ew, as of many people speaking with awed breath,
'A Poor Clare is dying! a Poor Clare is dead!'

Borne along once more by the motion of the crowd, we were carried into
the chapel belonging to the Poor Clares. On a bier before the high
altar, lay a woman--lay sister Magdalen--lay Bridget Fitzgerald. By her
side stood Father Bernard, in his robes of office, and holding the
crucifix on high while he pronounced the solemn absolution of the
Church, as to one who had newly confessed herself of deadly sin. I
pushed on with passionate force, till I stood close to the dying woman,
as she received extreme unction amid the breathless and awed hush of
the multitude around. Her eyes were glazing, her limbs were stiffening;
but when the rite was over and finished, she raised her gaunt figure
slowly up, and her eyes brightened to a strange intensity of joy, as,
with the gesture of her finger and the trance-like gleam of her eye,
she seemed like one who watched the disappearance of some loathed and
fearful creature.

'She is freed from the curse!' said she, as she fell back dead.

* * * * *

Now, of all our party who had first listened to my Lady Ludlow, Mr.
Preston was the only one who had not told us something, either of
information, tradition, history, or legend. We naturally turned to him;
but we did not like asking him directly for his contribution, for he
was a grave, reserved, and silent man.

He understood us, however, and, rousing himself as it were, he said:

'I know you wish me to tell you, in my turn, of something which I have
learnt or heard during my life. I could tell you something of my own
life, and of a life dearer still to my memory; but I have shrunk from
narrating anything so purely personal. Yet, shrink as I will, no other
but those sad recollections will present themselves to my mind. I call
them sad when I think of the end of it all. However I am not going to
moralize. If my dear brother's life and death does not speak for
itself, no words of mine will teach you what may be learnt from it.'

LOIS THE WITCH

Chapter 1

In the year 1691, Lois Barclay stood on a little wooden pier, steadying
herself on the stable land, in much the same manner as, eight or nine
weeks ago, she had tried to steady herself on the deck of the rocking
ship which had carried her across from Old to New England. It seemed as
strange now to be on solid earth as it had been, not long