The infliction terminated at last, Miss Crankie carried her sister off when the gloaming began to darken, having sufficient discernment to perceive that Anne's patience had been enough tried for a beginning. Anne's thoughts were in a maze. She sat down by the window in the soft gloom of the spring night, and looked towards the house, where beat another true and faithful heart which had wept and yearned over Norman--Marion--Marion--was she living or dead? could this Christian Lillie be aware of Norman's existence, and of his innocence? There could not be two betrothed Marions. In the latter part of the story, the countryside must have been deceived. Who so likely to accompany the exile as the sister of this brave woman, who had done the housemother's self-denying duty in her earliest youth? Anne's pulse beat quick, she became greatly agitated; was there then a tie of near connexion between herself and this stranger, whose path she had again crossed? Was Norman's wife Christian's sister? had they an equal stake in the return of the exile? She could not sit still--cold dew was bursting upon her forehead; she walked from window to window in feverish excitement. Could she dare to ask?--could she venture to make herself known? Alas, she was still no whit advanced in her search for proof of Norman's innocence! If Christian Lillie had possessed any clue, she must, it was certain, have used it before now; and until some advance had been made, these two strangers in their singular kindred would not dare to whisper to one another that Norman lived. Anne threw herself upon her chair again. And Lilie--who was Lilie? Why was this stranger child brought--of all localities in the world--to the neighbourhood of Merkland? Could it be? could it be? her heart grew sick with feverish hope and anxiety; her mind continued to hover about, and dwell upon this mystery; but she almost forcibly restrained herself from articulate thought upon it--she could not venture yet to entertain the hope. And Norman! Esther Fleming's story had brought him out clear before her, in the gay light of his generous boyhood.--Graver and more deeply affecting was this. Who might venture to compute the untold agonies of that terrible time of parting--the nervous compulsory strength of the girl-heart that went with him--the stern patience of the maturer one, who above by the sick-bed at home! Grief that must have remained with all its burning sense of wrong, and heavy endurance of an undeserved curse, since ever little Alice Aytoun opened her blue eyes to the light--a lifetime of pain, and fear, and sorrow--too dreadful to look back upon!