“It's two days she's away, now,” muttered the old woman, who only heeded her own thoughts; “she was to be back last night, or early this mornin'.” “Where had she gone to?” asked Kate, who now saw that the other had lapsed into confidence. “She's gone to the islands!--to Innishmore, and maybe, on to Brannock!” “That's a long way out to sea,” said Kate, thoughtfully; “but still, the weather is fine, and the day favorable. Had she any other object than pleasure in this excursion?” “Pleasure is it?” croaked Catty. “'Tis much pleasure she does be given herself! Her pleasure is to be where there 's fever and want,--in the lonely cabin, where the sick is lyin'! It 's to find a poor crayture that run away from home she 's gone now,--one Joan Landy. She's missin' this two months, and nobody knows where she 's gone to! and Miss Mary got so uneasy at last that she could n't sleep by night nor rest by day,--always talkin' about her, and say in' as much as it was all her fault; as if _she_ could know why she went, or where?” “Did she go alone on this errand, then?” “To be sure she did. Who could she have with her? She towld Loony she 'd want the boat with four men in it, and maybe to stay out three days, for she 'd go to all the islands before she came back.” “Loony 's the best sailor on the coast, I 've heard; and with such weather as this there is no cause for alarm.” Catty did not seem to heed the remark; she felt that within her against which the words of consolation availed but little, and she sat brooding sorrowfully and in silence. “The night will soon be fallin' now,” said she, at last. “I hope she's not at sea!” In spite of herself, Kate Henderson caught the contagion of the old woman's terrors, and felt a dreamy, undefined dread of coming evil. As she looked out, however, at the calm and fair landscape, which, as day declined, grew each moment more still, she rallied from the gloomy thoughts, and said,--“I wish I knew how to be of any service to you, Mrs. Broon. If you could think of anything I could do--anywhere I could go--” She stopped suddenly at a gesture from the old woman, who, lifting her hand to impress silence, stood a perfect picture of eager anxiety to hear. Bending down her head, old Catty stood for several seconds motionless. “Don't ye hear it now?” broke she in. “Listen! I thought I heerd something like a wailin' sound far off, but it is the wind. See how the tree-tops are bendin'!--That's three times I heerd it now,” said Catty. “If ye live to be as old as me, you 'll not think light of a warnin'. You think your hearin' better because you're younger; but I tell you that there 's sounds that only reach ears that are goin' to where the voices came from. When eyes grow dim to sights of this world, they are strainin' to catch a glimpse of them that's beyond it.” Although no tears rose to her eyes, the withered face trembled in her agony, and her clasped hands shook in the suffering of her sorrow.