ould rather die.--Why do not you
speak? Why do you not ask me what I have suffered?"

"I should not think of it, my lady. Those who have suffered are slow to
speak of their heart pain, and would be ashamed before God to say how
much oftener they would rather have died."

"I must speak, however, and I will," declared Lady Carse. "You know I
must; and you are the only person in the island that I can speak to.--I
want to live with you. I must. I know you are a good woman. I know
you are kind. If you are kind to mere strangers that come in boats, and
keep a light to save them from shipwreck, you will not be cruel to me--
the most ill used creature--the most wretched--the most--"

She hid her face on her knees, and wept bitterly.

"Take courage, my lady," said Annie. "If you have not strength enough
for your troubles to-day, it only shows that there is more to come."

"I do not want strength," said the lady. "You do not know me. I am not
wanting in strength. What I want--what I must have--is justice."

"Well--that is what we are all most sure of when God's day comes," said
Annie. "That we are quite sure of. And we may surely hope for patience
till then, if we really wish it. So I trust you will be comforted, my
lady."

"I cannot stay here, however. There are no people here. There is
nobody that I can endure at Macdonald's, and there are none others but
labourers, and they speak only Gaelic. And it is a wretched place.
They have not even bread.--Mrs Fleming, I must come and live with you."

"I have no bread, my lady. I have nothing so good as they have at
Macdonald's."

"You have a kind heart. Never mind the bread now. We will see about
that. I don't care how I live; but I want to stay with you. I want
never to go back to Macdonald's."

The widow stepped down to the ground, and beckoned to the lady to follow
her into the house. It was a poor place as could be seen:--one room
with a glazed window looking towards the harbour, a fireplace and a bed
opposite the window;--a rickety old bedstead, with an exhausted flock
bed and a rug upon it; and from one end of the apartment, a small dim
space partitioned off, in which was a still less comfortable bed, laid
on trestles made of driftwood.

"Who sleeps here?"

"My son, when he is at home. He is absent now, my lady: and see, this
is the only place;--no place for you, my lady."

Lady Carse shrank back impatiently. She then turned and said, "I mi