And then the truth seemed to descend on the poor broken brain like a healing breath from heaven. Stretching out her match-like arms, she seized Fenella's hands and said,
"I know who thou art. Thou art the Governor's daughter. Is it the truth thou'rt telling me?"
"Indeed it is."
"My Bessie is out of prison?"
"Yes, and nobody knows what has become of her."
A wild cry of joy burst from the old woman's throat.
"Liza! Liza Killey, wilt thou believe me now? Didn't I tell thee it was the old Dempster himself that the Lord had sent to take my child out of prison?"
A wave of new life seemed to come to her, and throwing back the clothes she struggled out of bed (her blue-veined legs and feet showing bare under her cotton nightdress) and went down on her knees to pray. But her prayer was drowned by the husky voices of her companions, who had by this time raised a hymn of thanksgiving.
Fenella turned to go, and the man and woman of the house followed her to the door.
"What was that she said about the Deemster?"