``What man,'' I could not help exclaiming, ``can
have committed sin deep enough to deserve such
a miserable dwelling!''
``Sin enough,'' said Donald MacLeish, with a
half-suppressed groan; ``and God he knoweth,
misery enough too;---and it is no man's dwelling
neither, but a woman's.''
``A woman's!'' I repeated, ``and in so lonely a
place---What sort of a woman can she be?''
``Come this way, my leddy, and you may judge
that for yourself,'' said Donald. And by advancing
a few steps, and making a sharp turn to the
left, we gained a sight of the side of the great
broad-breasted oak, in the direction opposed to that
in which we had hitherto seen it.
``If she keeps her old wont, she will be there at
this hour of the day,'' said Donald; but immediately
became silent, and pointed with his finger,
as one afraid of being overheard. I looked, and
beheld, not without some sense of awe, a female
form seated by the stem of the oak, with her head
drooping, her hands clasped, and a dark-coloured
mantle drawn over her head, exactly as Judah is represented
in the Syrian medals as seated under her
palm-tree. I was infected with the fear and reverence
which my guide seemed to entertain towards
this solitary being, nor did I think of advancing towards
her to obtain a nearer view until I had cast
an enquiring look on Donald; to which be replied
in a half whisper---``She has been a fearfu' bad
woman, my leddy.
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