Another memory suddenly flashed across her—a vivid and strangely compelling memory. The eyes of the blind child with their deep blue fire of the spirit—the eyes of a visionary which had so pierced her that she had almost turned away! She felt as if a scroll, hitherto sealed, were being unrolled before her eyes; and so strong was the impression that her fingers ceased from their task and she looked up. In a moment she was aware of a startling change in the old man in her charge. He had sunk down on the pillows, and his face was ghastly. She got up quickly, seizing a bottle of restorative as she did so. Then she saw that his lips were moving and was partially reassured. As she poured a dose into the medicine-glass, he spoke aloud. “You need not be alarmed. My heart is a little tired—a little tired. But it will not stop yet.” She bent over him, holding the glass to his pallid lips. He drank and paused. “I shall soon be better,” he said, and gasped for breath. A faint colour began to show once more in his face. He smiled at her and drank again. “I am so sorry,” she said, with deep self-reproach. “I ought to have seen.” “No—no,” he said, in his kindly, courteous fashion. “You must not blame yourself for that. I think I will have a little sleep. I shall not last much longer, but I shall live to see the Stones again—just once again—my Stones—the place of sacrifice—where my three-fold vow has been accomplished.” His voice began to trail off indistinctly. He closed his eyes. “The place of sacrifice—” he murmured again, and then followed an odd jumble of words in which “mother, father, and child” came with unintelligible frequency until his utterance ceased altogether. Frances stood by his side, listening to his uncertain breathing while other words sprang up all-unbidden in her mind, almost finding their way to her lips. “From all evil and mischief, from sin, from the crafts and assaults of the devil,—Good Lord deliver us!” CHAPTER X THE WOMAN’S RIGHT “He is still sleeping very peacefully,” said Mrs. Dermot, with a grateful look at Frances. “You had a very composing effect upon him this afternoon. I hope it did not tire you very badly.” It was supper-time, and they had met at the table in the old farm-kitchen, which Lucy and Nell had been spreading with the home produce. It was the one meal of the day at which the whole family as a rule assembled, but Dolly and Milly were absent on this occasion in the sick-room, and Arthur and Maggie had not entered. “It did not tire me at all,” Frances answered. “I was very, very glad to be of any use. I hope you will let me do it again.” “You are very good,” said Mrs. Dermot. “He will be better after this for a time. A long, unbroken sleep always brings him back. Won’t you sit down?” “Did you sleep?” Frances asked. “Oh, yes, Mother slept,” said Lucy. “I took in her tea, and she never even knew.”