security by land or sea. It was only by folding hisnotes so small as to admit of their being hidden in corners of the dressthat the President could get them conveyed to the authorities atEdinburgh; and his correspondence with the Government was managed bysending messengers in open boats to Berwick, whence the garrison officerforwarded the despatches to London. In such a state of things, theinhabitants of remote western islands must bear suspense as well as theycould. 

No one bore it so well as the Widow Fleming. Her only son was in one ofthe absent companies; she had no other near relation in the world; andshe had on her hands a sinking and heart-sick neighbour, whose pains ofsuspense were added to her own. Yet Annie was the most cheerful personnow on the island. When Helsa was fatigued and dispirited by herattendance on Lady Carse, and was sent home for a day's holiday, shealways came back with alacrity, saying that after all, the Macdonalds'side of the island was the most dismal of the two. Nobody there caredto sing, whereas Annie would always sing when asked, and often was heardto do so when alone. And she had such a store of tales about the oldsea-kings, and the heroes of these islands, and of Scotch history, thatsome of the younger women came night after night to listen. As theyknitted or spun, or let fall their work, while their eyes were fixed onAnnie, they forget the troubles of their own time, and the blasts andrains through which they should have to find their way home. 

At the end of these evenings, Lady Carse often declared herself growingbetter; and she then went to sleep on the imagination that she wouldsoon be restored to Edinburgh life by Mr Hope's means, and be happy atlast. In the morning, she always declared herself sinking, and frettedover the hardship of dying just when her release was drawing near. Annie thought she was sinking, and never contradicted her when she saidso; but yet she tried to bring some of the cheerfulness of the eveningsinto the morning. She sympathised in the pain of suspense, and ofincreasing weakness when life was brightening; but she steadily spoke ofhope. 

She was sincerely convinced that efforts which could not fail weremaking for Lady Carse's release, and she thought it likely that themother and children would meet on earth, though it were only to exchangea hope that they might meet in heaven. Sincerely expecting some greatand speedy change in the poor lady's fortunes, she could dwell upon theprospect from day to day with a sympathy which did not disappoint evenLady Carse. Every morning she rose with the feeling that great thingsmight happen before night; and every night she assured her eagerneighbour that no doubt somebody had been busy on her behalf during theday. Whether Lady Carse owned it to herself or not, this was certainlythe least miserable winter she had passed since she had left Edinburgh. 

"I am better, I am sure, " she joyfully declared one night: "better inevery way. How do I look? Tell me how I look. "

"Sadly thin; not so as to do justice to the good food the steward sentyou, " said Annie, cheerfully. "I should like to see these little handsnot quite so thin. "

"Ah! that is nothing. Everybody is thin and smoke-dried at the end of astormy winter, " declared Lady Carse. "But I feel so much better! Yousay it is hope; but you see how well I bear suspense. "

"I always have thought, " said Annie, "that nothing is so good for us allas happiness and peace. Your happiness in hoping to see your childrensoon, and in obtaining justice, has done you a great deal of good; and Itrust there is much more in store yet. "

"O yes; and when I get back to my friends again, I shall be happier thanI was. We learn some things as we go on in life. I sometimes thinkthat I should in some respects act differently if I had to live my lifeover again. "

"We all feel that, " said Annie. 

"You know that feeling? Well, there have been some things in myselfwhich I rather wonder at now; some things that I would not do now. Ionce struck my husband. "

"Once!" thought Annie in amazement. 

"And I think I may have been too peremptory with the children. Therewas nobody then to lead me to discover such things as I do when I amwith you; and I believe now that if I were at home again--I hope--Ithink--"

"What will you do if it pleases God to restore you to your home?"

"Why, I _have_ been told that they were afraid of me at home. Heavenknows why! for I should have thought that pompous, heartless, rigid, tyrannical wretch, my husband, was the one to be afraid of; and not awarm-hearted creature like me. "

"Perhaps they were afraid of him too. "

"O yes, to be sure; and that is why I am here. But they need not havecared for anything I say under an impulse. They might have known that Ilove people when they do me justice. That, I own, I cannot dispensewith. I must have justice. But if people give me my due, I am readyenough to love them. "

"And how will you do differently now, if you get home?"

