"My hairt beat sair fast and then grew caud. I droppit on my
knees and prayed as I ha' ne'er prayed afore. Dan, Dan, I thought ye
were gene from me."
"I nearly was," said Kerry, a faint spark of his old truculency
lighting up the weary eyes. "The man from Whitehall only missed me by
a miracle."
"'Twas the miracle o' prayer, Dan," declared his wife in a low, awe-
stricken voice. "For as I prayed, a great comfort came to me an' a
great peace. The second sight was wi' me, Dan, and I saw, no' yersel'
--whereby I seemed to ken that ye were safe--but a puir dying soul
stretched on a bed o' sorrow. At the fuit o' the bed was standing a
fearsome figure o' a man--yellow and wicked, wi' his hands tuckit in
his sleeves. I thought 'twas a veesion that was opening up tee me and
that a' was about to be made clear, when as though a curtain had been
droppit before my een, it went awe' an' I kenned it nae more; but
plain--plain, I heerd the howling o' a dog."
Kerry started and clutched the arms of the chair.
"A dog!" he said. "A dog!"
"The howling o' a sma' dog," declared his wife; "and I thought 'twas a
portent, an' the great fear came o'er me again. But as I prayed 'twas
unfolder to me that the portent was no' for yersel' but for her--the
puir weak hairt ye ha' tee save.
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