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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0727f24 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55827 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55827) diff --git a/old/55827-0.txt b/old/55827-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 62d5584..0000000 --- a/old/55827-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11432 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Who was Lost and is Found, by Margaret Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Who was Lost and is Found - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: October 27, 2017 [EBook #55827] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO WAS LOST AND IS FOUND *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - WHO WAS LOST AND IS FOUND - - _A NOVEL_ - - BY - - MRS OLIPHANT - - WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS - EDINBURGH AND LONDON - MDCCCXCIV - - _All Rights reserved_ - - _ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN ‘BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE’_ - - - - - WHO WAS LOST AND IS FOUND. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -One of the most respected inhabitants of the village, rather of the -parish, of Eskholm in Mid-Lothian was Mrs Ogilvy, still often called Mrs -James by the elder people who had known her predecessors, who had seen -her married, and knew everything about her, her antecedents and -belongings. This is a thing very satisfactory in one way, as giving you -an assurance that nothing can be suddenly found out about you, no -disreputable new member or incident foisted into your family life; -while, on the other hand, it has its inconveniences, since it becomes -more or less the right of your neighbours to have every new domestic -occurrence explained to them in all its bearings. Great peace, however, -had for a long time fallen over the house in which Mrs James Ogilvy was -spending the end of her quiet days: no new incident had occurred there -for years: its daily routine to all appearance went on as cheerfully as -could be desired. It was one of the prettiest houses of the -neighbourhood. Built on the side of a little hill, as so many houses are -in Scotland, it was a tallish two-storeyed house behind, plunging its -foundations deep in the soil, with an ample garden lying east and south, -full of all the old-fashioned vegetables and most of the old-fashioned -flowers of its period. But in front it was the trimmest cottage, low but -broad, opening upon a little round platform encircled by a drive, and -that, in its turn, by closely clipped holly-hedges, as thick as a wall -and as smooth. Andrew, the gardener, thought it more genteel to fill the -little flower-border in front with bedding-out plants in the -summer,--red geraniums, blue lobelias, and so forth--never the pansies -and gillyflowers his mistress loved,--and it was only with great -difficulty that he had been prevented from shutting out the view by a -clump of rhododendrons in the middle of the grass plot. “The view!” -Andrew said in high contempt: but this time his mistress had her way. -The view, perhaps, was nothing very wonderful to eyes accustomed to fine -scenery. A bit of the road that led to Edinburgh and the world was -visible among the trees at the foot of the brae, where the private path -of the Hewan between its close holly-hedges sloped upward to the house: -and behind stretched the full expanse of country,--the towers of the -castle making a break among the clouds of trees on one hand, and some of -the roofs of the village and the little stumpy church-steeple showing on -the other side. Between these two points, and far on either side, the -Esk somehow threaded his way, running by village and castle impartially, -but indeed exerting himself very much for the Hewan, forming little -cascades and bits of broken water at the foot of the steep brae, -throwing up glints of sunshine as it were from the depths, and filling -the air always with a murmur of friendly companionship of which the -inhabitants were unconscious, but of which had it stopped they would -have instantly become aware and felt that all the world had gone wrong. - -There was a garden-chair placed out here under the window of the -drawing-room, where Mrs Ogilvy used to sit during a great part of the -summer evenings--those long summer evenings of Scotland, which are so -lingering and so sweet. To sit “at the doors” is so natural a thing for -the women. They do it everywhere, in all climates and regions. Ladies -who were critical said that this was a bad habit, and that there was -nothing so becoming for a woman as to sit in her own drawing-room, in -her own chair, where she could always be found when she was wanted. But -a seat that was just under the drawing-room window, was not that as -little different from being inside as could be? I agree, however, with -the critics that the sentiment was quite different, and that to go -indoors at the right time and have your lamp lighted, and sit down in -your comfortable chair, denotes, perhaps, a more contented mind and a -spirit reconciled to fate. - -It would have been hard, however, to have looked upon the face of Mrs -James Ogilvy as she went about her little household duties in the -morning, or took her walks about the garden, or knitted her stocking in -the placid afternoon, and to have thought of her as discontented or -struggling with fate. She was about sixty, a little woman but trim in -figure, with a pleasant colour, and eyes still bright with animation and -interest. Perhaps you will think it ridiculous to be asked to interest -yourself in the character and proceedings of an old woman of sixty when -there are so many younger and prettier things in the world: which I -allow is quite true in the general: yet there may be advantages in it, -once in a way. She wore much the same dress all the year through, which -was a black silk gown of varying degrees of richness (her best could -“stand alone,” it was so good), or rather of newness--for the best gown -of one year was the everyday dress of another, not so fresh perhaps, but -wearing to the last thread, and always looking _good_ to the last, as a -good black silk ought to do. Over this she wore a white shawl, which on -superior occasions was of China crape beautifully embroidered, a thing -to be remembered--but often of humbler material. I recollect one of fine -wool with a coloured border printed in what was called an Indian pine -pattern in those days. But whatever the kind was, she always wore a -white shawl. Her cap was also all white, lace for best, but net for -everydays, trimmed with white ribbons, and tied under the chin with the -same. This dress had been old-fashioned when she assumed it, and was -more than old-fashioned now; but it suited her very well, as unusual -dresses, it may be remarked, usually do. - -And she was kind as kind could be. She could not refuse either beggar or -borrower, unless the one was a sturdy beggar presuming on the supposed -loneliness of the house and unaware of Andrew in the background, upon -whom she would flash forth indignant, sending him off “with a flee in -his lug,” as Janet said: or the other a professional spendthrift of -other people’s money. Short of these two classes--and even to them her -heart had moments of melting--she refused nobody within her humble -means. But I will not deceive you by pretending that she was a woman who -went a great deal among the poor. That fashion of charity had not come -into use in her days. The Scotch poor are _farouche_, they are arrogant, -and stand tremendously on their dignity--which is thought by many people -a fine thing, though, I confess, I don’t think it so; but it was no -doubt cultivated more or less by good people like Mrs Ogilvy, who never -visited among them, yet was ready to give with a liberality which was -more like that of a Roman Catholic lady “making her soul” by such means, -than a Scotch Puritan looking upon all she herself said or did as -unworthy of regard. They came to her when they were in want; they came -for food, for clothes, for coals; for money to pay an urgent debt; for -all things that could affect family peace. And they very seldom were -sent empty away. It was for this, perhaps, that the other ladies thought -a woman should be found in her own chair in a corner of her own -drawing-room. But if so, it certainly did not matter much, for Mrs -Ogilvy’s seat outside answered quite as well. - -There was a dining-room and a drawing-room inside, one on each side of -the door. The latter was usually called the parlour. It was full of -curious things, not exactly of the kind that are considered curious -now,--Mrs Ogilvy was not acquainted with _bric-à-brac_,--but there had -been two or three sailors in the family, and they had brought -unsophisticated wonders, shells, pieces of coral, bowls, sometimes