The rigid limbs of Anne's patient relaxed at last; the chill was gradually overcome, and about an hour after they had been brought within the sheltering walls of Schole, Anne received the infant from Miss Crankie to satisfy the eager mother. The strangers by this time were gone; the shipwrecked men were accommodated as well as might be in the comfortable kitchen.--Miss Crankie herself, when there remained nothing further to be done, departed also--only Anne continued with her patient--she had not seen either Patrick or Christian again. Drawing the baby to her breast, the young mother soon fell into a refreshing sleep. Anne sat thoughtfully by her bed-side--now and then she heard a footstep below testifying that the household was still astir. She was anxious to remain as long as possible--to endeavor to open some communication with this singular brother and sister. For the moment she had forgotten Jean Miller's history, and shuddered and trembled as she remembered it--would they avoid her still? The room she occupied had a faded red curtain drawn along the further wall; she fancied she heard a low murmur as of some voice beyond it, and rose to see. The wall was a very thin partition which had evidently been put up in some emergency to make two rooms of one--immediately behind the curtain was a door standing ajar. Anne could see through into another room guarded like this by a curtain, placed there for some simple purpose of preventing a draft of air as it seemed, for each of the rooms had another door, and both entered from a gusty, windy gallery. And there was a voice proceeding from that outer room--a solitary voice, low-toned, and strange--it was reading aloud as it seemed, although its owner was evidently alone. "Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor, and if I have taken anything from any man by false accusation, I restore him fourfold."--Anne glanced back to see that her patient slept; she was lying in a calm slumber, luxuriously peaceful, and at rest. The low voice went on: "Not fourfold but sevenfold. Lord! Thou seest the offering in my hand. Thou who didst not reject this sinner of old times.--Thou who didst tread wearily that way to Jericho for this publican's sake, who was a son of Abraham. Lord, Lord, rejectest Thou me?--seven for one--wherefore did I toil for them, but to lay them at Thy feet--seven saved for one lost. Oh, Thou blessed One, where are Thy tender mercies--Thy loving kindnesses--wilt Thou shut thy heaven only to me?" There was a pause; the voice was broken and unsteady; the strange utterance passionate and solemn; it was resumed: