complete and undisturbed by outward influences; but latterly unrest and
anxiety had entered into their quiet lives, there was a veiling of the
sun, there was a shadow on the path, a mysterious wind was ruffling the
surface of the sea of life. No trouble had touched Sara personally,
but what mattered that to one so sympathetic? She lived in the lives
of those she loved; and as she moved about in the subdued light of the
cottage, or in the broad sunshine of the garden, a thread of
disquietude ran through the pattern of her thoughts. The cause of
Morva's sadness she guessed at, but how to remove it, or how to bring
back the peace and happiness that seemed to have deserted the old
Garthowen homestead, she saw not yet.

Suddenly she started, and standing still crossed her hands on her bosom
with a look of pleased expectancy; her lips moved as if in prayer, she
passed out into the garden, and gathering a bunch of rue, tied it
together and hung it to the frame of the doorway so that no one could
enter the house without noticing it. Then returning to the quiet
chimney corner, she sat down in the round-backed oak chair, and
clasping her hands on her lap, waited, while over her came the curious
trance-like sleep to which she had been subject at intervals all her
life. She was accustomed to these trances, and even welcomed their
coming for the sake of the clear insight and even the clairvoyance
which followed them. They were seasons of refreshing to this strange
woman's soul--seasons during which the connecting thread between spirit
and body was strained to the utmost, when a rude awakening might easily
sever that attenuated thread, when Morva knew that tender handling and
shielding care were required of her. In the evening when she returned
from the farm she came singing into the little court, where the gilly
flowers and daffodils were once more swaying in the wind, and the much
treasured ribes was hanging out its scented pink tassels. She stopped
to gather a spray, and then turning to the door, was confronted by the
bunch of rue, at sight of which she instantly ceased her singing and a
look of seriousness almost of solemnity came over her face, for the
herb had long been a pre-concerted signal between Sara and herself.

She gently pulled the string which lifted the latch, and entered the
cottage, treading softly as one does where death has already entered.
The stillness was profound, for it was a calm day and the sea w