"I think I would be more dignified than I sometimes have been. I wouldrely more upon myself. I may have encouraged my enemies by letting themsee how they could wound my sensitive feelings. I should not have beenso ill-treated by the whole world if I had not made some mistake of thatkind. I would rely more on myself, and let them see that they could nottouch my peace. Would not that be right?"

"Certainly; by your having a peace which they could not touch. "

There was a short pause; after which Lady Carse said, in no unamiabletone, "I do not say these things by way of asking your advice. I knowmy own feelings and circumstances, and the behaviour of my family to me, better than you can do. I may be left to judge for myself; but it isnatural, when a summons may come any day, to tell you what I think ofthe past; and of how I shall act in the time to come. "

"I quite understand that, " said Annie. "And I like to hear all you liketo tell me without judging or advising, unless you ask me. "

"Well, I fairly own to you--and you may take the confession for what itis worth--if I had to live the last twenty years over again, I should insome respects act differently, I now believe that I have said and donesome things that I had better not. But I was driven to it. I have beenmost cruelly treated. "

"You have. "

"And if they had only known how to treat me! Why, you are not afraid ofme, are you?"

"Not in the least. "

"And you never were?"

"Never. "

"Why, there now! But you are a woman of sense. "

"I am not afraid of you, and never was, " said Annie looking calmly inher face; "but I can understand how some people might be. "

"Not people of sense, " exclaimed Lady Carse quickly. 

"Perhaps not; but we do not expect all that we have dealings with to bepeople of sense. "

"No, indeed! Nobody need ever look for sense in Lord Carse, for one. Well! I am so glad you never were afraid of me; and I am sure, moreover, that you love me: you are so kind to me!"

"I do, " said Annie, smiling in reply to the wistful gaze. 

Lady Carse's eyes filled with tears. 

"Good night! God bless you!" said she. 

"She says, " thought Annie, "that I may take her confession for what itis worth. How little she knows the worth of that confession!--aconfession that any acquaintance she has would blush or mock at, andthat any pastor in Scotland would rebuke! but to one who knows her as Ido, how precious it is! I like to be called to rejoice with theneighbours when a child is born into the world: but it is a greaterthing to sit here alone and rejoice over the birth of a new soul in thispoor lady. It is but a feeble thing, this new born soul--born so muchtoo late; it is little better than blind and helpless, and with hardstruggles coming on before it has strength to meet them. But still itis breathing with God's breath; and it may come freely to Christ. Christ always spoke to souls; and what were the years of man's life toHim? So I take it as an invitation in such a case as this, when Hesays, `Suffer the little children to come unto Me. ' O may the way bekept clear for this infant soul to come to Him!"

Annie had all the kindly and cheerful instincts which simple hearts haveeverywhere; and among them the wish to welcome the newly born withmusic. With the same feeling which make the people of many a heathenisland and Christian country pour out their music round the dwellingwhich is gladdened by a new birth, Annie now sang a cheerful religiouswelcome to the young conscience which she trusted must henceforth liveand grow for ever. Her voice was heard next door, just so as to befavourable to rest. Without knowing the occasion of the song, the ladyreposed upon it; and without knowing it, Annie sang her charge to sleep, as she had often done when Rollo was an infant on her knee. 

When at daylight she rose to put out her lamp, and observe the weather, she saw what made her dress quickly, instead of going to bed for herneedful morning hour of sleep. A boat was making for the harbourthrough the difficulties of the wintry sea. It rose and was borne onthe long swell so fast and so fearfully, that it appeared as if nothingcould save it from dashing on the ledges of projecting rock; and then, before it reached them, it sank out of sight, to be lifted up and bornealong as before. There were four rowers, a steersman, and two others, muffled in cloaks. Annie watched them till the boat disappeared in thewindings of the harbour; and she was out on the hill-side, in the coldFebruary wind, when she saw the whole party ascending from the shore, and taking the road to Macdonald's. 

Here was news! There must be news. Better not tell even Helsa till shehad heard the news. So the widow made what haste she could by thenearer road; but her best haste could not compare with the ordinary paceof the strangers. They had arrived long before she reached Macdonald'sgate. 

She walked straight in: and as she did so, one of the gentlemen who wasstanding before the fire glanced at another who was walking up and down. 

"We need no sentinels here, my lord, " said the latter in reply to theglance. "There are none but women and children on the island, and theyare all loyally disposed. "

"This is Sir Alexander Macdonald, " said the hostess to Annie. And thenshe told the chief that this was the Widow Fleming, who had no doubtcome to obtain tidings of her son, who had gone with the company underMacleod. 