china -and precious, sometimes wood and of no value at all: but all esteemed -pretty much alike, and given an equal place among the treasures of the -house. There was some good china besides of her own, one good portrait, -vaguely believed or hoped by the minister and some other connoisseurs -of the village to be a Rubens (which meant, I suppose, even in their -sanguine imaginations, a copy); and a row of black silhouettes, -representing various members of the family, over the mantelpiece. -Therefore it will be seen there was great impartiality in respect to -artistic value. The carpet was partially covered with a grey linen cloth -to preserve it, which gave the room a somewhat chilly look. It was in -the dining-room that Mrs Ogilvy chiefly sat. She would have found it a -great trouble to change from one to another at every meal. The large -dining-table had been placed against the wall, which was a concession to -comfort for which many friends blamed her during these years when Mrs -Ogilvy had been alone. A smaller round table stood near the fire, her -chair, her little old-fashioned stand for book and her work and her -occasional newspaper, in the corner. It was all very comfortable, -especially on the wintry evenings when the fire sparkled and the lamp -burned softly, and everything felt warm and looked bright--as bright as -Mrs Ogilvy’s face with her white hair under her white cap, and her white -shawl upon her shoulders. It might have been a symphony in white, had -anybody heard of anything so grand and superior in these days. - -It seldom happened, however, that one of the long evenings passed -without the entrance of Janet, who at a certain hour in the placid night -began always to wonder audibly what the mistress was doing, and to -divine that she would be the better of a word with somebody, “if it was -only you or me.” Perhaps this meant that Janet herself by that time had -become bored by the society of Andrew, her husband and constant -companion, who was a taciturn person, and who, even if he could have -been persuaded to utter more than one word in half an hour, had no new -subject upon which he could discourse, but only themes which Janet knew -by heart. They were a most peaceable couple, never quarrelling, working -into each other’s hands as the neighbours said, keeping the Hewan -outside and inside as bright as a new pin; and I have no doubt that the -sincerest affection, as well as every tie of habit and long -companionship, bound them together: but still there were moments very -probably when Janet, without using the word or probably understanding -it, was bored. The “fore-night” was long, and the ticking of the clock, -so offensively distinct when nothing is being said, got on Janet’s -nerves; and then she bethought herself of the mistress sitting all alone -in the silence. “I’ll just go ben and see if she wants onything,” she -said. “Aweel: I’ll take a look at Sandy and see if he’s comfortable,” -replied Andrew. Sandy was a sleek old pony with which Mrs Ogilvy drove -in to Eskholm when she had occasion, and sometimes even to Edinburgh, -and he held a high place in Andrew’s affections. The one visit was as -invariable as the other; and Sandy, to whom perhaps also the fore-night -was long, probably expected it too. - -“Well, Janet,” Mrs Ogilvy would say, putting aside the newspaper. She -did not put aside her stocking, which went on by itself mechanically, -but she turned her countenance towards her old servant always with the -shining on it of a friendly smile. - -“Well, mem--I just came in to see if ye maybe were wanting onything. -Andrew he’s away taking a look at Sandy. You would think he is a -Christian to see the troke there is between that beast and my man.” - -“Andrew’s a good creature, mindful of everybody’s comfort,” said Mrs -Ogilvy. - -“I’m saying nothing against that; but it micht be more cheery for me if -he were a wee less preceese about what he hears and sees. A man is mair -about, he canna miss what might be ca’ed the events of the day. But you -and me, mem, we miss them a’ up here.” - -“That’s true, Janet; a man that brings in the news is more entertainment -in a house than the newspaper itself.” - -“Whiles,” said Janet, moderating the expression. “It’s no the clashes -and clavers of the toun that I’m wanting, but when onything important is -stirring--there’s another muckle paper-mill to be set up on our water. -It brings wark for the lads--and the lasses too--and ye daurna say, -just for the sake of Esk, that is no living thing----” - -“I have more courage than you, Janet, for I daur to say it. What! my -bonnie Esk no a living thing! What was ever more living than the bonnie -running water? Eh, woman, running water is not like anything else in the -world! It’s just life itself! It sees everything happen and flows on--no -stopping for the like of us creatures of a day. It heartens me to think -that there’s aye some bairns sitting playing by it, or some young thing -dreaming her dream, or some woman with her little weans--not you and me, -for our time is past, but just other folk.” - -“I’m no like you, mem. I get little comfort out of that. It’s a bonnie -stream, and I like the sough of it coming up through the trees; but none -of the paper-mills would stop that. And when you think that it will -bring siller into the place and wark, and more comfort for the poor -folk----” - -“Will it do that? God forbid that I should go against what brings work -and comfort. It will bring new families, Janet, and strange men to sit -and drink, and roar their dreadful songs at the public-house door; and -more publics, and more dirty wives and miserable weans. I’m just for -doing the best we can with what we have,--and that is not an easy -thing.” - -“And I’m for ganging forward,” cried Janet. “The more ye produce the -better off ye are--that’s what the books ca’ an axiom. I carena for the -new folk; but it is a grand thing to be making something, and putting -work into men’s hands to do. Thae poor Millers themselves get but little -out of it. They say there’s another of them, the little one with the -curly head, that is just going like the rest.” - -“Oh, Janet, the Lord forbid! the little blue-eyed one, that was just the -comfort of the house?” - -“That’s what folk say. I’m no answering for it. In an unfortunate family -like that, ye canna have a sair finger but they’ll say it’s the auld -trouble breaking out.” - -“Poor man, poor man!” cried Mrs Ogilvy. “My heart is wae for him, Janet. -He is like the man in the Bible that built Jericho. He has laid his -foundations in his first-born, and established his gates on his youngest -son. You must tell Andrew that I will want him and Sandy to-morrow to go -and inquire. No the bonnie little one that was his comfort!--oh, not -her, not her, Janet!” - -“Mem, it is aye the Lord that kens best.” - -“I am not misdoubting that; but I’ve had many a thought--I would not aye -be blaming the Lord. When the seed is put into the ground, we should be -prepared for what it will bring forth, and no look for leaves of silver -and apples of gold; but why should I speak? for there is little meaning -in words, and we are a strange race--oh, just a strange race--following -our wild ways.” - -Mrs Ogilvy had dropped her stocking by this time into her lap, and she -wrung her slender hands as she spoke, with a look that was not like the -calm of the place. Whether Janet noted this or merely followed the -instinct of her wandering record of events, it was impossible to tell -from her steady countenance, which did not change. - -“And there’s to be a wedding up the water at Greenha’. You will mind, -mem, Thomoseen, that was once in our ain house here as the girrl, and an -awfu’ time I had with her, for she would learn nothing. She’s grown the -biggest woman on a’ Eskside, and they call her Muckle Tammy, and mony an -adventure she’s had since she left my kitchen--having broken, ye will -maybe mind, mem, every dish we had. And for her ain sake, thinking it -would maybe be a lesson to her, I wanted you to take it off her -wages----” - -“Yes, yes, I mind. The things would not stay in her hands; they were too -big. We have had our experiences with our girrls, Janet,” Mrs Ogilvy -said, with a smile. She had taken up her knitting again, and recovered -her tranquil looks. - -“That we have, mem! if I was to make out a chronicle--but some of them -have turned out no so ill after a’. Weel, Muckle Tammy, she has gotten -a man.” - -“He will likely be some small bit creature,” the mistress said. - -“They say no--a clever chield, and grand wi’ a garden, and meaning to -grow vegetables for the market at Edinburgh; for she is a lass with a -tocher, her mother’s kailyard and her bit cottage, and nothing for him -to do but draw in a chair and sit down.” - -“I doubt there’ll be but little comfort inside,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “If it -had been her to look after