It was evening, and some one was sitting near his bed. By the light of the long-snuffed tallow candle, he saw the glitter of two great black eyes watching him, and recognised the young woman who had admitted him to the house the night of his return, and whom he had since met once or twice as he came and went. The moment she perceived that he was aware of her presence, she threw herself on her knees at his bedside, hid her face, and began to weep. The sympathy of his nature rendered yet more sensitive by weakness and suffering, Malcolm laid his hand on her head, and sought to comfort her. “Don’t be alarmed about me,” he said, “I shall soon be all right again.” “I can’t bear it,” she sobbed. “I can’t bear to see you like that, and all my fault.” “_Your_ fault! What _can_ you mean?” said Malcolm. “But I did go for the doctor, for all it may be the hanging of me,” she sobbed. “Miss Caley said I wasn’t to, but I would and I did. They can’t say I meant it--can they?” “I don’t understand,” said Malcolm, feebly. “The doctor says somebody’s been an’ p’isoned you,” said the girl, with a cry that sounded like a mingled sob and howl; “an’ he’s been a-pokin’ of all sorts of things down your poor throat.” And again she cried aloud in her agony. “Well, never mind; I’m not dead you see; and I’ll take better care of myself after this. Thank you for being so good to me; you’ve saved my life.” “Ah! you won’t be so kind to me when you know all, Mr MacPhail,” sobbed the girl. “It was myself gave you the horrid stuff, but God knows I didn’t mean to do you no harm no more than your own mother.” “What made you do it then?” asked Malcolm: “The witch-woman told me to. She said that--that--if I gave it you--you would--you would----” She buried her face in the bed, and so stifled a fresh howl of pain and shame. “And it was all lies--lies!” she resumed, lifting her face again, which now flashed with rage, “for I know you’ll hate me worse than ever now.” “My poor girl, I never hated you,” said Malcolm. “No, but you did as bad: you never looked at me. And now you’ll hate me out and out. And the doctor says if you die, he’ll have it all searched into, and Miss Caley she look at me as if she suspect me of a hand in it; and they won’t let alone till they’ve got me hanged for it; and it’s all along of love of you; and I tell you the truth, Mr MacPhail, and you can do anything with me you like --I don’t care--only you won’t let them hang me--will you?--Oh, please don’t.” She said all this with clasped hands, and the tears streaming down her face. Malcolm’s impulse was of course to draw her to him and comfort her, but something warned him. “Well, you see I’m not going to die just yet,” he said as merrily as he could; “and if I find myself going, I shall take care the blame falls on the right person. What was the witch-woman like? Sit down on the chair there, and tell me all about her.”