"Miss Linisfarne took me there, under the pretext that she wanted to show me the portrait of Sir Alurde. Oh, Dan, she has cut it to pieces because it resembled you!" "I know she hates me, Meg. I was fearful lest she should do you harm, and it seems that my presentiment was right." "She shut me up in the room, Dan, and then set fire to the place. The window was barred, and I thought I was lost. Fortunately the bars were old and rusty, so I was able to wrench them out and free myself. But had you not come, I should have fallen." "My brave girl! There are not many who would have had such presence of mind, Meg. Miss Linisfarne is a fiend. Can you walk now?" "Yes; I am much stronger. Let us go at once." They hastened as quickly as possible round to the terrace, and found Miss Linisfarne in the centre of the crowd. She was terribly burnt, but conscious. The villagers welcomed Dan and Meg with cheers of delight, and Jarner hastened forward. Before he could reach Meg, however, Tim had passed him. With an ejaculation of thankfulness, he seized the astonished girl in his arms and kissed her. "Tim!" cried Dan, thoroughly enraged; "what right have you to----" "The right of a father," said Tim, in a deep voice. "I am the husband of yonder wretched woman, who tried to kill her own child." Both Dan and Meg looked at Jarner for an explanation. They were taken by surprise at Tim's speech, and could say nothing. "It is true," said Jarner, taking Meg tenderly in his arms. "I did not know it till now. Nor did Miss Linisfarne dream that you were her child, Meg. Had she known, this terrible catastrophe would not have taken place." "Is she my mother?" faltered Meg; "but my father----" "I am your father," said Tim, quietly. "Dr. Merle is only your guardian. It is a long story, Meg. I acted for the best, but it has turned out ill." "Meg, my child!" cried a feeble voice. "Come," said Dan, leading the girl towards the dying woman; "you must see and forgive your mother." Miss Linisfarne was dying. Her body was terribly burnt, and she was lying on the terrace wrapped in a blanket. The villagers were all in the house saving the furniture, so only those intimately concerned were present. The shock had driven the insanity out of Miss Linisfarne's brain, and she was now quite rational. As Meg knelt beside her, she put out a feeble hand. "Forgive!" she said faintly; "I was mad! I knew nothing, my child." "Oh, mother, mother! why did you not tell me I was your child?" "She did not know," said Tim, who was holding a cup of wine to the lips of the woman he claimed as his wife. "I did not think her worthy to know the truth, and so she never learned that it was her own daughter she brought up." "Cruel! cruel!" murmured Miss Linisfarne. "Would nothing less than twenty years of misery satiate your revenge?" "No," replied her husband, curtly.