like had passed by unheeded. The
dame had taken the good will for the good deed, and had not looked the
gift-horses too closely in the mouth.

"Good night, Mattha Branthet," she said, in answer to his good by;
"good night, and God bless thee."

Matthew had opened the door, and was looking out preparatory to his
final leavetaking.

"The sky's over-kessen to-neet," he said. "There's na moon yit, and
t'wind's high as iver. Good neet, Mary; it's like ye'll be a' thrang
eneuf to-morrow wi' the feast for the berryin', and it's like eneuf ma
mistress and laal Liza will be ower at the windin'."

The dame sighed audibly.

"And keep up a blithe heart, Mary. Remember, he that has gude crops
may thole some thistles."

When the door had closed behind the weaver, Willy came back to the
kitchen from his little room.

"Ralph not home yet?" he said, addressing Rotha.

"Not yet," the girl answered, trying vainly to conceal some
uneasiness.

"I wonder what Robbie Anderson wanted with him? He was here twice, you
know, in the morning. And the schoolmaster--what could little Monsey
have to say that he looked so eager? It is not his way."

"Be sure it was nothing out of the common," said Rotha. "What happened
last night makes us all so nervous."

"True; but there was a strange look about both of them--at least I
thought so, though I didn't heed it then. They say misfortunes never
come singly. I wish Ralph were home."

Mrs. Ray had risen from her seat at the fire, and was placing one of
the candles upon a small table that stood before the neuk window.

With her back to the old dame, Rotha put her finger on her lip as a
motion to Willy to say no more.

CHAPTER VII. SIM'S CAVE.

When Ralph retired to his own room on the night of his father's death
there lay a heavier burden at his heart than even that dread
occurrence could lodge there. To such a man as he was, death itself
was not so terrible but that many passions could conquer the fear of
it. As for his father, he had not tasted death; he had not seen it;
his death was but a word; and the grave was not deep. No, the grave
was not deep. Ah, what sting lay in that thought!--what fresh sting
lay there!

Ralph called up again the expression on the face of Simeon Stagg as he
asked him in the inn that night (how long ago it seemed!) to give the
name of the man who had murdered Wilson. "It's your duty in the sight
of Heaven," he had said; "would you tarnish the child's