"She always was so," said the Earl, answering almost unconsciously. "She was different from other women--likest, perhaps, to her who is no more--" Edie knew that he meant his own mother, so lately dead. "She wishes to see me," continued the Earl; "she shall be gratified, though the meeting will be a pleasure to neither of us." Lord Glenallan gave Edie a handful of guineas, which, contrary to his usage, Edie had not the courage to refuse. The Earl's tone was too absolute. Then, as an intimation that the interview was at an end, Lord Glenallan called his servant. "See this old man safe," he said; "let no one ask him any questions. And you, my friend, be gone, and forget the road that leads to my house!" "That would indeed be difficult," said the undaunted Edie, "since your lordship has given me such good cause to remember it." Lord Glenallan stared, as if hardly comprehending the old man's boldness in daring to bandy words with him. Then, without answering, he made him another signal to depart by a simple movement of his hand, which Edie, awed far beyond his wont, instantly obeyed. II. THE MOTHER'S VENGEANCE The day of Lord Glenallan's visit to the cottage where dwelt old Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot seemed at first ill timed. That very day Steenie Mucklebackit, the young, the gallant, the handsome eldest son of the house had been carried to his grave. He had been drowned while at the fishing, though his father had risked his life in vain to save him. The family had now returned home, and were sitting alone in the first benumbing shock of their grief. It was some time before the Earl could make good his entrance into the cottage. It was still longer before he could convince the old woman Elspeth that he was really Lord Glenallan, and so obtain an opportunity of speaking with her. But at last they were left alone in the cottage, and the thick veil which had fallen upon Elspeth's spirit seemed for a while to be drawn aside. She spoke like one of an education far superior to her position, clearly and calmly, even when recounting the most terrible events. Her very first words recalled to the Earl the fair young wife, whom he had married long ago, against his mother's will and without her knowledge. "Name not her name," he cried, in agony, "all that is dead to me--dead long ago!" "I MUST!" said the old woman; "it is of her I have to speak." And in the fewest and simplest words she told him how, when his mother the Countess had found means to separate husband and wife, while he himself was fleeing half mad, none knew whither, the young wife had thrown herself in a fit of frenzy over the cliffs into the sea. It was to Elspeth's cottage that she and her babe had been brought. "And here," said the terrible old woman, suddenly thrusting a golden bodkin into his hand, "is the very dagger which your mother the Countess gave me in order that with it I might slay your infant son."