"The Lord President will give you more exact news of the company than Ican, " said Sir Alexander. "I only know that my people are marched toAberdeen to protect that city from the insolence of the rebels. "

The President, who was sitting by the fire, looked up kindly, andcheerfully told the widow that he had good news to give of the companyfrom these islands. They had not been in any engagement, and were allin good health when they marched for Aberdeen, a fortnight before. "Andare they all in their duty, my lord?"

"You remind me, friend, that I ought to have put that before my accountof their health and safety. They are in their duty, being proof, sofar, against both threat and seduction from the rebels. "

"Thus far?"

"Why, yes; I used those words because their loyalty to the king islikely to be tried to the utmost at the present time. The king's causeis in adversity, we will hope only for a short time. The rebels havewon a battle at Falkirk, and dispersed the king's troops; and thisgentleman, the Earl of Loudon, " pointing to the one who was standing bythe fire, "and I have had to run away from my house at Culloden, andthrow ourselves on the hospitality of Sir Alexander Macdonald. "

"And what will become of your house, my lord?"

"I have thrown my house and fortune into the cause, as you have thrownsomething much more important--your son. If you can wait God's disposalcheerfully, much more should I. I cannot bestow a thought on my house. "

"Except, " said Sir Alexander, "that you have nothing else to think abouthere; and nothing to do but to think, for this day, at least. We mustremain here. So safe as it is, in comparison with any part of Skye, oreven Barra, I should recommend your staying here till we have someassurance of safety elsewhere. "

"I will venture to offer something for the Lord President to think ofand to do, " said the widow, coming forward with an earnestness whichfixed everybody's attention at once, and made Sir Alexander stop in hiswalk. He was about to command silence on Annie's part, but a glance ather face showed him that this would be useless. 

"Let me first be sure that I am right, " said Annie. "Is the LordPresident whom I speak to named Duncan Forbes? And is he a friend ofLord Carse?"

"I am Duncan Forbes, and Lord Carse is an acquaintance of mine. "

"Has he ever told you that his unhappy wife is not dead, as hepretended, but living in miserable banishment on this island?"

"On this island! Nonsense!" cried Sir Alexander. 

When assured by the hostess and Annie that it was so, he swore at hissteward, his tenant, and himself. On first hearing of the alarm beingtaken by the lady's friends at Edinburgh, he had ordered her removal toSaint Kilda, and had supposed it effected long ago. The troubles of thetime, which left no boat or men disposable, had caused the delay; andnow, between his rage at any command of his having been disregarded, andhis sense of his absurdity in bringing a friend of his prisoner to hervery door, he was perfectly exasperated. He muttered curses as hestrode up and down. 

Meantime the Lord President was quietly preparing himself for a walk. Everybody but Annie entreated him to stay till he had breakfasted, andwarmed himself, Lord Loudon adding that the lady would not fly away inthe course of the next hour if she had been detained so many years. Itdid not escape the President's observant eye that these words struck SirAlexander, and that he made a movement towards the door. There being aboat and rowers at hand, she might be found to have flown within thehour, if he stayed to breakfast. 

He approached Sir Alexander, and laid his hand on his arm, saying--

"My good friend, I advise you to yield up this affair into my hands asthe first law officer of Scotland. All chance of concealment of thislady's case has been over for some time. Measures have been taken forsome months to compel you to resign the charge which you surely cannotwish to retain--"

Sir Alexander broke in with curses on himself for having ever beenpersuaded into involving himself in such a business. 

"By the desire, I presume, of Lord Carse, Lord Lovat, Mr Forster, andothers, not now particularly distinguished for their loyalty. "

"That is the cursed part of it, " muttered Sir Alexander. "It was tofurther their Jacobite plots that they put this vixen out of the way, because she had some secrets in her power, and they laid it all on hertemper, which, they told me, caused my lord to go in fear of hisreputation and his life. "

"There was truth in that, to my knowledge, " observed the President; "andthere were considerations connected with the daughters--naturalconsiderations, though leading to unnatural cruelty. "

"Politics were at the bottom, for all that, " said the chief, "And now, as she has been my prisoner for so long, I suppose they will throw thewhole responsibility upon me. The rebel leaders hate me for my loyaltyas they hate the devil. They hate me--"

