"The place was a country place--far south from this; the time was seventeen years ago; the way was--" Mrs. Catherine paused again. "To what purpose is this questioning, child? It is a matter that concerns you not." "The way was--?" repeated Anne, clasping her hand eagerly. "The way was--he was killed," said Mrs. Catherine, in abrupt haste. "Shot, as men shoot beasts. Anne Ross, I brought the bairn Alison to my house, because she was an innocent bairn that I wanted to do a kindness to, and not because of her parentage." Anne heard the words, but did not discern their meaning, and sat, in the blind, fainting sickness that possessed her, repeating them to herself, unconsciously. "Child, child!" said Mrs. Catherine, in alarm. "What ails you? What have you heard? I am meaning, why have you come to me with such a question?" "One other--only one," said Anne, recollecting herself. "Mrs. Catherine, who was it--who was the murderer?" Mrs. Catherine made an appealing motion with her hand, and did not answer. But Anne was perfectly self-possessed again. "Was it Norman?" Mrs. Catherine did not speak; it was not necessary. The answer was far too legibly written in the long, steadfast look of grief and sympathy which she fixed upon her companion's face. And so they sat in silence for some minutes, too deeply moved and engrossed for words. At length Anne started up. "That is all," she said, hurriedly. "I must go now. I have much to do." Mrs. Catherine rose also, took her hand, and led her back to her seat. "You shall not leave my house, child, till I hear more of this. Who was so cruel as to tell you this sorrowful story? and what is it that you have to do?" Anne sat down again, mechanically. "Child," said Mrs. Catherine; "I have never spoken Norman's name in your hearing, nor suffered it to be spoken. Who has told you a terrible story, which was buried in grief and forgetfulness long ago, when the unhappy lad found his grave under the sea? It is not known in the countryside, for the deed was done far from here, and your father hung back, and took no note, outwardly, of the miserable boy's fate. He was right maybe. I would not have done the like--but that is little matter. Who told you?" "Found his grave under the sea!" murmured Anne, unconsciously. "What say ye, child?" "It was Mrs. Ross," said Anne, "when Miss Aytoun came first to the Tower, she told me that she feared this was _his_ daughter. Oh! Mrs. Catherine, why did you not keep her separate from us? If we had not been brought so much together, this could not have happened." "Child," said Mrs. Catherine, "there is something on your mind yet, which is not known to me; the story is a woeful story, dark enough to cause sore grief; but it is over and past, and there is some living dread upon you. What has happened?" Anne looked up--she could not find words to communicate her "living dread"--she only murmured "Lewis."