She was hastening out, when the minister stopped her at the door. She made some resistance, and Annie heard her say something about a pistol on the top of the bed, and the wonder if her father’s daughter did not know how to use it.
Even in the midst of her own grief, Annie could not but remark to herself how the lady’s passions seemed to grow more violent, instead of calming down.
“You had better go, Mrs Fleming,” said Mr Ruthven. “Make no disturbance here, but go, and I will come in and speak to you.”
“How soon?” Annie anxiously enquired.
“As soon as possible—immediately. Go now, for Lady Carse is very angry.”
“I will, sir. But I owe it to you to tell you that the adventure is put an end to. I have been to Macdonald’s and told him, speaking as Rollo’s mother, of the danger my son was in; and Macdonald will take care that no smuggling vessel reaches this coast to-night or in future.”
“Go instantly!” exclaimed Mr Ruthven, and, seeing Lady Carse’s countenance, Annie was glad to hasten out of her reach.
The widow sat down on the threshold of her cottage awaiting the minister. Her heart throbbed. A blessing
might be in store at the end of this weary day. Good might come out of evil. She might now have an opportunity of appealing to her minister—of opening her heart to him about the cares which she needed to share with him, and which should have been his cares as pastor. She trusted she should be enabled to speak freely and calmly.