o'clock_;' and the tone became a whisper, as though the idea thus
half involuntarily revealed had been drawn jealously back into the
strongholds of consciousness.

'Mary,' said Catherine, falling on her knees beside the bed, and taking
one of the restless hands forcibly into her own--'can't you put this
thought away from you? We are not the playthings of evil spirits--we
are the children of God! We are in His hands. No evil thing can harm us
against His will.'

It was the first time for many days she had spoken openly of the thought
which was in the mind of all, and her whole pleading soul was in
her pale, beautiful face. There was no response in the sick girl's
countenance, and again that look of triumph, of sinister exultation.
They had tried to cheat her into sleeping, and living, and in spite of
them, at the supreme moment, every sense was awake and expectant. To
what was the materialized peasant imagination looking forward? To an
actual call, an actual following, to the free mountain-side, the rush
of the wind, the phantom figure floating on before her, bearing her into
the heart of the storm? Dread was gone, pain was gone; there was only
rapt excitement and fierce anticipation.

'Mary,' said Catherine again, mistaking her mood for one of tense
defiance and despair, 'Mary, if I were to go out now and leave Mrs.
Irwin with you, and if I were to go up all the way to the top of
Shanmoss and back again, and if I could tell you there was nothing
there, nothing!--If I were to stay out till the dark has come--it will
be here in half an hour--and you could be quite sure when you saw me
again, that there was nothing near you but the dear old hills, and the
power of God, could you believe me and try and rest and sleep?'

Mary looked at her intently. If Catherine could have seen clearly in
the dim light she would have caught something of the cunning of madness
slipping into the dying woman's expression. While she waited for the
answer, there was a noise in the kitchen outside an opening of the outer
door, and a voice. Catherine's heart stood still. She had to make a
superhuman effort to keep her attention fixed on Mary.

'Go!' said the hoarse whisper close beside her, and the girl lifted
her wasted hand, and pushed her visitor from her. 'Go!' it repeated
insistently, with a sort of wild beseeching then, brokenly, the gasping
breath interrupting: 'There's naw fear--naw fear--fur the likes o' you!'

Catherine rose.

'