A long silence followed, broken only by an occasional shuddering sigh
from Katie; not a tear in her eyes, and her cheeks as scarlet as they
had been white a few moments before. The look on her face was
terrifying.

"Will it kill ye, bairn?" sobbed the mother at last. "Don't look so. It
must be borne, my bairn; it must be borne."

It was a shrill voice, unlike Katie's, which replied: "Ay, I'll bear
it; it must be borne. There's none knows it but you, mother," she added,
with a shade of relief in the tone.

"An' never will if ye're brave, bairn," answered the mother.

"It was the day of the picnic," cried Katie; "was't not? I remember he
said she was bonny."

"Ay, 'twas then," replied the mother, so sorely torn between her love
for the two daughters, between whom had fallen this terrible sword. "Ay,
it was then. He says she has not been out of his mind by the night or by
the day since it."

Katie shivered. "And it was I brought him," she said, with a tearless
sob bitterer than any loud weeping. "Ye'll be goin' back the night?" she
added drearily.

"I'll bide if ye want me," said the mother.

"I'm better alone, mother," said Katie, her voice for the first time