which the porridge behoved to be poured; and poured it was, the process
being followed by the sound of "the clauting o' the laggan," so familiar
to Scotch ears. "Now it's ready for him," said the figure, as it moved
across the kitchen again, to get the spoon and the bowl of milk, both of
which they saw her place beside the basin.

All things being thus completed according to the intention of the
industrious worker, a period of silence intervened, as if she had been
taking a rest in the chair which stood by the fire. A most ominous
interlude, for every moment the couple in bed expected that she would
enter the bedroom, were it for nothing else than to "intimate
breakfast;" an intimation which, if one could have judged by their erect
hair and the sweat that stood in big drops on their brows, they were by
no means prepared for. They were not to be subjected to this fearful
trial, for the figure (so we must persist in calling it) was seen again
to cross the kitchen, take down the plaid, and adjust it over the head
according to the manner of the times. They then heard her draw the bolt,
open the door, and shut the same again after her as she departed. She
was gone.

Mr. Thomas Dodds and his wife now began to be able to breathe more
freely. The hair resumed its flexibility, and the sweat disappeared;
but, strange as it may seem, they never exchanged a word with each other
as to who the visitor was, nor as to the morning's work she had so
industriously and silently (with the exception of her monologues)
executed. Too certain in their convictions as to the identity, whether
in spirit or body, of the figure with that of her they had so cruelly
put out of the way, they seemed to think it needless to question each
other; and, independently of this, the old terror of the conscience was
sufficient to seal their lips now, as it had done for a period before.