To prove that Margaret's suspicion was not altogether groundless, that very night the old woman went out of the house, under pretence of seeing what sort of night it was; and as Margaret sat watching by the bedside of Laud, the moon, which was just rising above the summit of the cliff, showed her, through the lattice, two dark figures standing together. She could not, of course, distinguish their features, but the outlines of their forms were very strong, and not to be mistaken--she was sure it was John Luff and Dame Mitchel, and that they were in close conversation on the verge of the cliff. The old woman shortly returned to the room, and it was evident to Margaret that something had excited her. "We must get him well as soon as we can," were the first words she uttered; and had not her former coolness and her late meeting upon the cliff awakened in Margaret's mind some sinister motive prompting this speech, she might have been deceived by it. Margaret had the deepest and purest motives for desiring the young man's restoration to health: she loved him, and she hoped to re-establish his character, and to recover him not only from his sick-bed, but from his state of degradation. But in all her efforts she found herself frustrated by the interference of this beldame, who, as William progressed towards recovery, was constantly keeping alive within him some reports of the successes of the crew, of their kind inquiries after his health, and the hopes they had of soon seeing him among them. Independently of this, there came presents and compliments from Captain Bargood, and these increased as Laud recovered. Nothing so much stung Margaret's heart as to find that all her attentions, prayers, entreaties, and admonitions, were counteracted by the secret influences of these agencies; but her object was a righteous one, and she did not slacken in her endeavours to attain it. She found, as Laud gradually recovered, that he was fully sensible of his past folly, and quite alive to the devoted affection she had shown to him; but she found also that no touch of religious feeling blended with his regret for his past conduct. This gave her the deepest pang, for she would rather have heard him offer one thanksgiving to the Being to whom all thanks are due, than find herself the object of his praise and gratitude. It was at this time that Margaret wished she had been a scholar. There was a Bible in the cottage, an old black-letter edition, containing the Book of Common Prayer, the genealogies recorded in the sacred Scriptures, together with the Psalms of David, in metre, by Sternhold and Hopkins, with curious old diamond-headed notes of the tunes to each psalm.