the kail and the cabbages, and him to keep -everything clean and trig; but there’s no telling. A change like that -works many ferlies. You must just see, Janet, if there is anything she -is wanting for her plenishing--some linen, or a few silver teaspoons, or -a set of china, or a new gown.” - -“They a’ ken there will be something for them in the coffers at the -Hewan,” said Janet; “but, mem, if ye will be guided by me, you will let -it be no too much. If only one of these dishes had been stoppit off her -wages it would have been a grand lesson: but ye will never hear a word! -A set of chiney! they would a’ be broken afore ever she got them hame.” - -“Let it be the silver spoons then, Janet; they are the things that last -the best. And now, if you were to cry in Andrew, we might read our -chapter, and get ready for our beds.” - -This was the invariable conclusion of these evening colloquies. And -Janet went “ben” to her kitchen and then to the garden door, and “cried -upon” Andrew, still conversing with the pony in the stable. And then -there was a great turning of keys and drawing of bolts, and the house -was closed up for the night. And finally the pair went into the parlour, -where Mrs Ogilvy, with her clear little educated voice read “the -chapter,” usually from one of the Gospels, and read in sequence night by -night. Janet was of opinion that she never understood so well as when -her mistress read, and indeed Mrs Ogilvy had a little pride in her -reading, which was very clear and distinct with its broad vowels. The -little prayer which was read out of a book did not please Andrew so -much, who was of opinion that prayers ought never to be previously -invented and written, but come, as he said, “straught from the hairt.” -He had himself indeed thought on occasion that he could have poured -forth the sentiments that moved the family with more unction and -expression than was in the sometimes faltering voice and pause for -breath which affected his mistress when she read these “cauld words out -of a book”; but Andrew knew his own place: or if he did not know, Janet -did. - -What was there to catch the breath, and make the voice falter, in the -printed words and amid all that deep calm of waning life? It was at the -prayer for the absent that Mrs Ogilvy for fifteen years past had always -broken down. Nay, not broken down: she was too deeply sensible that to -make an exhibition of private feeling while leading the family devotions -would have been irreverent and unseemly, but she was not capable of -going on quite smoothly without a pause over that petition, “Those who -are absent of this family, be Thou with them to bless them, and bring -them home in Thy good time if it be Thy blessed will.” Every night there -came to Janet’s eyes as she knelt a secret tear; and every night it -seemed to Andrew that if he might speak “straught from the hairt” -instead of that cauld prayer that was printed, the Lord would hear. I -need not say that even in a Scotch book of domestic worship the words -were varied from day to day, but the meaning was always the same. They -left the mistress of the house in a certain commotion of mind when her -old servants had bidden her good night and withdrawn. She had a way then -of walking about the room, sometimes pausing as if to listen. There was -deep silence about the Hewan, uplifted on its little brae, and with few -houses near,--nothing to be heard except the distant murmur of the Esk, -and the rustling of the trees. But the night has strange mysteries of -sound for which no one can account. Sometimes something came that seemed -like a step on the gravel outside, sometimes, fainter in the distance, -what might have been the swing of the gate, sometimes a muffled knock as -at the door. She knew them all well, and had been deceived by them a -thousand times; nor was she undeceived yet, but would stop and raise her -head and hold her breath, waiting for perhaps some second sound to -follow to give meaning to it. But there never came any second sound, or -at least there never was, never had been, any meaning in them. She -listened, holding up her head, and then drooped it again, going on upon -her little measured walk. “At ainy moment!” she would say sometimes to -herself. - -Over the front door of the cottage, which was not without a little -pretension, there was what we used to call a fanlight: and in this -summer and winter every night a light burned till morning. People shook -their heads at it as a piece of foolish sentiment and very extravagant; -and Andrew grudged a little the trouble it caused him. But there it -burned all the year round, every night through. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -In the summer evenings Mrs Ogilvy sat on the bench outside the parlour -window. I have never forgotten the sort of rapture with which the long -summer evenings in Scotland impressed my own mind when I rediscovered -them, so to speak, after a long interval of absence. The people who know -Scotland only in the autumn know them not. By that time all things have -grown common, the surprises of the year are over; but in June those -long, soft, pearly, rosy hours which are neither night nor day, which -melt by indescribable degrees out of the glory of the sunset into -everything that is soft and fair, through every tint and shining -colour and mingling of lights, until they reach that which is -inconceivable--surround us with a heavenly atmosphere all their own, the -fusion of every radiance, the subdual of every shade. There are no -shadows in that wonderful light any more than there is any sun. The -midnight sun must be a very spectacular sort of performance in -comparison. To people who live in it always, however, it will probably -appear no such great thing. - -Mrs Ogilvy was not aware that there was anything that was not most -ordinary in these June nights. She loved them, but knew no reason why. -She sat in the sweet air, in the silence, sometimes feeling herself as -if suspended between air and sky, floating softly in space with the -movement of the world: and in her thoughts she was able even sometimes -to detach herself from Then and Now, those two dreadful limits of our -consciousness, and to catch a glimpse of life as it is rounded out, and -some consciousness of the beginning and the end, and the sequence and -connection of all things. Sometimes: but perhaps not very often, for -these gleams of discovery are but gleams, and fly like the flashes of -lightning which suddenly reveal to us a broad country, a noble city lost -in the darkness. On such occasions the great sphere overhead, the great -landscape stretching into distance, the glimpses of houses, great and -small, amid the warm surrounding of the trees, the murmur of the Esk low -in the glen, filling all the air with sound, affected her with an -extraordinary calm. She used to think sometimes that this was the Peace -that passeth understanding which descended upon her, hushing all her -thoughts, stilling every sigh. It came but seldom in that height of -blessing, but often in a less perfect way, as she sat and pondered upon -the great still world revolving round, and she an atom in the boundless -breadth of being, which by-and-by would drop, while the world went on. - -But at other times it appeared to her more strange still that in all -these miles and miles of distance, of solid earth and growing trees, and -the hopeful harvests that were coming, there was one little thing, so -little in fact, so insignificant in the midst of all, that was throbbing -and throbbing and disturbing the quiet, unmoved by the peace of the sky -and the earth and all the beautiful things between them--thinking its -own small thoughts, and troubling, and living--till all the quiet -throbbed and thrilled with it, the one thing that was out of harmony. -The centre of her thoughts, or rather the cause of them all, night and -day, was a thing that had happened fifteen years ago, a thing that most -people had forgotten--a small matter to the world--just the going away -of a heedless young man. It was not that she was always thinking of him, -for her thoughts rambled and wandered through all the heavens and earth; -but that he was the centre of all, the pivot on which they turned, the -beginning and the end of everything. He had gone away--he had left his -home, having already erred and strayed--and he had been heard of no -more. She was not complaining or finding fault with God for it: she -would sometimes wonder with a little wistfulness why God never listened -to her, did not somewhere seize that wandering boy and bring him -back--to satisfy her before she died. But then there were many things to -be considered, Mrs Ogilvy knew and acknowledged to herself in the -philosophy that had grown out of her much thinking. Robert was not a -bairn, nor was God a mere benevolent patron, to seize the lad without -rhyme or reason, and set him