The widow saw that Lady Carse was not attending to what she said, and was merely making an opening for what she herself wanted to utter: so Annie said no more of her work and its payment, but waited. "This is a dreadful place," the lady burst out. "Nobody can live here." "I have heard there are kindlier places to live in," the widow replied. "This island must appear rather bare to people who come from the south,--as I partly remember myself." "Where did you come from? Do you know where I come from? Do you know who I am?" cried the lady. "I came from Dumfries. I have not heard where you lived, my lady. I was told by Macdonald that you came by Sir Alexander Macdonald's orders, to live here henceforward." "I will not live here henceforward. I would sooner die." The widow looked surprised. In answer to that look Lady Carse said, "Ah! you do not know who I am, nor what brought me here, or you would see that I cannot live here, and why I would rather die.--Why do not you speak? Why do you not ask me what I have suffered?" "I should not think of it, my lady. Those who have suffered are slow to speak of their heart pain, and would be ashamed before God to say how much oftener they would rather have died." "I must speak, however, and I will," declared Lady Carse. "You know I must; and you are the only person in the island that I can speak to.--I want to live with you. I must. I know you are a good woman. I know you are kind. If you are kind to mere strangers that come in boats, and keep a light to save them from shipwreck, you will not be cruel to me-- the most ill used creature--the most wretched--the most--" She hid her face on her knees, and wept bitterly. "Take courage, my lady," said Annie. "If you have not strength enough for your troubles to-day, it only shows that there is more to come." "I do not want strength," said the lady. "You do not know me. I am not wanting in strength. What I want--what I must have--is justice." "Well--that is what we are all most sure of when God's day comes," said Annie. "That we are quite sure of. And we may surely hope for patience till then, if we really wish it. So I trust you will be comforted, my lady." "I cannot stay here, however. There are no people here. There is nobody that I can endure at Macdonald's, and there are none others but labourers, and they speak only Gaelic. And it is a wretched place. They have not even bread.--Mrs Fleming, I must come and live with you." "I have no bread, my lady. I have nothing so good as they have at Macdonald's." "You have a kind heart. Never mind the bread now. We will see about that. I don't care how I live; but I want to stay with you. I want never to go back to Macdonald's."