"I am na goin' to do no harm," she said. "Yo' may trust me. It's th' other way about."
"I ask pardon," he said, feeling heartily ashamed of himself the next instant, "but you know—"
"Aye," impatiently, as they passed into the shadow, "I know, or I should na be here now."
A moonbeam, finding its way through a rift in the boughs and falling on her face, showed him that she was very pale.
"Yo' wonder as I'm here at aw," she said, not meeting his eyes as she spoke, "but yo' did me a good turn onct, an' I ha' na had so many done me i' my loife as I can forget one on 'em. I'm come here—fur I may as well mak' as few words on't as I con—I come here to tell yo' to tak' heed o' Dan Lowrie."
"What?" said Fergus. "He bears me a grudge, does he?"
"Aye, he bears thee grudge enow," she said. "He bears thee that much grudge that if he could lay his hond on thee, while th' heat's on him, he'd kill thee or dee. He will na be so bitter after a while, happen, but he'd do it now, and that's why I warn thee. Tha has no reet to be goin' out loike this," glancing at his bandaged arm. "How could tha help thysen if he were to set on thee. Tha had better tak' heed, I tell thee."
"I am very much indebted to you," began Fergus.
She stopped him.
"Tha did me a good turn," she said. And then her voice changed. "Dan Lowrie's my feyther, an' I've stuck to him, I dunnot know why—happen cause I never had nowt else to hold to and do for; but feyther or no feyther I know he's a bad un when th' fit's on an' he has a spite agen a mon. So tak' care, I tell thee agen. Theer now,
