It was not until Marg’ret had come alarmed from her kitchen to bid them, “Oh, whisht, bairns, or ye’ll waken your father,” that Jeanie could be persuaded to silence, and to believe in her sister’s promise to return. The sounds though so subdued still made a whispering through the hall, and an alarming movement that shook the house overhead as if Drumcarro himself had been roused to see what was going on. This precipitated the departure of Anne, who, frightened as she was for the dark road and the chill of the morning, was still more alarmed at the idea of her father’s appearance, and hastened out from the one danger to dare the other, almost with alertness pulling Kirsteen with her, with a clutch of her other arm. Anne’s spirit was roused by the episode which had just passed. She was aware that she was not herself strong or able to move about unprotected, or take any separate step on her own responsibility, but she had a great confidence in her own judgment respecting others. She almost forgot to think of the terrors of the dark in her desire to make Kirsteen see her duty in respect to Jeanie, and to set everything right. She panted a little as she spoke walking on in the darkness, with the lantern throwing a faint light upon the ground at her feet, but though it affected her breath, it did not affect her certainty of being able to give good advice. “Kirsteen--ye will be very wrong--if ye yield to that bairn. She is little more--than a bairn. She is maybe nervish with a person dead in the house. You will say it is weak--but I’m nervish myself. Kirsteen!”--Anne had made a longer pause to take breath,--“ye had ay a great confidence in yourself. But you see you make a mistake whiles. Like bringing me here. David--was just silly as well as you. He thought, if I came, it might mend--maitters--and be good for the bairns. But I--was right ye see. When a person’s dying--they’ve no time to think--about other folk.” “All that my mother thought was about other folk--if you call her children other folk.” “Ay, in a kind of a general way. But she never said ‘Where’s Anne? How many bairns has she?--and is the doctor doing well?’--Which is what I would have expected. No that I did--expect it,” said Anne panting. “Oh, Kirsteen, we’ll be in--the burn--if ye do not take care! She never--asked for me, at all,” Mrs. Dewar continued. “I might have been safe--in my bed--at home. A long day in a postchaise--and now another long day--and I’ll get back perished with hunger and cold--and if I havena an illness, as Marg’ret says--and just for nothing,” said Anne--“nothing! for all you said--David and you.”