But the lady would not hear of being soothed. It was plain now that the distant vessel, the boat, the sailors, were sent by her friends. If Mr Ruthven had only been quick enough to let them know who she was, she should by this time have been safe. How could they suppose that she was Lady Carse, dressed as she was, agitated as she was! A word from Mr Ruthven, the least readiness on his part, would have saved her. And now, here was the steward come to baffle all. Sir Alexander Macdonald had had eyes for her deliverers, though her nearest friends had none. Annie was her best friend after all. It was Annie's ball of thread, no doubt, that had roused her friends, and made them send this vessel; and Annie alone had shown any sense last night. Mr Ruthven did not understand or approve of very sudden conversions; and this was really a sudden conversion, after pointing at the widow Fleming in church yesterday. He ought to state too that he did not approve of pointing at individuals in church. He should be sorry that his children should learn the habit; and-- "You would?" interrupted Lady Carse. "Then take care I do not point at her next sabbath as the only friend I have on this island." "My dear creature!" said Mrs Ruthven, "pray do not say such severe things: you will break my heart. You do the greatest injustice to our affection. Only let me show you! If this wicked steward prevents your escape now, I will get away somehow, and tell your story to all the world; and they shall send another vessel for you; and I will come with it, and take you away. I will indeed." "Nonsense, my dear," said Lady Carse. "Nonsense, my dear," said the pastor. Lady Carse laughed at this accord. Mrs Ruthven cried. "If you get away," said Lady Carse, more gently, "you may be sure you will not leave me behind." "It is all nonsense, the whole of it, about this vessel and the steward," Mr Ruthven pronounced. "The steward comes, as usual, for the feather-rent." "It is not the season for the feather-rent," declared Lady Carse. "The steward comes when it suits his convenience," decided the pastor; "the season is a matter of but secondary regard." "You are mistaken," said the lady. "I have lived here longer than you; and I know that he comes at the regular seasons, and at no other time." "Oh, here are the children," observed Mrs Ruthven, hoping to break up the party. "My dears, don't leave the room; I want you to stay beside me. There now, you may each carry your own porridge-bowl into the kitchen, and then you may come back for papa's and mine." Mr Ruthven stalked out into the garden, to find fault with his cabbages, if they were not growing dutifully. Lady Carse stood by the window, fretted at the thick seamy glass which prevented her seeing anything clearly. Mrs Ruthven sat down to sew. "Mamma," said Adam, presently, "what is a Pretender?"