“Isna this a most amazin thing, and houpfu’ as it’s amazing?” cried his father. “What _can_ there be to come oot o’ ’t? Eh, but the w’ys o’ the Almichty are truly no to be mizzered by mortal line! The lass maun surely be intendit for marvellous things, to be dealt wi’ efter sic an extra-ordnar fashion! Nicht efter nicht has the tane or the tither o’ hiz twa been sittin here aside her, lattin the hairst tak its chance, and i’ the daytime lea’in ’maist a’ to the men, me sleepin and they at their wark; and here the bonny cratur lyin, as quaiet as gien she had never seen tribble, for thirteen days, and no change past upon her, no more than on the three holy bairns i’ the fiery furnace! I’m jist in a trimle to think what’s to come oot o’ ’t a’! God only kens! we can but sit still and wait his appearance! What think ye, Jeemie?—Whan the Lord was deid upo’ the cross, they waitit but twa nichts, and there he was up afore them! here we hae waitit, close on a haill fortnicht—and naething even to pruv that she’s deid! still less ony sign that ever she’ll speyk word til’s again!—What think ye o’ ’t, man?” “Gien ever she returns to life, I greatly doobt she’ll ever bring back her senses wi’ her!” said the mother, joining them from the inner chamber. “Hoot, ye min’ the tale o’ the lady—Lady Fanshawe, I believe they ca’d her? She cam til hersel a’ richt i’ the en’!” said Peter. “I don’t remember the story,” said James. “Such old world tales are little to be heeded.” “I min’ naething aboot it but jist that muckle,” said his father. “And I can think o’ naething but that bonny lassie lyin there afore me naither deid nor alive! I jist won’er, Jeames, that ye’re no as concernt, and as fillt wi’ doobt and even dreid anent it as I am mysel!” “We’re all in the hands of the God who created life and death,” returned James, in a pious tone. The father held his peace. “And He’ll bring licht oot o’ the vera dark o’ the grave!” said the mother. Her faith, or at least her hope, once set agoing, went farther than her husband’s, and she had a greater power of waiting than he. James had sorely tried both her patience and her hope, and not even now had she given him up. “Ye’ll bide and share oor watch this ae nicht, Jeames?” said Peter. “It’s an elrische kin o’ a thing to wauk up i’ the mirk mids, wi’ a deid corp aside ye!—No ’at even yet I gie her up for deid! but I canna help feelin some eerie like—no to say fleyt! Bide, man, and see the nicht oot wi’ ’s, and gie yer mither and me some hert o’ grace.” James had little inclination to add another to the party, and began to murmur something about his housekeeper. But his mother cut him short with the indignant remark— “Hoot, what’s _she_?—Naething to you or ony o’ ’s! Lat her sit up for ye, gien she likes! Lat her sit, I say, and never waste thoucht upo’ the queyn!”