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On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step approached--lighter and shorter; and, this time, the person entered the room. It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk bonnet on her head, and a willow basket swung to her arm.
`Eh, dear! Mrs Dean!' she exclaimed. `Well! there is a talk about you at Gimmerton. I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh, and missy with you, till master told me you'd been found, and he'd lodged you here! What! and you must ha
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ve got on an island, sure? And how long were you in the hole? Did master save you, Mrs Dean? But you're not so thin--you've not been so poorly, have you?'
`Your master is a true scoundrel!' I replied. `But he shall answer for it. He needn't have raised that tale: it shall all be laid bare!'