"Whisht, whisht, my dearie," returned Mrs. Duncan, wiping her own eyes and Fay's. "Of course you shall bide with me; would either Donald or I turn out the shorn lamb to face the tempest? Married, my bairn; why, you look only fit for a cot yourself; and with a bairn of your own, too. And to think that any man could ill-use a creature like that," half to herself; but Fay drooped her head as she heard her. Mrs. Duncan thought Hugh was cruel to her, and that she had fled from his ill-treatment, and she dare not contradict this notion. "You must never speak to me of my husband," continued Fay, with an agitation that still further misled Mrs. Duncan. "I should have died if I had stopped with him; but I ran away, and I knew he would never find me here. I have money enough--ah, plenty--so you will not be put to expense. You may take care of my purse; and I have more--a great deal more;" and Fay held out to the dazzled eyes of the old lady a purse full of bank-notes and glittering gold pieces, which seemed riches itself to her Highland simplicity. "Ay, and just look at the diamonds and emeralds on your fingers, my dearie; your man must have plenty of this world's goods. What do they call him, my bairn, and where does he live?" But Fay skillfully fenced these questions. She called herself Mrs. St. Clair, she said, and her husband was a landed proprietor, and lived in one of the midland counties in England; and then she turned Mrs. Duncan's attention by asking if she and baby might have the room her father slept in. Then Jean brought in the tea and buttered scones, and the milk for the baby; and while Mrs. Duncan fed him, she told Fay about her own trouble. For the kind, white-headed minister, whom Fay remembered, was lying now in his last illness; he had had two strokes of paralysis, and the third would carry him off, the doctor said. "One blessing is, my Donald does not suffer," continued Mrs. Duncan, with a quiver of her lip; "he is quite helpless, poor man, and can not stir himself, and Jean lifts him up as though he were a baby; but he sleeps most of his time, and when he is awake he never troubles--he just talks about the old time, when he brought me first to the Manse; and sometimes he fancies Robbie and Elsie are pulling flowers in the garden--and no doubt they are, the darlings, only it is in the garden of Paradise; and may be there are plenty of roses and lilies there, such as Solomon talked about in the Canticles." "And who takes the duty for Mr. Duncan?" asked Fay, who was much distressed to hear this account of her kind old friend.