"There is a Kenneth, but I'm thinkin' he's no yer ain, Kirsty," replied Morag, with a pitying glance at the poor mother's yearning face.
"Tak' me til her, Morag. Kenneth's wife!—she's dyin' i' the fir-wood! The Lord grant me the strength to gang." And the old woman laid her trembling hand on the little girl's shoulder as she moved to go.
Very soon they were toiling across the hillock together, and not till they were far into the forest was the silence broken.
Meanwhile, Blanche had seated herself on the grey dyke, and was keeping watch beside the sick woman. It was a strange vigil to keep, alone in the darkening fir-wood, beside this tossing, wild-eyed, dying woman; but, somehow, Blanche did not feel frightened in the least degree. Since she had taken her post, it began to seem the most natural thing in the world that she should be there. The sick woman took no notice of the little girl for some time, and, indeed, seemed hardly aware of her presence, till, turning round suddenly, she saw her seated there, her fair curls gleaming in the half darkness. She looked at her restlessly for a little, and said presently, "How came you here, my pretty dear. You're surely far from home. Will your mamma not be getting anxious about you? It seems so dark in that wood."
"I haven't got a mamma," replied Blanche, vivaciously. "Miss Prosser will be cross, I daresay; but I don't think she'll mind when I explain. I'm sure Morag won't be longer than she can help in bringing in Kirsty," added Blanche in a comforting tone, for she noticed that the weary eyes wandered restlessly toward the entrance of the tent.
Presently a terrible fit of a breathlessness came on, and the poor woman sank back exhausted on her hard stone pillow when it was over. Blanche gazed pityingly at the sufferer, and longed for the morrow, when she meant to return with various needful comforts. She had made up her mind to enlist Mrs. Worthy's sympathy, believing her to be more amiable than Ellis.
Meanwhile, she took off her soft jacket, and folding it, she slipped it under the poor restless head on the hard stone. The sick woman noticed the pleasant change, and smiled gratefully. And as Blanche looked at her, she thought how pretty she must once have been, before the cheeks had got so hollow, and the eyes so sunken.
It was beginning to get very dark within the tent, and Blanche was not sorry to see Kenneth make his appearance with his pitcher filled with clear water from the spring. The sick woman seemed greatly refreshed by the draught, which she drank eagerly. But presently, she began to get very restless, and kept moaning, "Kenny! Kenny! are they not within sight yet? It's so long since that little girl went away."
At last, after Kenneth had drawn aside the tartan folds several times, he brought back the news that the little girl and an old bent woman were coming through the trees.
"Oh, it's all right!—Kirsty and Morag—here they come!" cried Blanche, joyfully, as she sprung out to meet them, saying eagerly to Kirsty, "Do come quickly; she's so very anxious to see you, Kirsty!"