hour when my birth took place."

"See the good of book-learning!" replied she. "When you work it out,
just let me know, my dear, that I may remember it."

"That I will."

A silence of some moments followed. Margaret resumed:--

"I am afraid you will laugh at my foolish fancies, Duncan; but in
thinking over all these things, as you may suppose I often do, lying
awake in my lonely bed, the notion sometimes comes to me: What if my
Duncan be the youth whom his wicked brother hurled into the ravine, come
again in a new body, to live out his life on the earth, cut short by his
brother's hatred? If so, his persecution of you, and of your mother for
your sake, is easy to understand. And if so, you will never be able to
rest till you find your fere, wherever she may have been born on the
face of the earth. For born she must be, long ere now, for you to find.
I misdoubt me much, however, if you will find her without great conflict
and suffering between, for the Powers of Darkness will be against you;
though I have good hope that you will overcome at last. You must forgive
the fancies of a foolish old woman, my dear."

I will not try to describe the strange feelings, almost sensations, that
arose in me while listening to these extraordinary utterances, lest it
should be supposed I was ready to believe all that Margaret narrated or
concluded. I could not help doubting her sanity; but no more could I
help feeling very peculiarly moved by her narrative.

Few more words were spoken on either side, but after receiving renewed