her way, to where the lane opened out to a grassy square, on which
stood a tiny whitewashed cottage. The thatch reached low over the
door, and its one window no bigger than a child's slate. There were no
signs of life, but Sara did not hesitate to raise the wooden latch and
open the door, which she found unbolted.

In the murky gloom of the cottage it was difficult at first to see
where the bed lay, but as space was circumscribed she had not far to
look; in fact, one curtained side of the bed made the wall of the
passage, and she had but to turn round this to see an old and wrinkled
face asleep on the pillow.

"I must wake her, pwr thing," said Sara, and she began to call softly,
"Nani, Nani fâch!"

The sleep of age is easily put to flight, and Nani opened her eyes.

"Sara ''spridion'!" she said, in astonishment. "Sara Lloyd, I mean,
but I was dreaming, Sara dear. What is it?" and she sat up not a
little disturbed, for Sara's name alone sufficed to arouse the latent
fear of the "hysbis" or occult, always lurking in the Celtic mind.

Sara only smiled as the word "'spridion" escaped the frightened woman's
lips.

"Is it time to get up?" she said, beginning to rub her eyes.

"No, no," said Sara, taking a seat by the bedside, and leaning upon her
stick. "Lie still, Nani fâch, and forgive me for awaking you, but I am
going a journey, and a journey that won't wait."