back there, because she wearied Him with -crying. She had wanted God to be that, many times in her long period of -trouble; but by dint of time and thought a different sense of things had -come to her. God was not a good fairy: He was the great God of heaven -and earth. He had Robert to think of as well as his mother, and -thousands and millions of other things. Often in the weariness of her -heart she asked nothing for Robert, said nothing, but sat there before -the Lord with the boy’s name on her heart put before Him. And that was -all she was doing now. - -Of all that landscape there was one point to which her eyes turned the -oftenest, and, which drew her away out of herself, as if by some charm -of movement and going. And that was the piece of road which lay at the -foot of the brae, with her own garden-gate opening into it, and the two -lines of the holly-hedges on either side. Often she would be drawn back -from her thinking by the sight of a figure on the road, which turned out -to be a very common figure,--sometimes a beggar, or a man with a pack, a -travelling merchant, or, more familiar still than that, a postman on his -way home, or a lad that had been working later than usual. But whatever -the man was, the sight of him always gave Mrs Ogilvy a sharp sensation. -“At any moment!” she had said to herself so long that it had entered -into her very soul. “At any moment!”--she was conscious of this night -and day. Through all that she was doing she had always one ear listening -for any new step or sound. And you may think how much more strong that -habitual watchfulness was when she looked out in the evening, the time -when everybody comes home, upon the road by which he must come, if he -ever came. A hundred times and a hundred more she had watched that road, -with her eyes - - “Busy in the distance shaping things - That made her heart beat thick.” - -Often and often she had seen a man detach himself from the white strip -of the road, and heard her own gate click and swing, and watched a head -moving upward over the line of the hedge. But it never was any one -except the most simple, the most naturally to be expected -visitor--perhaps the minister, perhaps Mr Miller from the paper-mill, -perhaps some friend of Andrew’s and Janet’s. Her heart beat in her ears, -in her throat, for a dreadful moment, and then stood still. It was not -he: how should it? She rose up with no heart at all, everything stopped -and hushed, and said, “How are you to-night, Mr Logan? What a bonnie -evening for a walk,” or “How are you, Mr Miller; sit down and take a -rest after your climb.” She said nothing about her disappointment; and, -indeed, who could say she was disappointed? It just was not Robbie: and -she had no more reason to think that it would be him than that the night -would suddenly turn into day. - -On this particular evening it was Mr Logan, the minister, who gave her -this thrill of strong expectation, this disappointment--which was not a -disappointment. He found nothing that was out of the way in her peaceful -looks, neither the one sensation nor the other, but sat down beside her, -pleased with this conclusion to his summer evening’s walk, and the -delightful air and pleasant view, and the calm of the Hewan, in which -everybody said there was such an atmosphere of repose and peace. Mr -Logan was a country minister of what is now called the old school. He -was not a man who had ever thought of making innovations or disturbing -the old order of affairs. His services were just the same as they had -been when he was ordained some thirty years before. He had baptised a -great part of his parishioners, and married the others, so that there -were only the quite old folk, patriarchs of the parish, who could -remember the time when he was first “placed” at Eskholm, and opposed by -some, though always “well likit” by others. He was considered by Mrs -Ogilvy and many ladies of the parish to be a very personable man, comely -in his grey hair, with a good presence and a good voice, and altogether -a wyss-like man. This description, which is so common in Scotland, has -nothing to do with the wisdom of the person described, who may be very -wyss-like without being at all wise. Mr Logan sat down and stretched out -discreetly his long legs. He had the shadow, or rather the subdued -light, of a smile hovering about his face. He looked as if he had -something agreeable to tell. - -“And how is Susie?” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -“Susie,” he said, with a change of expression which did not look quite -so genuine as the lurking smile. “Oh, Susie, poor thing, she is just in -her ordinary; but that is not very well----” - -“Not well! Susie? But she has just been wonderful in her health and her -cheery ways.” - -“Ay, ay! she has kept up to the outside of her strength; but I have -never thought she was equal to it. You will do me the justice to -remember that I always said that. These big boys are too much for her; -and now that they’re coming and going to Edinburgh every day, and all -the trouble of getting them off in the morning, with sandwiches for -George who is in his office, and a piece for Walter and Jamie who are at -the school: and the two little ones all the day at home, and me on the -top of all, that am perhaps accustomed to have too much attention paid -to me----” - -The lurking smile came forth again, much subdued, so that nobody could -ask the minister brutally, “What are you smiling at?” - -“Dear me,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “I am very much astonished. I have always -thought there was nobody like Susie for managing the whole flock.” - -“She is a good girl, a very good girl; but it’s too much for her, Mrs -Ogilvy. I’ve always said so. She takes after her mother, and you know -my--wife was far from strong.” - -The little pause he made before that simple word wife was as when a man -who has married a second time says “my first wife.” - -Mrs Ogilvy was startled and stared; but she did not take any notice of -this alarming peculiarity. She said, “I cannot think Susie delicate, Mr -Logan. She has none of the air of it. And her mother at her age----” - -“Ah, her mother at her age! I must take double care that nothing -interferes with Susie. It is an anxious position for a man to have a -family to look after that is deprived of a mother’s care.” - -“It is so, no doubt,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “but with Susie----” - -“Poor thing! who just strains every faculty she has. There are some -women who do these kind of things with no appearance of effort,” said Mr -Logan, shaking his head a little. “You will have heard there was a -marriage in the parish yesterday. They would fain have had it in the -church, in their new-fangled way. But I said our auld kirk did not lend -itself to that sort of thing, and I would like it better in their own -drawing-room, or if they preferred it, mine.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “I heard of it. The English family that -have taken the little house near the Dean. I did not think it was big -enough to have a drawing-room.” - -“Well, an English family is rather a misnomer: they can scarcely be -called English, though they come from the south--and a family you can -call it no longer, for this was the last daughter, and there’s nothing -but Mrs Ainslie herself left.” - -“She’s a well-put-on, well-mannered woman, and well-looking too: but I -know nothing more about her,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -“She is all that,” replied the minister, with a little fervour -unnecessary in the circumstances. “We were at the little entertainment -after, Susie and me. Everything was just perfectly done, and nobody -neglected, and without a bit of fuss or flutter such as is general in -these cases----” - -“Do you think it is general?” said Mrs Ogilvy, with that natural and -instantaneous impulse of self-defence which is naturally awakened by -excessive praise bestowed upon the better methods of a stranger. “We are -maybe not much used to grand entertainments in a landward parish like -this, where there are not many grand folk.” - -“Oh, there was nothing particularly grand about it,” said the minister, -with the air of lingering pleasantly in recollection over an agreeable -subject. “These simple sort of things are so much better; but it takes a -clever person to see just what is adapted to a country place. I was -saying to Susie this morning it’s a grand thing to bring people together -like you--and no expense to speak of when you know how to go about -it----” - -“And what did Susie think?” Mrs Ogilvy asked. - -“My dear lady,” said the minister, “nobody will say I am one to take -down the ladies or give them a poor character; but they are maybe slower -of the uptake than men--especially when it’s another lady, and one with -gifts past the common, that is held up for their example.” - -“I thought