An' at each beat o' yer puir bleeding hairt she wrung her white hands, an' the manin' o' her sweet voice rent my hairt in twain.

Oh, laddie, laddie! what does it mean ?" I managed to murmur: "I'm sure I don't know, Aunt Janet.

I suppose it was all a dream!" "A dream it was, my dear.

A dream or a veesion, whilka matters nane, for a' such are warnin's sent frae God.

.