to my room, when all at once I heard such a shriek from the crimson chamber as I never heard in my life.  It made me all creep like worms.  And in a moment doors and doors were opened, and lights came out, everybody looking terrified; and what with drink, and horror, and sleep, some of the gentlemen were awful to look upon.  And the door of the crimson chamber opened too, and the captain appeared in his dressing-gown, bawling out to know what was the matter; though I’m certain, to this day, the cry did come from that room, and that he knew more about it than any one else did.  As soon as I got a light, however, which I did from Sir Giles’s candle, I left them to settle it amongst them, and ran back to the west turret.  When I entered the room, there was my dear girl lying white and motionless.  There could be no doubt a baby had been born, but no baby was to be seen.  I rushed to the bed; but though she was still warm, your poor mother was quite dead.  There was no use in thinking about helping her; but what could have become of the child?  As if by a light in my mind, I saw it all.  I rushed down to my room, got my lantern, and, without waiting to be afraid, ran to the underground stairs, where I actually found the door standing open.  I had not gone down more than three turnings, when I thought I heard a cry, and I sped faster still.  And just about half-way down, there lay a bundle in a blanket.  And how ever you got over the state I found you in, Samuel, I can’t think.  But I caught you up as you was, and ran to my own room with you; and I locked the door, and there being a kettle on the fire, and some conveniences in the place, I did the best for you I could.  For the breath wasn’t out of you, though it well might have been.  And then I laid you before the fire, and by that time you had begun to cry a little, to my great pleasure, and then I got a blanket off my bed, and wrapt you up in it; and, the storm being abated by this time, made the best of my way with you through the snow to the lodge, where William’s wife lived.  It was not so far off then as it is now.  But in the midst of my trouble the silly body did make me laugh when he opened the door to me, and saw the bundle in my arms.  “Mrs Prendergast,” says he, “I didn’t expect it of you.”—­“Hold your tongue,” I said.  “You would never have talked such nonsense if you had had the grace to have any of your own,” says I. And with that I into the bedroom and shut the door, and left him out there in his shirt.  My sister and I soon got everything arranged, for there was no time to lose.  And before morning I had all made tidy, and your poor mother lying as sweet a corpse as ever angel saw.  And no one could say a word against her.  And it’s my belief that that villain made her believe somehow or other that she was as good as married to him.  She was buried down there in the churchyard, close by the vestry-door,’ said my aunt, sir; and all of our family have been buried there ever since, my son Tom’s wife among them, sir.”