Mrs. Turnbull paid frequent visits to the farm, and one winter evening she happened to be there when a violent snowstorm made the ground impassable, so she was prevailed upon to stay until the following day.  The household consisted of Mrs. Clarkson, her sister, and two nieces, who were very pleased to have the company of a woman who was so full of information and reminiscence.  Her mother was said to have been the daughter of a Scottish law-lord’s son, who was disinherited because he was thought to have married beneath his station—­that is, instead of marrying the lady selected by his father from his own class, who had nothing in common with him, he had chosen and fixed his affections on a lady outside his rank, who was talented, had high intellectual and religious qualities, and good looks, but was financially poor.  Mrs. Turnbull had excited the curiosity of the two young ladies by relating this part of her history, and they were naturally eager to hear more.  With that object in view, they asked their aunt to allow her to sleep in their room, and the request was granted.  The good lady, however, had said all that she intended to say about herself, and notwithstanding the ingenious and persuasive requests of her young friends, she stood steadfastly to her resolve.  She talked to them about the farm and their aunt and cousins, and her own family, and the religious work that was being carried on, but never another word about herself or her ancestry could be drawn from her.  Perhaps it was that she considered it scarcely wise to discuss romance with young girls.  And so they talked themselves out about other things, and then went to sleep.

Early in the morning, Mrs. Turnbull was awakened by what she took to be a door slamming.  She got up with the intention of closing it, and then heard voices talking, sometimes in an ordinary tone, but for the most part in an excited whisper.  She listened, with the bedroom door ajar, and heard the voice of Mrs. Clarkson say—­

“If you do not dissociate yourself from these wicked men you will come to grief.  You are supposed to be in Australia.  Indeed, it may be that Mr. Turnbull has his suspicion even now that I am harbouring an accomplice of the men whose trade is smuggling, and who try to get rid of those who prevent them carrying it on.  I beseech you to cut yourself adrift from that other man, who, I believe, has you under his influence, and who, I feel sure, is associated with this gang of lawbreakers.”

At this stage, Mrs. Turnbull could not restrain the desire to cough.  She did try to subdue it, but Mrs. Clarkson’s companion whispered to her—­

“Whist!  I hear some one on the landing.”

“Do not fear,” said Mrs. Clarkson; “it is only the wind making noises through the trees.”

But her companion knew better, so not another word was spoken.

The next morning Mrs. Clarkson looked worried, but she was quite affable with her guest, who acted her part without giving the slightest suspicion of having overheard the little nocturnal conversation.