"As they hate Lord Loudon and myself, " interposed the President, "whichthey do, I take it, much more bitterly than they ever did the devil. But, Sir Alexander, let me point out to you that your course in regardto this lady is now clear. If the rebellion succeeds, let the leadersfind that you have taken out of their hands this weapon, which theymight otherwise use for your destruction. Let them find you acting withme in restoring the lady to her rights. If, as I anticipate, therebellion is yet to fail, this is still your only safe course. It willafford you the best chance of impunity--which impunity, however, it isnot for me to promise--for the illegality and the guilt of your pastconduct to the victim. There is something in our friend's countenancehere, " he continued, turning to the widow with a smile, "which I shouldlike to understand. I fear I have not her good opinion, as I couldwish. "

Annie told exactly what she was thinking: that all this reasoning waswrong, because wasteful of the right. Surely it was the shortest andclearest thing to say that, late as it was, it was better for SirAlexander to begin doing right than persist in the wrong. 

"I quite agree with you, " said the President, "and if people generallywere like you, we should be saved most of the argumentation of our lawcourts--if, indeed, we should need the courts at all, or, perhaps, evenany human law. Come, Sir Alexander, let me beg your company to call onLady Carse. One needs the countenance of the chief, who is always andeverywhere welcome in his own territory, to excuse so early a visit. "

Sir Alexander positively declined going. He was, in truth, afraid ofthe lady's tongue in the presence of a legal functionary, before whom hecould neither order nor threaten violence. 

It was a great relief to Annie that he did not go. She needed theopportunity of the walk to prepare the President to meet his oldacquaintance, and to speak wisely to her. 

Even the President, with his habitual self-possession, could not concealhis embarrassment at the change in Lady Carse. The light from thewindow shone upon her face; yet he glanced at the widow, as in doubtwhether this could be the right person, before he made his complaints. In the midst of her agitation at the meeting, Lady Carse said to herselfthat the good man was losing his memory; and, indeed, it was time; forhe must be above sixty. She wondered whether it was a sign that herhusband might be losing his faculties too: but she feared Duncan Forbeswas a good deal the older of the two. 

It would have astonished those who did not know Duncan Forbes to see himnow. He was a fugitive from the rebels, who might at the moment beburning his house, and impoverishing his tenants; he had been wanderingin the mountains for many days, and had spent the last night upon thesea; his clothes were weather-stained, his periwig damp, and his bucklesrusted; he was at the moment weary and aching with cold and hunger; hewas in the presence of a lady whom he had for years supposed dead andburied; and he was under the shock of seeing a face once full of healthand animation now not only wasted, but alive with misery in every fibre:yet he sat on a bench in this island dwelling--in his eyes a hovel--withhis gold-headed cane between his knees, talking with all the courtesy, calmness, and measured cheerfulness, which Edinburgh knew so well. Nothing could be better for Lady Carse than his manner. It actuallytook away the sense of wonder at their meeting, and meeting thus. Whilehe had stood at the threshold, and she heard whom she was to see, herbrain had reeled, and her countenance had become such as it might welldismay him to see; but such was the influence of his composure, and ofthe associations which his presence revived, that she soon appeared inAnnie's eyes a totally altered person. As the two sat at breakfast, Annie saw before her the gentleman and lady complete, in spite of everydisguise of dress and circumstance. 

At the close of the meal, Annie slipped away to her own house: but itwas not long before she was sent for, at the desire, not of Lady Carse, but of the President. He wished her to hear what he had to relate. Hetold of Mr Hope's exertions in Edinburgh, and of his having at lengthventured upon an illegal proceeding for which only the disturbance ofthe times could be pleaded in excuse. He had sent out a vessel, containing a few armed men, and Mrs Ruthven, who had undertaken to actas guide to Lady Carse's residence. It was understood that the captainhad set Mrs Ruthven ashore in Lorn, through some disagreement betweenthem; and that the vessel had proceeded as far as Barra, when thecaptain was so certainly informed that the lady had been removed to themainland that he turned back; pleading, further, that there was suchevident want of sense in Mrs Ruthven, and such contradictory testimonybetween her and her husband, that he doubted whether any portion oftheir story was true. It was next believed that a commission of enquirywould be soon sent to this and other islands: but this could not takeplace until the public tranquillity should be in some degree restored. 

