"Yes; to-day."
"I thought so. And that man; he would like to take me. But he won't, no, he won't!" and her voice rose to a shriek. "I knew he would come to take me. But I won't go. He'll never take me alive—oh!"
Here the pain again convulsed her body, and silenced her speech.
"Can't I do something for you?" Madeline asked, taking the sufferer's cold, bony hand. "You know I want to help you. I am sorry for you."
Into Old Meg's eyes came a faint expression of softness. She turned them upon the face of the fair woman at her side.
"I'm bad," she replied. "I've wronged you, and do you wish to help me? Are you sorry for me?"
"Yes, indeed I am. And if there is anything I can do to assist you, tell me at once."
"You can't do anything for my body, or to give me peace of mind. But there's something I want you to know before I die. Look. Put your hand under the pillow. You'll find something there."
Madeline did as she was commanded, and brought forth a package of papers tied with a string.
"Open it," Meg ordered. "Yes—no—Ah, that's the one. See the name. That's the man who put me up to this job. He sent me in the ship to spirit you away when we reached America. I thought it would be a hard thing to accomplish, but the storm and the wreck helped me out."