in her soul, and being held back from speech by her sheer, stubborn will.  And, Master, never a word did Margaret say from that day until after Kilmeny was born—­not one word, Master.  Nothing we could do for her softened her.  And we were kind to her, Master, and gentle with her, and never reproached her by so much as a look.  But she would not speak to anyone.  She just sat in her room most of the time and stared at the wall with such awful eyes.  Father implored her to speak and forgive him, but she never gave any sign that she heard him.

“I haven’t come to the worst yet, Master.  Father sickened and took to his bed.  Margaret would not go in to see him.  Then one night Thomas and I were watching by him; it was about eleven o’clock.  All at once he said,

“’Janet, go up and tell the lass’—­he always called Margaret that—­it was a kind of pet name he had for her—­’that I’m deein’ and ask her to come down and speak to me afore I’m gone.’

“Master, I went.  Margaret was sitting in her room all alone in the cold and dark, staring at the wall.  I told her what our father had said.  She never let on she heard me.  I pleaded and wept, Master.  I did what I had never done to any human creature—­I kneeled to her and begged her, as she hoped for mercy herself, to come down and see our dying father.  Master, she wouldn’t!  She never moved or looked at me.  I had to get up and go downstairs and tell that old man she would not come.”

Janet Gordon lifted her hands and struck them together in her agony of remembrance.

“When I told father he only said, oh, so gently,

“’Poor lass, I was too hard on her.  She isna to blame.  But I canna go to meet her mother till our little lass has forgie’n me for the name I called her.  Thomas, help me up.  Since she winna come to me I must e’en go to her.’

“There was no crossing him—­we saw that.  He got up from his deathbed and Thomas helped him out into the hall and up the stair.  I walked behind with the candle.  Oh, Master, I’ll never forget it—­the awful shadows and the storm wind wailing outside, and father’s gasping breath.  But we got him to Margaret’s room and he stood before her, trembling, with his white hairs falling about his sunken face.  And he prayed Margaret to forgive him—­ to forgive him and speak just one word to him before he went to meet her mother.  Master”—­Janet’s voice rose almost to a shriek—­“she would not—­she would not!  And yet she wanted to speak—­afterwards she confessed to me that she wanted to speak.  But her stubbornness wouldn’t let her.  It was like some evil power that had gripped hold of her and wouldn’t let go.  Father might as well have pleaded with a graven image.  Oh, it was hard and dreadful!  She saw her father die and she never spoke the word he prayed for to him.  That was her sin, Master,—­and for that sin the curse fell on her unborn child.  When father understood that she would not speak he closed his eyes and was like to have fallen if Thomas had not caught him.