you were too wise a man to hold up anybody for an example.” - -“You’re always sensible, Mrs Ogilvy. That is just what I should have -remembered: but perhaps I am too open in my speech at all times. I’ve -come to speak to Susie as if she knew things and the ways of the world -just as well as me.” - -Mr Logan was a little vague about his pronouns, which arose not from -want of grammar, but from national prejudice or prepossession. - -“And so she does,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a little surprise. “She’s young -still, the dear lassie; but it’s very maturing to the mind to be in a -position like hers, and she is just one of the most reasonable persons I -know.” - -“Ah, yes,” said the minister, with a sigh, which did not interrupt the -lurking smile; “but it’s a very different thing to have a companion of -your own age.” - -At this she began to look at him with more attention than she had as yet -shown, and perceived that there was a little flush more than ordinary on -the minister’s face. Had he come to make any revelation? Mrs Ogilvy had -all the natural prejudices, and she was resolved that at least she would -do nothing to help him out. She sat demurely and looked at him, while -he, leaning forward, traced lines upon the gravel with the end of his -stick. The faint imbecility of the smile about his lips, made of vanity -and pleasure and a little shame, always irritating to women, called -forth an ironical watchfulness on her part. - -“There is but one way of having that,” he continued; “a man’s a sad -wreck in many cases when he’s left a widower, as you may say, in the -middle of his days-- - - ‘My strength he weakened in the way, - My days of life he shorten-ed.’ - -This is not the usual sense in which the words are used, but it just -comes to that. You will know by yourself, Mrs Ogilvy. You were widowed -young.” - -“I have never taken myself to be a rule for other folk,” she said. - -“Well, you don’t do that; but still how are you to judge of other folk’s -feelings but according to what you feel yourself?” - -The lady made no reply. No, she would not help him! if he had any -ridiculous thing to say to her, he should muddle through it the best way -he could. She would not hold out a little finger to help him up to dry -land. - -“Well,” he said, after a pause, with a little sigh, “to return to Susie. -She’s not equal to her present charge, not equal to it at all. Three big -boys on her hands, and the two little ones, not to count all the family -correspondence with the others in India and Australia, and all that. -There is a great deal of care connected with a large family that people -never think of.” He paused for sympathy, but it was not a point upon -which his present listener could speak: he went on with a slight and -momentary feeling that she was selfish not to have entered into this -trouble, notwithstanding that it was so different from her own. “And -these growing laddies want a firm hand over them--they want -authority--not just a sister that they can tease and fleech---- I maybe -ought from the first,” he said, slowly and tentatively, “to have taken -the burden more upon myself.” - -“It would have left less burden upon Susie; but I think for my part she -is quite equal to it,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -When a man condescends to blame himself, he expects as his natural due -that he should be reassured. Mr Logan felt that his old friend and -parishioner, to whom he had come half for sympathy, half for -encouragement, was not nearly so sympathetic a person as he thought. - -“I see we’ll not agree in that; and I am sure I hope you’re the one that -is in the right. Well,” he said, getting up slowly, “I’m afraid I must -be going. This is a long walk for me at this hour of the night; and -they’ll be waiting for me at home.” - -“You’ll let me know,” Mrs Ogilvy said, as she walked with him along the -little platform round the plot of grass. “You’ll let me know--when -things have gone further.” - -“When things have gone further?” he cried, with a sudden redness and -look of surprise: then added, shaking his head, “What things there are -to go further, and how far they can go, is a mystery to me. You must be -referring to something in your own mind.” - -And the good-night was a little formal with which he went away. - -It was time to go in. The light was fading at last, growing a little -paler, and ten had struck on the big clock. The lamp had been lighted in -the drawing-room for Mrs Ogilvy to read the chapter by, though there was -no real need for it. Janet, who had come out for her mistress’s work and -her footstool, lingered, as was her wont, before she “cried upon” Andrew -for that concluding ceremonial of the day. - -“Did you ever hear that there was any word of the minister----? But -perhaps I should not speak on the small authority I have,” Mrs Ogilvy -said. - -“Speak freely, mem; I can aye bear it--and better from you than from -some other folk.” - -Andrew had strong Free Church inclinations. He was given to -disrespectful speech of the ministers of the Auld Kirk in general, and -of Mr Logan in particular, calling him a dumb dog that could not -bark--which roused Janet to her inmost soul. She was not satisfied even -with her mistress, though she had never forsaken the Kirk of her -fathers. Janet bore her burden, as the only perfectly orthodox person in -the house, with great solemnity and a sense of suffering for the right. -“Say what you will, mem; you may be sure I will have heard worse. I can -put up with it,” Janet said. - -“You are just a very foolish person to speak in that tone to me. Am I -one to find fault with the minister without cause? Nor am I finding -fault with him. He has a right to do it if he likes. I would not say -that it was expedient.” - -“Eh, mem, if ye would but put me out of my pain! What is it? He is a -douce man, that would do harm to nobody. What is he going to do?” - -“Indeed, Janet, I cannot tell. It is just some things he said. Was there -ever any lady’s name named--or that caused a silly laugh, or made folk -speak?” - -“Named!” said Janet,--“with our minister? ’Deed, and that there have -been--every woman born that he has ever said a ceevil word to. You ken -little of country clashes, mem, if you’re surprised at that. Your -ainsel’ for one, and we ken the truth there is in that.” - -“They were far to seek if they named me,” said Mrs Ogilvy, drawing -herself up with dignity; “but there is a lady he is very full of. I do -not ask you to inquire, for I hate gossip; but if it should come your -way from any of the neighbours, I would like to hear what they say. Poor -Susie! he says she is not able for so much work, that he is feared she -will go like her mother. Now, she’s not like her mother either in that -or any other thing. There’s trouble brewing for my poor Susie--if you -hear anything, let me know.” - -“And you never heard who the leddy was?” Janet said. - -“I have heard much more--a great deal more,” Mrs Ogilvy cried, very -inconclusively it must be allowed, “than I had any wish to hear!” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -This was the ordinary of the life at the Hewan. A great deal of -solitude, a great deal of thought, an endless circling of mind and -reflection round one subject which shadowed heaven and earth, and -affected every channel in which the thoughts of a silent much-reasoning -creature can flow: and at the same time much acquaintance with a crowd -of small human events making up the life of the neighbourhood, with -which, practically speaking, Mrs Ogilvy had nothing to do, yet with -which, in the way of sympathy, advice, and even criticism, she had a -great deal to do. Such half confidences as that of Mr Logan were brought -to her continually--veiled disclosures made for the purpose of finding -out how such and such things looked in the eyes of a woman who was very -discreet, who never repeated anything that was said, and who had the -power of intimating an opinion as veiled as the disclosure by delicate -methods without putting it into words. She sat on her modest height, a -little oracle wrapped in mystery as to her own inner life, impartial and -observant as to that about her. How she had come to be an authority in -the village it would be difficult to tell. She was not a person of noted -family or territorial importance, which is a thing which tells for so -much in Scotland. Perhaps it was chiefly because, since the great -misfortune of her life, she had retired greatly from the observation of -the parish, paying no visits, seeing only the people who went to see -her, and as for her own affairs confiding in nobody, asking no -sympathy--too proud in her love and sorrow even to allow that she was -stricken, or that the dearest object of her life was the occasion of all -her suffering. Neighbours had adjured her not “to make an idol” of her -boy; and after the trouble came they had