cers had
come, and to that "Nancy made it just like Jock's," there came, with
terror to my soul, another jumble of words--"Accessory after the fact."

I knew that the jury consulted but a few minutes before the whole of
Edinburgh was shaking hands with Danvers, assuring him of their
never-shaken trust in his innocence, saw Pitcairn putting his papers
into the black-leather case, was conscious that Billy Deuceace was
laughing as he talked to some women, with his hand on Danvers's
shoulder. I say that I was aware of these things, but so remotely that
they seemed part of a dream, for my real thought was to get to Nancy,
to take her away, to shield her from I know not what; and leaving the
Carmichael party, I made my way to the place where she was awaiting the
carriage.

As we stood together near the doorway, Sandy and Danvers, with their
friends, passed us on their way from the court-room, and my heart bled
as I saw the look Nancy gave them, the look of pleading and affection,
which Sandy avoided by talking to the one beside him; but Danvers, and
none could blame him, considering his belief that she had done her
utmost to get him hanged, looked full at her, his eyes showing scorn of
her. I felt the slight body quiver, saw her sway back and forth for a
little, and then, with a sob like a wounded child, she lost
consciousness entirely. Hugh Pitcairn stayed by her until she was
enough recovered for me to put her in the coach, and rode back to Stair
with us, watching her all the time with an expression of alarm and
tenderness, which drew him very near to me.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE MISTS ALL CLEARED AWAY

On toward midnight I was awakened by Dickenson clamoring at my door,
telling me that Nancy lay delirious, with a high fever, calling for me.
Making what haste I could, I reached the poor child, to find her
tossing from one side of the bed to the other, uttering hoarse cries,
with neither intelligence in her glance nor recognition of either my
presence or my voice. McMurtrie's attitude, after his examination,
drove me wild with fear. "It's like to be a long case," he said. "I
want ye to get Dr. Cameron from Glasgow. I'll stay by ye," he added;
"I'll just move into the house, for, under God, it's not my intention
to let Nancy Stair leave us yet."

Weeks and weeks went by, during which it seemed as though I neither
slept nor ate, listening to the moaning, or, what was far worse, broken
talk of her work, of her cares,