"I had hoped," he said, with quivering lips, "like the apostles with One that was greater, that it was he that was to have delivered----Oh, but we are vain creatures! and now it's a' to begin again." "Is that all ye think of your poor young master? He is living, and will do well. Go and take up the poor lady. She is dead, or fainted, but it is with joy." And then he went up-stairs. Many an intimation of sorrow and trouble the minister had carried. But good news had not been a weight upon him hitherto. He went to the other poor mother with trouble in his heart. If the one who had been so brave was killed by it, how encounter her whose soft nature had fallen prostrate at once? He met Mysie at the door, who told him her mistress had slept, but showed signs of waking. "Oh, sir, if ye could give her something that would make her sleep again! I could find it in my heart to give her, what would save my poor lady from ever waking more," cried the faithful servant; "for oh, what will she do--oh, what will we all do without Miss Oona?" "Mysie," cried the minister, "how am I to break it to her? I have just killed the poor lady down-stairs with joy; and what am I to say to your mistress? Miss Oona is safe and well--she's safe and well." "Oh, Mr. Cameron," cried Mysie, with a sob, "I ken what you are meaning. She's well, the Lord bless her, because she has won to heaven." Mrs. Forrester had woke during this brief talk, and raised herself upon the sofa. She broke in upon them in a tone so like her ordinary voice, so cheerful and calm, that they both turned round upon her with a kind of consternation. "What is that you are saying--safe and well--oh, safe and well. Thank God for it; but I never had a moment's doubt. And where has she been all this weary night; and why did she leave me in this trouble? What are ye crying for, Mysie, like a daft woman? You may be sure, my darling has been doing good, and not harm." "That is true, my dear lady--that is true, my dear friend," cried the minister. "God bless her! She has done us all good, all the days of her sweet life." "And you are crying too," said Oona's mother, almost with indignation. "What were you feared for? Do you think I could not trust God, that has always been merciful to me and mine? or was it Oona ye could not trust?" she said with smiling scorn. "And is she coming soon? For it seems to me we have been here a weary time." "As soon--as she can get out of the--place where she is. The openings are blocked up by the ruin." "I had no doubt," said Mrs. Forrester, "it was something of that kind." Then she rose up from the sofa, very weak and tottering, but smiling still, her pale and faded face looking ten years older, her hair all ruffled, falling out of its usual neat arrangement. She put up her hands to her head with a little cry.