On that first evening, when the hailstorm had passed and light was restored, I was standing by the window looking out on the bridge and the street all freckled with white, when a low moaning sound came to my ears. I turned sharply round, thinking it was my father, but he lay peaceful and motionless. I hurried to the door and opened it, and there in the passage outside was old Peggy, cast down upon her face, and groaning and muttering in a pitiful manner. I gave her a little ungallant peck with my foot. “Now!” I cried, “what’s this? What are you doing?” Her face was hidden on her arm and she spoke up mumblingly. “Oh!” she said; “Lord--Lord! It bain’t worthy o’ you!” “What’s the matter, I say?” “Take the clean and well-preserved! There’s better fish than a poor feckless old ’ooman all fly blown like a carkis wi’ ungodliness!” I gave her another little stir. “I repent!” she shrieked. “I’ll confess everything! Only spare me now. Gie me a month--two months, to prepare my sore wicked soul for the felon’s grave.” “Peggy,” I said, sternly, “get up and don’t make a fool of yourself.” She seemed to listen. “Is that you, Renalt?” she said, presently. “Get up--do you hear?” “Keep the bolt fro’ me. Pray to the Lord for a bad old ’ooman. Wrastle for me, Renalt.” “Are you crazy?” She bumped her elbows on the floor as she lay, in fretful terror. “Wrastle--wrastle!” she whined. “Don’t waste your breath on axing things. While you talk He enters.” “Who enters?” “The Lord of hosts. I saw His face at the window, and the breath o’ His nostrils was like the sound o’ guns. I arlays meant to repent--I swear it on the blessed book. It’s a wicked thing to compact wi’ the prince o’ darkness. Believe me, truth, I arlays meant it, but the pot must be boiled and the beds made and where were old Peggy’s time? You wudn’t smite a body, Lord, for caring of her dooties, and I repent now. It’s never too late over one sinner doing penance. Oh, Lord, take the young and well-favored and gie crass Rottengoose a month for her sins!” “Peggy, I haven’t a doubt you’ve plenty to do penance for. But have you really the stupendous assurance to think that all this storm is got up on your account? Get up, you old idiot! The thunder’s past and there’s nothing to be afraid of now.” Her lean body went in with a great sigh. For some moments she lay as she was; then cautiously twisted her head and peered up at me. “Sakes alive!” she muttered, listening. “Was it all for nowt, then?” I saw the craft come back to her withered eyes in the dusk. “Heave me up, Renalt,” she said. “The Lord has seen the wisdom o’ let alone, praise to His mercy.” “Don’t presume on that, Peggy. He’ll call to you at His own time, though it mayn’t be through a thunderstorm.” “Look to yourself, Renalt. The young twigs snap easiest. You may be the first to go, wi’ the load o’ guilt you gathered in London yon for company.”