Hatty.

I bowed my head. I felt inclined to burst out crying if I spoke.

"But who told you? and how come you to be so sure it is true?"

"I was the girl who carried the basket into the prison." I just managed
to say so much without breaking down, though that tiresome lump in my
throat kept teasing me.

"You!" cried Hatty, in more tones than the word has letters. "Cary, you
must be dreaming! When could you have done it?"

"In the evening, on one of Grandmamma's Tuesdays, and I was back before
any one missed me, except you."

"Who went with you?--who was in the plot? Do tell us, Cary!"

"Yes, I suppose you may know now," I said, for I could now speak more
calmly. "Ephraim took me to the place where I put on the disguise, and
forward to the prison. Then Colonel Keith and I carried in the basket,
and Angus brought it out. Ephraim came to us after we left the prison,
and brought me back here."

"Ephraim Hebblethwaite helped _you_ to do _that_?"

I did not understand Hatty's tone. She was astonished, undoubtedly so,
but she was something else too, and what that was I could not tell.

My Aunt Kezia listened silently.

"Why, Cary, you are a heroine! I could not have believed that a timid
little thing like you--" Hatty stopped.

"There was nobody else," said I. "You were not well enough, you know.
I had to do it; but I can assure you, Hatty, I felt like anything but a
hero."

"They are the heroes," said my Aunt Kezia, softly, "who feel unlike
heroes, but have to do it, and go and do it therefore. Colonel Keith
and Cary seem to be of that sort. And there is only one other kind of
heroes--those who stand by and see their best beloved do such things,
and, knowing it to be God's will, bid them God-speed with cheerful
countenance, and cry their own hearts out afterwards, when no one sees
them but Himself."

"That is Annas' sort," said I.

"Yes, and one other," replied my Aunt Kezia.

"But Hatty did not know till afterwards," said I.

"Child, I did not mean Hatty. Do Flora and Miss Keith look as white as
you poor thin things?"

"Much worse, I think," said I. "Annas keeps up, and does not shed a
tear, and Flora cries her eyes out. But they are both white and sadly
worn."

"Poor souls!" said my Aunt Kezia. "Maybe they would like to go home
with us. Do you know when they wish to go?"

"Annas has been promised a hearing of Princess Caroline, to intercede
for her brother," I made answer. "I thi