shaken their heads and assured -her in the first publicity of the blow that God was a jealous God, and -would not permit idolatry. To these speeches she had never made any -reply: and scarcely any one to this day knew whether his mother had ever -heard from Robert, or was aware of his movements and history. This -position had been very impressive to the little community. It is a kind -of pride with which in Scotland there is a great deal of sympathy. - -On the other hand she had never rejected the appeal, tacit or open, of -any one who came to her. The ladies of the village were almost a little -servile in the court they paid to this old lady. They liked to know what -Mrs Ogilvy thought of most things that went on, and to have her opinion -of any stranger who settled among them; and if a rumour rose in the -village, where rumours are so apt to rise, nobody knows how, there was -sure to be a concourse in the afternoon, unpremeditated and accidental, -of visitors eager to hear, but very diffident of being the first to ask, -what the lady of the Hewan thought. Now the suggestion that the minister -of Eskholm was about to make a second marriage, overturning the entire -structure of life, displacing his daughter, who had been the mistress of -the manse for many years, and inflicting a new and alien sway upon his -big boys and his little girls, all flourishing under the cheerful -sovereignty of Susie, was such an idea as naturally convulsed the parish -from one end to the other. And there was little doubt that this was the -question it was intended to discuss, when two or three of these ladies -met without concert or premeditation in the afternoon at the Hewan; and -Janet, half proud of the concourse, half angry at the trouble involved, -had to spend all the warm afternoon serving the tea. If such was the -purpose, however, it was entirely foiled by the unlooked-for appearance -of a lady not at all like the ladies of Eskholm--a stranger, with what -was considered to be a strongly marked “English accent,” the very person -who was believed to have led the minister astray. The new-comer was -good-looking, well-dressed, and extremely anxious to please; but as the -only method of doing so which she could think of was to take the lead of -the conversation, and to assume the air of the principal person, the -expedient perhaps was not very successful. But for the moment even Mrs -Ogilvy was silenced. She allowed her hand to be engulfed in the two -hands of the stranger held out to her; and even gave to this frank and -smiling personage in her consternation the place of honour, the seat by -herself. The English lady, Mrs Ainslie, was not shy; and the little -hostile assembly in the drawing-room of the Hewan, which had assembled -to discuss the danger to the minister of this alarming siren in their -midst, was changed into an audience of civil listeners, hearing the -siren discourse. - -“Oh, I like it beyond description,” she said. “It has become the most -important place in the world to me! What a thing providence is! We came -here thinking of nothing, meaning to spend six weeks, or at the most two -months. And lo! this little country retreat, as we thought it, has -become--I really can’t speak of it. My daughter, my only remaining one, -the last--whom I have sometimes thought the flower of the flock----” - -“You will have a number of daughters?” - -“I am a grandmother these four or five years,” said the stranger, -spreading out her hands, and putting herself forth, and her still fresh -attractions, with a laugh and a pardonable boast. The ladies of Eskholm, -all listening, felt a movement among them, a half-perceptible rustle, -half of interest, half of envy. This was what it was to be English, to -have a house in London, to move about the world, to introduce your girls -and have them properly appreciated. How can you do that in a small -country place? Some of these ladies were grandmothers too, and no older -than Mrs Ainslie, but not one of them could have succeeded in declaring -with that light and airy manner, See how young, how fresh, how unlike a -grandmother I am! They looked at her with admiration modified by -disapproval. They had meant to discuss her, to organise a defence -against her; and here she was in command of everybody’s attention, the -centre of the group! - -“I am sure,” the lady continued, “it is the truest thing to say that -marriages are made in heaven. We came here, Sophie and I, thinking of -nothing--just for a few weeks in the summer: and here she is happily -married! and, for all I know, I may spend the rest of my life in the -place. She is my youngest, and to be near her is such an attraction. -Besides, I have made such excellent friends--friends that I hope to keep -all my life.” - -“It is not everybody that is so fortunate,” Mrs Ogilvy said. None of the -audience gave her the least assistance. They were fascinated by the -confidence of the stranger, her pleasure in her own good fortune, and -her freedom from any of that shyness which silenced themselves. - -“Fortunate is really too little to say. Fancy, all my girls have made -love-matches, and my sons-in-law adore their wives--and me. Now, I think -that is a triumph. They are all fond of me. Don’t you think it is a -triumph? If ever I feel inclined to boast, it is of that.” - -“You are perhaps one of those,” said Mrs Ogilvy, somewhat grimly, “that, -as we say in this country, a’body likes,--which is always a -compliment--in one way.” - -“That ah-body likes,” cried Mrs Ainslie with out-stretched hands, and an -imitation which had a very irritating effect on the listeners. “Thank -you a hundred times. It is a very pretty compliment, I think.” - -“That awbody likes,” repeated Mrs Ogilvy, putting the vowel to rights. -“We do not always mean it in just such a favourable sense.” - -“It means a person that makes herself agreeable--with no real meaning in -it,” said one. - -“It means just a whillie-wha,” said another. - -“It means a person, as they say, with a face like a fiddle, and no -sincerity behind.” - -Mrs Ainslie put up her hands again. “Oh, how am I to understand so much -Scotch? I must ask Mr Logan,” she said. - -And then again there was a pause. She dared to mention him! in the face -of all those ladies banded together for his defence. - -“What a delightful man he is,” she proceeded--“so learned, and so -clever, and so good! I don’t know that I ever met with such a man. If he -were only not so weighed down with these children. Dear Mrs Ogilvy, -don’t you think it is dreadful to see a poor man so burdened. If he had -only some one to keep order a little and take proper care of him. My -heart sinks for him whenever I go into his house.” - -Then there was a universal outcry, no longer capable of being -controlled. “I cannot see that at all,” cried one. “He has Susie,” cried -two or three together. “And where could he find a better? I wish, -indeed, he was more worthy of such a daughter as that.” - -It was an afternoon of surprises, and of the most sensational kind, for -just as the ladies of Eskholm were warming to this combat, in which so -much more was meant than met the eye, and, a little flushed with the -heat of the afternoon and the tea and rising temper, were turning fiery -looks toward the interloper, the door opened quietly, without any -preliminary bell or even knock at the door, and Susie Logan -herself--Susie, in behalf of whom they were all so ready to do -battle--walked quietly in. Susie herself was quite calm, perfectly -fresh, though she had been walking in the hottest hour of the day,--her -white straw hat giving a transparent shade to the face, her cotton dress -so simple, fresh, and clean. Nobody ever managed to look so fresh and -without soil of any kind as Susie, whatever she might do. - -There was a sudden pause again, a pause more dramatic than before, for -the speakers had all been in full career, and some of them angry. Susie -was very familiar at the Hewan--she was like the daughter of the house. -She stopped short at the door and looked round, too much at home even to -pretend that she did not see how embarrassing her appearance was. “I -must have interrupted something?” she said. - -“Oh no, no, Susie.” “How could you interrupt anything?” “You are just -the one that would know the most of it, whatever we were discussing,” -the ladies hastened to say, one taking the word from another. Mrs Ogilvy -held out her hand without moving. “Come in, come in,” she said; “and ye -can leave the door a little open, Susie, for we’re all flushed a little -with the heat and with our tea.” - -Mrs Ainslie was the one who gave Susan the most marked reception. She -alone got up and took the girl in her arms. “How glad I should have -been,” she said, “had I known I was to meet you here.” - -“Now, Susie, I will not have this,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “sit down and do -not make yourself the principal person, my