up the sky, leaving her in the shadow.

It was at this moment, as the shadows grew denser about old Margaret,
that the child who was dancing at the ball came to think of her who had
given her her gown, and who was waiting for her. It was in the middle
of a reel she was dancing, and she was dancing it with Mr. Roche, that
she felt that something had happened to her aunt.

"Mr. Roche," she said, "you must let me go away; I cannot dance any
more to-night. I am sure that something has happened to my aunt, the
old woman, Margaret Kirwin, who lives with us in the Lodge. It was she
who lent me this gown. This was her wedding-gown, and for sixty-five
years it has never been out of her possession. She has hardly allowed
anyone to see it; but she said that I was like her, and she heard me
crying because I had no gown to go to the ball, and so she lent me her
wedding-gown."

"You look very nice, Molly, in the wedding-gown, and this is only a
fancy." Seeing the girl was frightened and wanted to go, he said: "But
why do you think that anything has happened to your aunt?"

"She is very old."

"But she is not much older than she was when you left her."

"Let me go, Mr. Roche; I think I must go. I feel sure that something
has happened to her. I never had such a feeling before, and I could not
have that feeling if there was no reason for it."

"Well, if you must go."

She glanced to where the moon was shining and ran down the drive,
leaving Mr. Roche looking after her, wondering if after all she might
have had a warning of the old woman's death. The night was one of those
beautiful nights in May, when the moon soars high in the sky, and all
the woods and fields are clothed in the green of spring. But the
stillness of the night frightened Molly, and when she stopped to pick
up her dress she heard the ducks chattering in the reeds. The world
seemed divided into darkness and light. The hawthorn-trees threw black
shadows that reached into the hollows, and Molly did not dare to go by
the path that led through a little wood, lest she should meet Death
there. For now it seemed to her that she was running a race with Death,
and that she must get to the cottage before him. She did not care to
take the short cut, but she ran till her breath failed her. She ran on
again, but when she went through the wicket she knew that Death had
been before her. She knocked twice; receiving no answer she tried the
latch, and was surprised to find the d