"Before that, I shall be dead, " sighed Lady Carse, impatiently. 

"There is no need now to wait for the commission, " said the President. "Where I am, all violations of the law must cease. Your captivity isnow at an end, except in so far as you are subject to ill health, or, like myself, to winter weather and most wintry fortunes. "

"The day is come, then, " said Annie, through shining tears. "You arenow delivered out of the hand of man, and have to wait only God'spleasure. "

"What matters it, " murmured Lady Carse, "how you call my misfortunes?Here I sit, a shivering exile--"

"So far like myself, " observed the President, moving nearer the scantyfire. 

"You have not been heart-sick for years under insufferable wrongs, "declared Lady Carse. "And you have not the grave open at your feetwhile everything you care for is beckoning to you to come away. You--"

"Pardon me, my old friend, " said he, mildly. "That is exactly my case. I am old: the grave is open at my feet; and beyond it stands she who, though early lost, has been the constant passion of my life. Perhaps myheart may have pined under the privation of her society as sensibly asyours under afflictions more strange in the eyes of the world. But itis not wise--it does not give strength, but impair it--thus to comparehuman afflictions. I should prefer cheerfully encouraging each other towait for release; I see little prospect of any release this day for usexiles; so let me see what my memory is worth in my old age--let me seewhat I can recall of our Janet. You know I always consider Janet my ownby favouritism; and she called me grandfather the last time we met, asshe used to do before she was able to spell so long a word. "

He told so much of Janet, that Lady Carse changed her opinion about hisloss of memory. Again Annie stole home: and there did the Presidentseek her, after a long conversation with her neighbour. 

"I wish to know, " said he, "whether the great change that I observe inthis lady is recent. "

"She is greatly changed within a few months, " replied the widow: "and Ithink she has sunk within a few days. I see, sir, that you look for herrelease soon. "

"If the change has been rapid of late, " he replied, "it is my opinionthat she is dying. "

"Is there anything that you would wish done?" asked Annie. 

"What can we do? I perceive that she is in possession of what isperhaps the only aid her case admits of--a friend who can at once sootheher earthly life, and feed her heavenly one. "

Annie bowed her head, and then said--

"You would not have me conceal her state from herself, I think, sir. "

"I would not. I believe she is aware that I think her very ill--decisively ill. "

"I hope she is. I have seen in her of late that which makes me desirefor her the happy knowledge that she is going home to a place where shemay find more peace than near her enemies in a city of the earth. "Fancying that the President shook his head, Annie went on--

"I would not be presumptuous, sir, for another any more than for myself:but when a better life is permitted to begin, ever so feebly, here, surely God sends death, not to put it out, but to remove it to a saferplace. "

The President smiled kindly, and walked away. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

FREE AT LAST!

Sir Alexander and his guests remained on the island only a few days; butduring that time the President gave Lady Carse many hours of hissociety. Full as his mind was of public and private affairs--charged ashe was with the defence of Scotland against the treason of the Pretenderand his followers--grieved as he was by the heart-sorrows which attendcivil war--and now a fugitive, destitute of means, and in peril of hislife--he still had cheerfulness and patience to minister to Lady Carse. From his deliberate and courteous entrance, his air of leisure, hisquiet humour in conversation, and his clear remembrance of smallincidents relating to the lady's family and acquaintance, anyone wouldhave supposed that he had not a care in the world. For the hour, LadyCarse almost felt as if she had none. She declared herself gettingquite well; and she did strive, by a self-command and prudence such asastonished even Annie, to gain such ground as should enable her to leavethe island when the President did--that is, as she and others supposed, when the spring should favour the sending an English army to contest theempire once more with the still successful Pretender. 

But, in four days, there was a sudden break up. A faithful boatman ofSir Alexander's came over from Skye to give warning of danger. Therewere no three men in Scotland so hated by the rebels as the threegentlemen now on the island; and no expense or pains were to be sparedin capturing them. They must not remain, from any mere hope of secrecy, in a place which contained only women and children. They must go wherethey could not only hide, but be guarded by fighting men. It wasdecided to be off that very moment. The President desired onehalf-hour, that he might see Lady Carse, and assure her of his care andprotection, and of relief, as soon as he could command the means. Heentered as deliberately as usual, and merely looked at his watch andsaid that he had ten minutes, and no more. 

