"If ye plase, Maam, it the master I'm wanting," said the woman, dropping a courtesy.
"My father? Margery, will you tell him?"
Margery departed.
"Come nearer the fire," said Alice, "and sit down; my father will be here presently. It is snowing again, is it not?"
"It is, Maam a bitter storm."
"Have you come far?"
"It's a good bit, my lady it's more nor a mile beyant Carra just right forgin the ould big hill they call the Catchback; in Jemmy Morrison's woods where Pat M'Farren's clearing is it's there I live, my lady."
"That is a long distance, indeed, for a walk in the snow," said Alice, kindly; "sit down, and come nearer the fire. Margery will give you something to refresh you."
"I thank ye, my lady, but I want nothing man can give me the night; and when one's on an arrant of life and death, it's little the cold or the storm can do to put out the heart's fire."
"Life and death! who is sick?" said Alice.