"Yes, sir," Elsie timidly replied.

"Now you must take your oath," he went on, "that you will answer me truly whatever I ask you; and I hope you understand that if you tell a falsehood after that, you will not only be doing a most wicked thing, but that you can be kept in prison for it."

Elsie began to tremble violently at this dreadful warning. She took a swift glance round, to see if Mrs. Donaldson or the old gentleman were anywhere near, but could see nothing of either.

The officer who had accompanied her, and stood by all the time, seemed to understand.

"They are not in court," he said, in a low tone. "Just you speak the truth, and you'll be all right."

He then handed her a Bible, which she was told to kiss; and he said some words which he bade her repeat.

"That is the Bible," the old gentleman at the table said solemnly, "and you have sworn by that sacred Book that you will speak only the truth. Bear in mind what an awful thing it would be to tell a falsehood after that—ten times as wicked as any other falsehood. Now tell me who the lady and gentleman are who were in the train with you."

Elsie trembled violently. She tried to think what to say, but could find no answer. There was Duncan on one side, that terrible warning the gentleman had given her on the other. She tried to say "I do not know," but was so afraid that that too was a falsehood, that the sentence died on her lips.

"Speak up," the gentleman said.

It seemed to Elsie as if ages elapsed while they stood waiting for her answer. She was conscious of nothing but the man standing by her side, and great silence everywhere, which let her hear the rushing sound in her ears and the beating of her heart. At last the magistrate spoke again.

"Tell me, is the lady your own mother?"

Another question—worse than the first.

"You must answer," the magistrate said, sharply; "and quickly too!"

"Oh, I dare not!" burst from poor Elsie's frightened lips. "They will kill Duncan if I do!"

Then in a moment she knew she had said too much. In her fright she had not seen the meaning of her own words.

"Who is Duncan?" the white-haired gentleman asked kindly.

"My brother," Elsie answered, with a big sob.

"Where is he?"

"In Edinburgh; and he's dreadfully ill," Elsie answered, forgetting every other thought in her anxiety for Duncan, and the generally bewildered state of her mind.

"Is he with his mother?"

"Oh, no! he's all alone, unless he's in the hospital. I don't know quite where he is, only they promised he should go to the hospital."

"Who promised?"

Again Elsie was silent; she could find no answer to that question. The gentleman did not seem angry, but asked another.

"Where is your mother?"

"Which one do you mean, please, sir?" Elsie asked, in a moment of utter bewilderment.

"Then the lady who was with you yesterday is not really your mother?"

"No," Elsie faintly admitted. She could hold out no longer against the questioning, but was feeling very much like you all do when you are playing at "old soldier," and, try as you will, at last the "Yes" or "No" pops out unawares. She, too, was very frightened and confused, which you would not be.

"Come, we are getting on now," the old gentleman said, kindly. "Do not be frightened. Did this lady tell you to call her mamma?"

"Yes, sir, but—I must not tell you anything."

"she was placed in a cab" (p. 259).

"And she is not your mamma, then, after all?"

"No."

"Are you frightened of her?"

"Yes," Elsie exclaimed, with a quick, fearful glance round.

"Now, I promise you that she shall do you no harm, if you tell me the truth. How did you come to be with her? Just tell me how it was."

The old gentleman spoke with great assurance and kindliness, but still Elsie could not cast off the spell of fear Mrs. Donaldson still held over her. She had an almost superstitious belief that the "fairy mother" would find a way to work out her threats. For all she knew, she might even now have sent that message to Edinburgh which was to seal Duncan's fate.

After the very mysterious incident that had happened in the train, for her to know that Elsie had disobeyed without hearing the words she had spoken seemed not only quite possible, but very likely indeed.

The gentleman saw Elsie's hesitation, and spoke sharply again. "If you are obstinate, we shall have to use other methods to make you speak. Have you ever been in prison?"

Elsie's eyes dilated with horror. "Oh, no!" she replied.

"But you are very likely to find yourself there, unless you answer my questions better. Tell me at once where you met this lady?"

"She was in a carriage; we were on the road to Killochrie."

"Stop; how did you come there?"

"We ran away from Sandy Ferguson's cottage."

"Why did you do that? Now, tell me why."

"He was very bad to us, and robbed us of our money and our clothes. Duncan thought he wanted to kill us, so we ran away."

"What business had you in Sandy Ferguson's cottage?"

"He took us in when we hadn't any place to go to. I thought he was kind at first, but he wasn't."

"Then you had run away from somewhere else?"

"Yes," Elsie admitted, with a flushed face and look of shame. "We ran away from home."

"What made you do that?"

Elsie hung her head. How could she tell this gentleman all her suspicions? They seemed all so stupid now.

"We were jealous because mother favoured Robbie so," she faltered, very much ashamed, and conscious that it was one of the most foolish-sounding reasons that could be.

"Well," said the gentleman sharply, "you ran away, and you fell in with Sandy Ferguson, who wanted to kill you, and afterwards with this lady, who taught you to call her 'mamma.' Was she kind to you?"

"At first she was. When she first saw us on the road we were very hungry and tired. She asked us the way, and said she was a fairy, and would come back again. She did come back, and brought beautiful clothes with her, which she gave to us, and she took us in a train to a house where we had beautiful and nice warm beds. Then she told us we were to call her 'mamma' always, and that she was our 'fairy mother.'"

"This is very interesting," said the old gentleman, approvingly. "But what of the gentleman? Was he there?"

"Uncle William? oh yes! He did not say much to us; but we did not like him. He called the driver an idiot, and I was afraid of him."

Here the magistrate asked some questions of the officer standing near Elsie. "Then he did not come in the train with you from Edinburgh?" he presently inquired, turning again to Elsie.

"Oh yes, he did," Elsie replied; "but he somehow changed. Mrs. Donaldson was talking to me, and the one we called 'Uncle William' was sitting right in the other corner. When I looked again he had gone, and there was another one quite old. Mrs. Donaldson said he was my Grandpapa Donaldson."

"Then you thought, I suppose, that you had 'a fairy grandfather' as well as a 'fairy mother'? Tell me, did she undergo any wonderful transformation?"

"Oh no!" Elsie began; but she suddenly recollected the change from the smiling, gaily-dressed, grand lady in the carriage to the sad-looking widow who had brought them the clothes. "Yes, I had forgotten. She did change," Elsie stammered, growing red and confused with fear. "I didn't mean it for a story."

"Go