"You must not go, " said she. "We cannot spare you. Oh, you need notfear any danger! We have admirable hiding-places in our rock, where, tomy knowledge, you can have good fires, and a soft bed of warm sand. Youare better here. You must not go. "

Of course the President said he must, and civilly stopped theremonstrance. Then she declared, with a forced quietness, "If you willgo, I must go with you. Do not say a word against it. I have yourpromise, and I will hold you to it. Oh, yes, I am fit to go--fitterthan to stay. If I stay, I shall die this night. If I go, I shall liveto keep a certain promise of mine--to go and see my Lord Lovat's headfall. I will not detain you; we have five minutes of your ten yet Iwill be across the threshold before your ten minutes are up. Helsa!Helsa, come with me. "

"What is to be done?" asked the President of Annie. "You know her best. What if I compel her to stay? Would there be danger?"

"I think she would probably die to-night, as she says. If she couldconvince herself of her weakness, that would be best. She cannot walkto the shore. She cannot sit in an open boat in winter weather. "

"You are right. I will let her try. She may endure conviction by suchmeans. "

"I will go with you to help her home. "

"That is well; but you are feeble yourself. "

"I am, sir; but I must try what I can do. " Lady Carse was over thethreshold within the ten minutes, followed by Helsa with a bundle ofclothes. She cast a glance of fiery triumph back at the dwelling, andround the whole desolate scene. For a few steps she walked firmly, thenshe silently accepted the President's arm. Further on, she was glad tohave Helsa's on the other side. 

"Let me advise you to return, " said the President, pausing when thedescent became steeper. "By recruiting here till the spring, you--"

"I will recruit elsewhere, thank you. When I once get into the boat Ishall do very well. It is only this steep descent, and the treacherousfooting. "

She could not speak further. All her strength was required to keepherself from falling between her two supporters. "You will not dobetter in the boat. You mistake your condition, " said the President. "Plainly, my conviction is, that if you proceed you will die. "

"I shall not. I will not. If I stay, I shall not see another day. IfI go, I may live to seventy. You do not know me, my lord. You are notentitled to speak of the power of my will. "

The President and the widow exchanged glances, and no further oppositionwas offered. 

"We may as well spare your strength, however, " said the President. "Theboatmen shall carry you. I will call them. Oh! I see. You are afraidI should give you the slip. But you may release my skirts. Yourservants will do us the favour to go forward and send us help. "

The boatmen looked gloomy about conveying two women--one of themevidently very ill; and Sir Alexander would have refused in any othercase whatever. But he had vowed to interfere no more in Lady Carse'saffairs, but to consider her wholly the President's charge. 

"I see your opinion in your face, " said the President to him, "and Ientirely agree with you. But she is just about to die, at all events;and if it is an indulgence to her to die in the exercise of a freedomfrom which she has been debarred so long, I am not disposed to deny itto her. I assume the responsibility. "

"My doubt is about the men, " observed Sir Alexander; "but I will do whatI can. "

He did what he could by showing an interest in the embarkation of thelady. He laid the cloaks and plaids for her in the bottom of the boat, and spoke cheerfully to her--almost jokingly--of the uncertainty oftheir destination. He lifted her in himself, and placed Helsa besideher; and then his men dared not show further unwillingness but bysilence. 

Lady Carse raised herself and beckoned to Annie. Annie leaned over toher, and said, "Dear Lady Carse, you look very pale. It is not too lateto say you will come home with me. "

Lady Carse tried to laugh; but it was no laugh, but a convulsion. Shestruggled to say, "I shall do very well presently, when I feel I amfree. It is only the last prison airs that poison me. If we never meetagain--"

"We shall not meet in life, Lady Carse. I shall pray for you. "

"I know you will. And I--I wished to say--but I cannot--"

"I know what you would say. Lie down and rest. God be with you!"

All appeared calm and right on board the boat, as long as Annie couldwatch its course in the harbour. When it disappeared behind a headland, she returned home to look for it again. She saw it soon, and for sometime, for it coasted the island to the northernmost point for the chanceof being unseen to the last possible moment. It was evidentlyproceeding steadily on its course, and Annie hoped that the sense offreedom might be acting as a restorative for the hour to the dyingwoman. Those on board hoped the same; for the lady, when she hadcovered her face with a handkerchief, lay very still. 

"She looks comfortable, " whispered the President to Sir Alexander. "Canyou suggest anything more that we can do?"

