She shuddered in bed, and writhed her fingers as if suffering physical agony. The cruel horror of the immediate future seemed to crush her as she lay. For the sake of her bedfellow she forced herself to remain silent and motionless for what seemed an interminable period. But giving way to a sudden invincible panic induced by accumulated reflections on many possibilities, she started up violently, and cried in a voice that scarcely sounded her own—
"Oh Heaven! What am I to do?" Then, burying her face in her hands, she wept unrestrainedly.
An arm crept round her waist, and she was gently drawn to the side of her companion.
"Puir lassie," said the kindly voice. "You're o'er-rocht. Dinna greet, but lie quiet and see what daylight brings. You've a' had a verra tryin' time here, but you'll sune be hame aince mair wi' your frien's, and mayhap a kind fayther or mither to welcome ye."
"Oh no, no!" sobbed the girl, "I've got no one—nothing—no parents, no home or friends or anything! Oh, what shall I do? what will become of me?"
Miss Brodie leaned out of bed and lit a candle.
"The dark is na cheerie," she declared.
Evarne managed to choke down her grief, and lay back upon the pillow once more.
"I'm so sorry to have awakened you. Please go to sleep again. I'm going to be quite still and quiet now."
"Dinna think o' me," said the kind-hearted Scots-woman. "What o' yoursel', puir bairn? It's a terrible thing for a lassie to be a' her lain i' the world."