faded away into a dim memory, perhaps then she will be happy in my
brother's love."

"Willy?" said Robbie, with look and accent of surprise.

Then there was a pause.

"She has been an angel," said Robbie feelingly.

"Better than that--she has been a woman; God bless and keep her!" said
Ralph.

Robbie glanced into Ralph's face; tears stood in his eyes.

Sim sat and moaned.

"My poor little Rotie," he mumbled. "My poor little lost Rotie!"

The days of her childhood had flowed back to him. She was a child once
more in his memory.

"Robbie," said Ralph, "since we have been here one strange passage has
befallen me, and I believe it is real and not the effect of a
disturbed fancy."

"What is it, Ralph?" said Robbie.

"The first night after we were shut up in this place, I thought in the
darkness, being fully awake, that one opened the door. I turned my
head, thinking it must be the gaoler. But when I looked it was Rotha.
She had a sweet smile on her dear face. It was a smile of hope and
cheer. Last night, again, I was awakened by Sim crying in his
sleep--the strange, shrill, tearless night-cry that freezes the blood
of the listener. Then I lay an hour awake. Again I thought that one
opened the door. I looked to see Rotha. It was she. I believe she was
sent to us in the spirit as a messenger of peace and hope--hope of
that better world which we are soon to reach."

The gaoler knocked. Robbie's time had expired. "How short these last
moments seem!" said Ralph; "yet an eternity of last moments would be
brief. Farewell, my lad! God bless you!"

The dalesmen shook hands. Their eyes were averted.

Robbie took his leave with many tears.

Then rose again the voices of the unseen choir within the chapel. The
organ pealed out in loud flute tones that mounted like a lark, higher,
higher, higher, winging its way in the clear morning air. It was the
chant of a returning angel scaling heaven. Then came the long sweeps
of a more solem harmony. Peace, peace! And rest! And rest!

CHAPTER L. NEXT MORNING.

Next morning at daybreak the hammering of the carpenters had ceased in
the Market Place, and their lamps, that burned dim in their sockets,
like lights across a misty sea, were one by one put out. Draped in
black, the ghastly thing that they had built during the night stood
between the turrets of the guard-house.

Already the townspeople were awake. People were hurrying to and fro.
Many were entering the hous