Startled by the sound of her voice, Harburn jumped up and spun round towards it. "Yes," she repeated quite quietly; "I came to speak to you; I came to put my curse on you. Many have put their curses on you silently; I do so to your face. My son lies between life and death in your prison--your prison. Whether he lives or dies I curse you for what you have done to poor wives and mothers--to British wives and mothers. Be for ever accursed! Good-night!" She let the curtain fall, and had vanished before Harburn had time to reach the window. She vanished so swiftly and silently, she had spoken so quietly, that both he and I stood rubbing our eyes and ears. "A bit theatrical!" he said at last. "Perhaps," I answered slowly; "but you have been cursed by a live Scotswoman. Look at those dogs!" The two Airedales were standing stock-still with the hair bristling on their backs. Harburn suddenly laughed, and it jarred the whole room. "By George!" he said, "I believe that's actionable." But I was not in that mood, and said tartly: "If it is, we are all food for judges." He laughed again, this time uneasily, slammed the window to, bolted it, and sat down again in his chair. "He's got the 'flue,' I suppose," he said. "She must think me a prize sort of idiot to have come here with such tomfoolery." But our evening was spoiled, and I took my leave almost at once. I went out into the roupy raw December night pondering deeply. Harburn had made light of it, and though I suppose no man likes being cursed to his face in the presence of a friend, I felt his skin was quite thick enough to stand it. Besides, it was too cheap and crude a way of carrying on. Anybody can go into his neighbour's house and curse him--and no bones broken. And yet--what she had said was no doubt true; hundreds of women--of his fellow countrywomen--must silently have put their curse on one who had been the chief compeller of their misery. Still, he had put _his_ curse on the Huns and their belongings, and I felt he was man enough to take what he had given. 'No,' I thought, 'she has only fanned the flame of his hate. But, by Jove! that's just it! Her curse has fortified my prophecy!' It was of his own state of mind that he would perish; and she had whipped and deepened that state of mind. And, odd as it may seem, I felt quite sorry for him, as one is for a poor dog that goes mad, does what harm he can, and dies. I lay awake that night a long time thinking of him, and of that unhappy, half-crazed mother, whose son lay between life and death. Next day I went to see her, but she was up in London, hovering round the cage of her son, no doubt. I heard from her, however, some days later, thanking me for coming, and saying he was out of danger. But she made no allusion to that evening visit. Perhaps she was ashamed of it. Perhaps she was demented when she came, and had no remembrance thereof.