And as she lay upon her bed awake, through these gloomy, solitary nights, and dreamed of footsteps on the stair, and mysterious sighings through her silent room, the strong heart of Martha trembled. What if the spirit hovering by her, struggled in those inarticulate breathings to communicate something to the dull human sense, which cannot hear the delicate voices out of the unseen country? What if Harry--the true Harry--not him they laid under the sod in the churchyard of Maidlin--was straining his grander spiritual faculties by her side, to attain to the old mortal voice which only she could hear, and tell her what mercy God had communicated to his soul, and where its dwelling was? And Martha held her breath and listened, and with a throb of deeper grief was sensible of this thrill of fear which reminded her how great a gulf and separation lay now between her and the dead--a gulf before which the human spirit fainted, refusing to front the forbidden mystery which yet its restless, curious thoughts assail on every side. But in the broad daylight many a time there seemed to Martha an eye upon her which benumbed her like a spell--a conscious presence going with her as she went and came, sitting silent by her side, fixing upon her constantly this fascinating eye. Meanwhile everything extraneous was cleared away from their now simple and plain establishment. John was gone--and Mr. Buchanan’s money lodged in the Stirling Bank restored credit and respectability to the steady and continuous care which began to rule over Harry’s fields. At Martha’s years there is difficulty in learning an altogether new occupation, and this was of itself distasteful and _outré_ to a woman; but sometimes, though every one respected her presence, it happened that she heard indifferent people speak of “poor Allenders,” of the “warning” of his death as Gilbert called it, or of the shipwreck of his life. And this, which brought the burning blood to Martha’s face, inspired her with power to overcome every obstacle. Harry--who in her heart needed no name--he had been too long the acknowledged centre there--it was to Martha the bitterest pain to speak of him to the uninterested and careless who, presuming on her mention of him, plied her with allusions to her brother, till her impatient sorrow could have turned upon them, and struck them down even with a blow. But even this Martha schooled herself to bear--schooled herself to tell the men with whom her necessary business brought her into contact, that this was Harry’s will and that his intention; that he had proposed this work, and that charity, which she was bound to carry out, and would. Gradually these people came to look upon him with a visionary reverence--this spirit of the dead whose intentions lived in a will so strong and unvarying; and his own weakness passed away, and was forgotten, in the strength which placed itself, like a monument, upon his grave. CHAPTER XIX.