The widow stepped down to the ground, and beckoned to the lady to follow her into the house. It was a poor place as could be seen:--one room with a glazed window looking towards the harbour, a fireplace and a bed opposite the window;--a rickety old bedstead, with an exhausted flock bed and a rug upon it; and from one end of the apartment, a small dim space partitioned off, in which was a still less comfortable bed, laid on trestles made of driftwood. "Who sleeps here?" "My son, when he is at home. He is absent now, my lady: and see, this is the only place;--no place for you, my lady." Lady Carse shrank back impatiently. She then turned and said, "I might have this larger room, and you the other. I shall find means of paying you--" "Impossible, madam," the widow replied. "I am obliged to occupy this room." "For to-night, at least, you will let me have it. I cannot go back to Macdonald's to-night. I will not go back at all; and you cannot turn me out to-night. I have other reasons besides those I mentioned. I must be in sight of the harbour. It is my only hope." "You can stay here, if you will, madam: and you can have that bed. But I can never leave this room between dark and light. I have yonder lamp to attend to." "Oh! I will attend to the lamp." The widow smiled, and observed that she hoped the lady would have better sleep than she could enjoy if she had the lamp to watch; and that was a business which she could not commit to another hand. In the course of the argument, the lady discovered that it would be a serious matter to let out both the fire and lamp, as there was no tinder-box on the island, and no wood, except in the season of storms, when some was drifted up wet. "I should like to live with you, and help you to keep up your lamp," said the lady. "If you could only manage a room for me--Not that I mean to stay in this island! I will not submit to that. But while I am waiting to get away, I should like to spend my time with you. You have a heart. You would feel for me." "I do feel for you, madam. This must be a terrible place for you, just to-day,--and for many days to come. But oh! my lady, if you want peace of mind, this is the place! It is a blessing that may be had anywhere, I know. One would think it shone down from the sky or breathed out from the air,--it is so sure to be wherever the sky bends over, or the air wraps us round. But of all places, this is the one for peace of mind." "This!--this--dreary island!" "This quiet island. Look out now, and see if you can call it dreary. Why, madam, there can hardly be a brighter glory, or a more cheerful glow among the sons of God about the throne, than there is at this moment over sea and shore, and near at home up to the very stone of my threshold. Madam, I could never think this island dreary." "It is not always sunset, nor always summer time," said Lady Carse, who could not deny nor wholly resist the beauty of the scene.