“Wad God take you, and me, think ye, to save him?” said Dragon, now wandering back into a mild half-delirious waking sleep, “but then we’re forfeit--forfeit--and there was but Ane. I’m content to gang, bairnie, content to gang--where’s your hand? and I dinna ken how we maun travel, but the angel will tell us when he comes; and I’ll take care o’ ye a’ the way, for we’re no to expect the angel, that’s a stranger, to take heed to a’ a little bairn’s wants like the like of me. Ye can say we’re ready. Ye can say I’ve got the better o’ mysel, and I’m willing to gang.” But Lettie, excited and terrified, dared not say aloud the strange prayer, “Take Dragon and me, and save Harry,” which was in her heart. And Dragon’s feeble hand tightened on hers, till Lettie looking up in fright and sudden fear, saw that his head had fallen back, and that an ashy paleness like that of his face was creeping over the rigid fingers which grasped her own. But Dragon’s loud and heavy breathing showed her that this was not death. Lettie withdrew her hand with pain and difficulty from his grasp, and ran to call assistance. She pressed her finger on her own pulse, as she followed Mysie and the doctor back again to the old man’s bedside, and a strange cold thrill of fear and expectation shot through her frame. Poor little visionary Lettie! She thought her prayer was heard--she thought the angel had called Dragon, and it became her to be ready now. But Lettie’s shivering hope was vain. A slight, almost momentary, “shock” had come upon the old man, but it passed away. It passed away--nature began to warm again in the withered worn-out frame, and Lettie’s pulse beat true and steady, with a young life whose delicate strength should yet bear many things--while hour by hour the tide of strong manhood ebbed, and Harry, poor Harry! drew nearer to his grave. CHAPTER XIII. And Love himself, as he were armed in steel, Steps forth, and girds him for the strife with death. PICCOLOMINI. THE doctors were in almost constant attendance--the minister of the parish came to pray by the bedside of the half-conscious patient, whose heavy moans broke in upon his supplication. The children of Maidlin, awe-stricken and full of wonder and curiosity, hung about the gate of Allenders, telling each other how Harry fell, and how the trail was found on the road, where his horse had dragged him along the damp, loose soil. And their mothers came in bands in the early afternoon to speak of it with kindred awe and mystery, and stealing round by the back of the house, beckoned Mysie out to learn from her how the sufferer was. More dignified people, and even Sir John Dunlop himself, sent messengers to inquire for poor Harry; and Gilbert Allenders, like an ill-omened shadow, continually hovered about the door.