"It was Lucy who set me free. She came alone in the dark through that dreadful room, and took me out of their power. Oh Lucy, I shall never hear music so sweet as the sound of that little whistle." "Nay, we owe all to poor Wilson, who sent me word of your extremity by Mary," said I, "and to faithful Alick, who guided us through the hills to this place of safety. As to myself, what less could I have done for my foster-sister?" "Aweel, we will thank the good Lord above all, my children," said the old lady, solemnly. "You have gone through fire and water, and He hath brought you out into a safe place if not a wealthy one. But you have had a hard journey." "We have," said Amabel, leaning back in her chair; "but I would go through ten times more to be safe as I feel now. But oh my poor father!" And she burst into a flood of hysterical tears. "Let us hope his eyes may be opened," said the old lady. "But you were best go to your bed, and here comes Alice to say that it is ready." We were led up a somewhat steep staircase in one of the turrets—what in Scotland is called a turnpike stair—to two small but pleasant and convenient rooms opening together, with a neat white bed in each. Mrs. Alice brought up our bundles, and I undressed Amabel, got her to bed, and sat by her till she fell asleep. Then, not feeling sleepy, I dressed myself as well as I could and went down to the parlor, where I found Lady Thornyhaugh sitting with her wheel on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Alice occupied a similar position on the other, only that she spun with a distaff, or, as she would have said, with a rock and reel. The spindle danced in eccentric circles on the floor, watched by an elfish kitten, and a still more elfish-looking terrier pup, who now and then made a simultaneous dash at it, and falling foul of each other, engaged in a rough-and-tumble game of romps. "Bairn, why are you not in your bed?" was the greeting I received. "I was not tired, madam, and as Amabel was asleep, I thought I would come down." "And is she asleep, poor young thing! So much the better. I fear she will pay dearly for this night's work. I fear she will be ill." "So do I, madam," I answered. "She seems so shaken, and unlike herself." "I'm thinking Lucy Corbet, you may as well say 'auntie,'" said the old lady. "You are but a faraway kinswoman is true, but you have been more than a sister to my niece, and 'better kind fremit than fremit kind.' * But if you are not tired, sit down and tell me something more of this strange tale. How did Amabel see this other lad, the young minister?" * That is, "Better kind strangers than strange kindred." I told her of our coming to Newcastle, of our meeting with Mr. Wesley and Mr. Cheriton, and the way in which he had rescued the poor preacher's wife from the mob. "That was bravely done," said the old lady, her eyes kindling. "He will be a fine lad, yon."