Mona's heart bled afresh at the sight of the weather-worn old face, and her whole nature recoiled from the task she had accepted. After all, why should she interfere? Might she not do more harm than good? Would it not be wiser to leave the whole development of events to Mother Nature and the friendly Fates? "Is that you, Jenny?" she said; "I am going out your way, so we can walk together. Give me your basket." "Hoot awa', Miss Maclean! You leddies dinna tak' weel wi' the like o' that. Feel the weicht o' it." "That is nothing," said Mona, bracing her muscles to treat it like a feather. "I will take the bundle, too, if you like. And now, Jenny, I want to hear about your travels." Her great fear was lest the old woman's suspicions should be aroused before they got out of the town, and she talked rather excitedly about anything that suggested itself. At last they passed the outskirts, and Mona drew a long breath of mingled relief and apprehension. "It's an awfu' nicht," gasped Jenny, taking Mona's proffered arm, as a fierce gust of wind swept across the bare fields. "I nae ken hoo I'd win hame my lane. But what taks ye sae far on siccan a nicht?" "I went out to see you last night," Mona answered irrelevantly, "but found you away." "Eh, lassie, but I'm sair fashed! An' ye'd no' ken that the key was at the cottar-hoose? Ye micht hae gaed in, and rested yersel' a bit. I'd ask ye in the nicht, but the house is cauld, and nae doubt ye're gaun tae some ither body." "Yes," said Mona, and then she rushed into the subject that occupied all her thoughts. "When did you last hear from Maggie?" she asked. The old woman's face darkened. "I wadna wonner but there'll be a letter frae her at the cottar-hoose. I'm that ill pleased wi' her for no' writin'. It'll be sax weeks, come Monday, sin' I'd ony word. I'll no' ken a meenit's peace till her twel'month's oot in Feb'ry, and she's back at hame." "Perhaps she is ill," said Mona deliberately. Jenny peered up at her companion's face in the darkness. "What gars ye say that?" she asked quickly. "Jenny," said Mona, in a voice that shook with sympathy, "when I went out last night, I found Maggie at the house. She has come home." She never could remember afterwards whether she added anything more, or whether Jenny guessed at once what had befallen. There were a few quick imperious questions, and then the old woman dropped her bundle and burst into a torrent of wrath that made Mona's blood run cold. For some minutes she could scarcely understand a word of the incoherent outcry, but it was an awful experience to see the dim figure of the mother, standing there with upraised hands on the deserted road, calling down curses upon her child. Presently she picked up her bundle, and walked on so swiftly that Mona could scarcely keep pace with her.