“She dares not,” answered Margaret, with a smile; “she has a terrible idea of my powers.” The twilight grew deeper; the glow of the peat-fire became redder; the old woman lay still as death. And I told all the story of Lady Alice. My voice sounded to myself as I spoke, not like my own, but like its echo from the vault of some listening cave, or like the voices one hears beside as sleep is slowly creeping over the sense. Margaret did not once interrupt me. When I had finished she remained still silent, and I began to fear I had talked her asleep. “Can you help me?” I said. “I think I can,” she answered. “Will you call Janet?” I called her. “Make me a cup of tea, Janet. Will you have some tea with me, Duncan?” Janet lighted a little lamp, and the tea was soon set out, with “flour-scons” and butter. But Margaret ate nothing; she only drank her tea, lifting her cup with her one trembling hand. When the remains of our repast had been removed, she said:-- “Now, Janet, you can leave us; and on no account come into the room till Mr. Campbell calls you. Take the lamp with you.” Janet obeyed without a word of reply, and we were left once more alone, lighted only by the dull glow of the fire. The night had gathered cloudy and dark without, reminding me of that night when she told me the story of the two brothers. But this time no storm disturbed the silence of the night. As soon as Janet was gone, Margaret said:-- “Will you take the pillow from under my head, Duncan, my dear?” I did so, and she lay in an almost horizontal position. With the living hand she lifted the powerless arm, and drew it across her chest, outside the bed-clothes. Then she laid the other arm over it, and, looking up at me, said:-- “Kiss me, my bairn; I need strength for what I am going to do for your sake.” I kissed her. “There now!” she said, “I am ready. Good-bye. Whatever happens, do not speak to me; and let no one come near me but yourself. It will be wearisome for you, but it is for your sake, my Duncan. And don’t let the fire out. Don’t leave me.” I assured her I would attend to all she said. She closed her eyes, and lay still. I went to the fire, and sat down in a high-backed arm-chair, to wait the event.--There was plenty of fuel in the corner. I made up the fire, and then, leaning back, with my eyes fixed on it, let my thoughts roam at will. Where was my old nurse now? What was she seeing or encountering? Would she meet our adversary? Would she be strong enough to foil him? Was she dead for the time, although some bond rendered her return from the regions of the dead inevitable?--But she might never come back, and then I should have no tidings of the kind which I knew she had gone to see, and which I longed to hear!