“Yes,” she said, gaspingly, “yes, I loved him when Muireall and I were in the South together. I met him a month or more before ever she saw him. He loved me, and I promised to marry him: but I would not go away with him as he wished: for he said his father would never agree. And then he was angry, and we quarrelled. And I--Oh! I was glad too, for I did not wish to marry an Englishman--or to live in a dreary city; but … but … and then he and Muireall met, and he gave all his thought to her; and she her love to him.” “And now?” “Now?… _Now_ Muireall is dead.” “Dead? O Morag, _dead_? Oh, poor Muireall that we loved so! But did you see her? was she alive when you reached her?” “No; but she was alone. And now, listen. Here is a thing I have to tell you. When Ealasaid Cameron, that was my mother’s mother, was a girl, she had a cruel sorrow. She had two sisters whom she loved with all her heart. They were twins, Silis and Morag. One day an English officer at Fort William took Silis away with him as his wife; but when her child was heavy within her she discovered that she was no wife, for the man was already wedded to a woman in the South. She left him that night. It was bitter weather, and midwinter. She reached home through a wild snowdrift. It killed her; but before she died she said to Morag, ‘He has killed me and the child.’ And Morag understood. So it was that before any wind of spring blew upon that snow, the man was dead.” When Morag stopped here, and said no more, I did not at first realise what she meant to tell me. Then it flashed upon me. “O Morag, Morag!” I exclaimed, terrified. “But, Morag, you do not … you will not …” “_Will_ not?” she repeated, with a catch in her voice. “Listen,” she resumed suddenly after a long, strained silence. “While I lay beside my darling Muireall, weeping and moaning over her, and she so fair, with such silence where the laughter had always been, I heard the door open. I looked up: it was Jasper Morgan. “‘You are too late,’ I said. I stared at the man who had brought her, and me, this sorrow. There was no light about him at all, as I had always thought. He was only a man as other men are, but with a cold selfish heart and loveless eyes. “‘She sent for me to come back to her,’ he answered, though I saw his face grow ashy-grey as he looked at Muireall and saw that she was dead. “‘She is dead, Jasper Morgan.’ “‘_Dead … Dead?_’ “‘Ay, dead. It is upon you, her death. Her you have slain, as though with your sword that you carry: her, and the child she bore within her, and that was yours.’ “At that he bit his lip till the blood came. “‘It is a lie,’ he cried. ‘It is a lie, Morag. If she said that thing, she lied.’ “I laughed. “‘Why do you laugh, Morag?’ he asked, in a swift anger. “Once more I laughed. “‘Why do you laugh like that, girl?’