"Better let her sleep while she can, my lord. She appears comfortableat present. "

Three more hours passed without anything being observable in Lady Carse, but such slight movements now and then as showed that she was notasleep. She then drew the handkerchief from her face and looked up atHelsa, who exclaimed at the change in the countenance. The Presidentbent over her, and caught her words--

"It is not your fault--but I am dying. But I am sure I should have diedon land, and before this. And I have escaped! Tell my husband so. "

"I will. Shall I raise you?"

"No; take no notice. I cannot bear to be pitied. I will not be pitied;as this was my own act. But it is hard--"

"It _is_ hard: but you have only to pass one other thresholdcourageously, and then you are free indeed. Man cannot harm you there. "

"But, to-day, of all seasons--"

"It _is_ hard: but you have done with captivity. No more captivity! Mydear Lady Carse, what remains! What is it you would have? You wouldnot wish for vengeance! No! it is pain!--you are in pain. Shall Iraise you?"

"No, no: never mind the pain! But I did hope to see my husband again. "

"To forgive him. You mean, to forgive him?"

"No: I meant--"

"But you mean it now? He had something to pardon in you. "

"True. But I cannot--Do not ask me. "

"Then you hope that God will. I may tell him that you hope that Godwill forgive him. "

"That is not my affair. Kiss my Janet for me. "

"I will; and all your children--What? `Is it growing dark?' Yes, itis, to us as well as to you. What is that she says?" he inquired ofHelsa, who had a younger and quicker ear. 

"She says the widow is about lighting her lamp. Yes, my lady; but weare too far off to see it. "

"Is she wandering?" asked the President. 

"No, sir: quite sensible, I think. Did you speak, my lady?"

"My love!"

"To Annie, my lady? I will not forget. "

She spoke no more. Sir Alexander contrived to keep from the knowledgeof the boatmen for some hours that there was a corpse on board. Whenthey could conceal it no longer, they forgot their fatigue in theirsuperstition, and rowed, as for their lives, to the nearest point ofland. This happened, fortunately, to be within the territories of SirAlexander Macdonald. 

In the early dawn the boat touched at Vaternish Point, and there landedthe body, which, with Helsa for its attendant, was committed by SirAlexander to a clansman who was to summon a distant minister, and seethe remains interred in the church at Trunban, where they now lie. 

When the President returned to his estate at Culloden; in the ensuingspring, on the final overthrow of the Jacobite cause, his first use ofthe re-established post was to write to Lord Carse, in London, tidingsof his wife's death, promising all particulars if he found that hisletter reached its destination in safety. The reply he received wasthis:--

"I most heartily thank you, my dear friend, for the notice you havegiven me of the death of _that person_. It would be a ridiculousuntruth to pretend grief for it; but as it brings to my mind a train ofvarious things for many years back, it gives me concern. Her retainingwit and facetiousness to the last surprises me. These qualities nonefound in her, no more than common sense or good nature, before she wentto those parts; and of the reverse of all which if she had not beenirrecoverably possessed, in an extraordinary and insufferable degree, after many years' fruitless endeavours to reclaim her, she had neverseen those parts. I long for the particulars of her death, which, youare pleased to tell me, I am to have by next post. "

"Hers was a singular death, at last, " observed Lord Carse, when he putthe President's second letter into the hands of his sister. "I almostwonder that they did not slip the body overboard, rather than exposethemselves to danger for the sake of giving Christian burial to such aperson. "

"Dust to dust, " said Lady Rachel, thoughtfully. "Those were the wordssaid over her. I am glad it was so, rather than that one more was addedto the tossing billows. For what was she but a billow, driven by thewinds and tossed?"

When, some few years after, the steward approached the island on anautumn night, in honour of Rollo's invitation to attend the funeral ofthe Widow Fleming, his eye unconsciously sought the guiding light on thehill-side. 

"Ah!" said he, recollecting himself, "it is gone, and we shall see it nomore. Rollo will live on the main, and this side of the island will bedeserted. Her light gone! We should almost as soon thought of losing astar. And she herself gone! We shall miss her, as if one of our loftyold rocks had crumbled down into the sea. She was truly, though onewould not have dared to tell her so, an anchorage to people feebler thanherself. She had a faith which made her spirit, tender as it was, asfirm as any rock. "

THE END.