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Various

"Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume XXIII"

But he was not destined to be left many
minutes more in ignorance of the cause of Mrs. Mary Dodds's terror, for,
upon listening, he heard some one come into the kitchen, and bolt the
door on the inside--so much for his ears; then he turned his eyes to the
kitchen, into which he could, as well as the light of the grey dawn
would permit, see from where he lay; and what did he see?
"How comes it? whence this mimic shape?
In look and lineament so like our kind.
You might accost the spectral thing, and say,
'Good e'en t'ye.'"
No other than the figure of Mrs. Janet Dodds herself. Yes, there she was
in her old grey dress, busy taking off that plaid which Thomas knew so
well, and hanging the same upon the peg, where she had hung it so often
for five long years. Thomas was now as completely deprived of the power
of speech as she who lay, equally criminal as himself, alongside of him;
but able at least to look, or rather, unable to shut their eyes, they
watched the doings of the strange morning visitor. They saw that she was
moving about as if she were intent upon domestic work; and, by-and-by,
there she was busy with coals and sticks brought from their respective
places, putting on the fire, which she lighted with the indispensable
spunk applied to the spark in the tinder-box.


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