dear; for I was thinking it -was me this lady was glad to see. As we are talking of marriages, I -would like to know if anybody can tell me about that big lassie -Thomasine that I’ve been hearing of--a creature that has a cottage and a -kailyard, and not much of a head on her shoulders. Will he be a decent -man?” - -There were some who shook their heads, and there were some who answered -more cordially--Thomasine’s husband had been as much discussed in the -parish as a more important alliance could have been. And under the -shelter of this new inquiry most of the guests stole away. Mrs Ainslie -herself was one of the last to go. She put once more an arm round Susie. -“Are you coming, my love? I should like to walk with you,” she said. - -“Not yet, Mrs Ainslie,” said Susan, with rising colour. She freed -herself from the embrace with a little haste. “I have not seen Mrs -Ogilvie for a long time.” - -“You have not seen me either,” said the stranger playfully and tenderly, -shaking a finger at her; “but it is right that new friends, even when -they’re dear friends, should yield to old friends,” she said, with a -little sigh and smile. She made a very graceful exit considering all -things, and Susie’s presence prevented even the lingerer who went last -from murmuring a private word as she had wished. When they were all -gone, Susie placed herself by her old friend’s side. - -“They worry you, these folk; they come to you with all their clashes. -What was it this time? I saw they were stopped by me. It was not that -old business,” said Susie, with a blush, “about Johnny Maitland? I -thought that was all past and gone.” - -“It was not that--it was rather this lady, this English person that -stopped all their mouths before you came in. She is a very wyss-like -woman, though her manners are strange to me. As I said to your father, -she’s well put-on and well looking. Do you like her, Susie?” - -“Me! I’ve no occasion not to like her, Mrs Ogilvy.” - -“I was not asking that. Do you like her, Susie?” - -Upon which Susie began to laugh. “What can I say?-- - - ‘I dinna like ye, Doctor Fell, - The reason why I canna tell.’ - -I’ve no occasion not to like her. She is always very kind, a little too -kind, to me--I am not fond of all that kissing--but it is perhaps just -her way. I am not very fond of her, to tell the truth.” - -“Nor am I, Susie; but she is maybe well enough if we were not -prejudiced.” - -“Oh yes, she is well enough,--she is more than that; and papa thinks -there is nobody like her,” she added, with a laugh. - -“Ah! your papa has an opinion on the subject?” - -“And why not? He has a great eye for the ladies. Did you not know that? -I think I like her the less because he makes so much of her. There was -that party she had for the marriage, I never hear the end of it. It was -all so nice, and so little trouble, and no fuss, and no expense, and so -forth. How can he tell it was no expense?--all the things were sent out -from Edinburgh!” said Susie, offended in her pride of housekeeping; “and -as for the sandwiches and things, I have seen the very same in Edinburgh -parties, and not so very new either. I could make them perfectly -myself!” - -“My dear, that is the way of men,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “a bit of -bread-and-butter in a strange place they will take for a ferlie: whereas -it’s only a piece for the bairns at home.” - -“Oh, papa is not so bad as that,” said Susie; “and I’m very silly to -mind. Now, just you lean back in your big chair and be quiet a little; -and I will go ben to Janet and bring you a little new-made tea.” - -“I like to see you do it, Susie. I like to take it from your hand. It is -not for the tea----” - -“No, it is not for the tea,” said the girl; and, though she was not fond -of kissing, as she said, she touched Mrs Ogilvy’s old soft cheek -tenderly with her fresh lips, and went away briskly on her errand with a -tear in her eye. Perhaps it is something of a misnomer to call Susie -Logan a girl. I fear she must have been thirty or a little more; but she -had never left her home, and though she was full of experience, she -retained all the freshness and openness of youth. Her hazel eyes were -limpid and mildly bright; her features good if not remarkable; her -colour fresh as a summer morning. Nowhere could she go without carrying -a sense of youth and life with her; and here in this still existence at -the Hewan among the old people she was doubly young, the representative -of all that was wanting to make that house bright. She alone could make -the mistress yield to this momentary indulgence, and permit herself to -look tired and to rest. And for her Janet joyfully boiled the kettle -over again, though she had just been congratulating herself on having -finished for the day. - -Susan went back and administered the tea, that cordial which is half for -the body and half for the mind, but which swallowed amid a crowd of -visitors fulfils neither purpose: and then she seated herself by Mrs -Ogilvy’s side. “How good it is to feel they’re all gone away and we are -just left to our two selves!” - -“Have you anything particular to say to me, Susie?” - -“Oh no, nothing particular; everything is just in its ordinary: the -little ones are sometimes rather a handful, and if papa would get them a -governess I would be thankful. They mean no harm, the little things; -but the weather is warm and the day is long, and they are not fond of -their lessons--neither am I,” said Susie, with a laugh, “if the truth -were told.” - -“And you are finding them a little too much for you--that is what your -father was saying----” - -“I find them too much for me! did papa say that?” cried Susie, alarmed; -“that was never, never in my head. I may grumble a little, half in fun; -but too much for me, Mrs Ogilvy! me that was born to it, the eldest -daughter! such a thing was never, never in my mind----” - -“I told him so, my dear, but he would not believe me; he just maintained -it to my face that it was too much for you, and your health was -beginning to fail.” - -“What would he mean by that?” said Susie, sitting up very upright on her -chair. A shadow came over her brightness. “Oh, I hope he has not got any -new idea in his head,” she cried. - -“Maybe he will be thinking of a governess for the little ones, Susie.” - -“It might be that,” she acknowledged in subdued tones. “And then,” she -added, with again a sudden laugh, “I heard _that_ woman--no, no, I never -meant to speak of her so--I heard Mrs Ainslie saying to him it would be -a good thing. I would rather not have the easement than get it through -her hands.” - -“Oh fie! Susie, fie! she would have no ill motive: you must not take -such things into your head.” - -“It is she that makes me feel as if it were too much,” cried Susie, -“coming in at all hours following me about the house. I get so tired of -her that I am tired of everything. I could just dance at the sight of -her: she puts me out of my senses; and always pitying me that want none -of her pity! It must be kindness, I suppose,” said Susie, grudgingly; -“but then I wish she would not be so kind.” After this there was a -pause. The talk came to an end all at once. Mrs Ainslie and her doings -dropped out of it as if she had gone behind a veil; and Susie looked in -her old friend’s face, with the tenderest of inquiring looks, a question -that needed not to be spoken. - -“No word still, no word?” she rather looked than said. - -“Never a word: not one, not one!” the elder woman replied. - -Susie put her head down on Mrs Ogilvy’s knee, and her cheek upon her -friend’s hand, and then gave way to a sudden outburst of silent tears, -sobbing a little, like a child. Mrs Ogilvy shed no tear. She patted the -bowed head softly with her hand, as if she had been consoling a child. -“The time’s very long,” she said,--“very long, and never a word.” - -After a while Susie raised her head. “I must, perhaps, not be very well -after all,” she said, with an attempt at a smile; “or why should I cry -like that? It is just that I could not help thinking and minding. It -was about this time of the year----” - -“The fifteenth of this month,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “to-morrow, and then -it’ll be fifteen years.” - -They sat for a little together saying nothing; and then Susie exclaimed, -as if she could not contain herself, “But he’ll come back--I’m just as -sure Robbie will come back! He will give you no warning; he was never -one for writing. You will just hear his step on the road, and he will be -here.” - -“That is what I think myself,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -And while they were sitting together silent, there suddenly came into -the silence the click of the gate and the sound of a step. And they both -started, for a moment almost believing that he had come. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -The continued disappointment, which was no disappointment but only the -fall of a fancy, a bubble of fond imagination in which there was no -reality at all--happened once more, while these two ladies sat together -and listened. And then the shadow of a man crossed the open window--a -little man--who, not knowing he was seen, paused to wipe his bald head -and recover his breath before he rang the bell at the open door. The -house was all open, fearing nothing, the sunshine and atmosphere -penetrating everywhere. - -“It is Mr Somerville, my man of business. It will only be something -about siller,” Mrs Ogilvy said in a low tone. - -“I will go away, then,” said Susie. She paused a little, holding her old -friend’s hands. “And if it’s any comfort,” she said, “when you’re -sitting alone and thinking, to mind that there is one not far away that -is thinking too--and believing----” - -“It is a comfort, Susie--God bless you for it, my dear----” - -“Well, then, there are two of us,” she said, with a smile beaming out of -the tearfulness of her face, “and it will be easier when this weary -month is past.” - -Susie, in her fresh summer dress, with her sweet colour and her pleasant -smile, met, as she went out, the old gentleman coming in. She did not -know him, but gave him a little bow as she passed, with rural politeness -and the kindness of nature. Susie was not accustomed to pass any -fellow-creature without a salutation. She knew every soul in the parish, -and every soul in the parish knew her. She could not cross any one’s -path without dropping, as it were, a flower of human kindness by the -way, except, of course, when she was in Edinburgh or any other large and -conventional place, where she only thought her goodwill to all whom she -met. The visitor, coming from that great capital and used to the -reticences of town life, was delighted with this little civility. He -seized his hat, pulling it once more off his bald head, and went into -the Hewan uncovered, as if he had been going into the presence of the -Queen. It gave him a little courage for his mission, which, to tell the -truth, was not a very cheerful mission, nor one which he had undertaken -with any alacrity. It was not that Mrs Ogilvy’s income had sustained any -diminution, or that he had a tale of failing dividends and bad -investments to tell. What she had was invested in the soundest -securities. It did not perhaps bring her in as much as would now be -thought necessary; but it was as safe as the Bank of England, and the -Bank of Scotland, and the British Linen Company, all rolled into one. -Her income scarcely varied a pound year by year. There was very little -for her man of business to do but to receive the modest dividends and -send her the money as she required it. She would have nothing to do with -banks and cheque-books. She liked always to have a little money in the -house--but there was little necessity for frequent meetings between her -and the manager of her affairs. He would sometimes come in on rare -occasions when he had taken a long walk into the country: but Mr -Somerville was not so young as he once had been, and took long walks no -more. Therefore she looked at him not with anxiety but with a little -curiosity when he sat down beside her. She was far too polite to put, -even into a look, the question, What may you be wanting? but it caused a -little embarrassment between them for the first moment. She, however, -was more at ease than he was--for she expected nothing more than some -question or advice about money, and he knew that what he had to say was -something of a much more troublous kind. This made him prolong a little -the questions about health and the remarks on the weather which form the -inevitable preliminaries of conversation with such old-fashioned folk. -When they had complimented each other on the beautiful season, and the -young crops looking so well, and new vegetables so good and plentiful, -there came a little pause again. Mrs Ogilvy was leaning back a little in -her chair, very peaceful, fearing no blow, when the old gentleman, after -clearing his throat a great many times, began-- - -“You will remember, Mrs Ogilvy--it is a thing you would be little likely -to forget--a commission that you charged me with, in confidence--it is -now a number of years ago----” - -She raised herself suddenly in her chair, and drew a long breath. The -expression of her countenance changed in a moment. She said nothing, nor -was it necessary: her look, the changed pose of her person leaning -towards him, her two hands clasped together on the arm of her chair, -were enough. - -“You must not expect too much, my dear lady--it is perhaps nothing at -all, perhaps another person altogether; but at least, for the first -time, it appears to me that it is something in the shape of a clue. I -have been very cautious, according to your directions, but all the same -I have made many inquiries: and none of them have ever come to -anything.” - -“I know, I know.” - -“This, if there’s anything in it, is no credit of mine, it is pure -accident.” Mr Somerville paused here to feel in his pockets for -something. He tried his breast-pocket, and his tail-pockets, and all -the other mysterious places in which things can be hidden away. “I must -have left it in my overcoat,” he said. “One moment, if you permit, and -I’ll get it before I say more.” - -Mrs Ogilvy made no movement, while she sat there and waited. She closed -her eyes, and there came from the depths of her bosom a low sigh, which -was something like the breath of patience concentrated and condensed. -She was perfectly still when he went back again, full of apologies: -after having made a great rustling and searching of pockets in the outer -hall, he came back with a newspaper in his hand. - -“We have a good deal of business with America,” he said. “I can scarcely -tell you how it began. One of our clients had a son that went out, and -got on very well in business, and one thing followed another; what with -remittances home, and expenses out, and money for the starting of farms, -and so forth,--and then being laid open to the temptation of American -investments, which, as a rule, pay very well, and all our poor customers -just give us no peace till we put their money on them. This makes it -very necessary for us to know the state of the American stock market, -and how this and that is going. You will not maybe quite understand, but -so it is.” - -“I understand,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -“And this one, you see, was sent to us a day or two ago with this -object. It’s from one of the towns in what’s called the wild West, just -a ramshackle sort of a place, half built, and not a comfortable house in -it. But they’ve got a newspaper, such as it is. And really valuable to -us for the last week or two, showing the working of a great scheme.” - -Would the man never be done? He laid the newspaper across his knee, and -pointed his words with little gestures made over it. A glance would have -been enough to show her what it was. But no, let patience have its -perfect work. By moments she closed her eyes not to see him, and spoke -not a word. - -“Well, you see, the business of overlooking these American investments -comes upon me; and I get a great many of their papers to glance -at--trashy things, full of personal gossip, the most outrageous -nonsense. I don’t often look beyond the share lists. But this morning, -when I first came into the office, this thing was lying on my table. I -had glanced at it, and taken what was of use in it yesterday. It’s just -a wonder how it got there again. I gave another glance at it by pure -chance, if you’ll believe me, as I slipped on my office-coat. And my eye -was caught by a name. Well, it was only an _alias_, among a lot of -others; but I’ve been told that away there in these wild places you can -never tell which may be a man’s real name--as like as not the fifth or -sixth _alias_ in a long line.” - -He looked up at her by chance, and it seemed to him as if his client had -fainted. Her face was drawn and perfectly white, the eyes half closed. - -“Bless me!” he cried, starting up; “it’s been more than she could bear. -What can I do?--some water, or maybe ring the bell.” - -He was about to do this when she caught him with one hand, and with the -other pointed to the paper. Something like “Let me hear it,” came from -her half-closed lips. - -“That I will! that I will!” he cried. It was a relief that she could -speak and see. He took up the paper, and was--how long--a year? of -finding the place. - -“It’s just this,” he said; “it’s an account of a broil in which some of -those wild fellows got killed: and among the lot of them that was -present, there was one, an Englishman they say--but that’s nothing, for -they call us all Englishmen abroad. Our fathers would never have stood -it; but what can you do? it’s handiest when all’s said--an Englishman -that had been about a ranch, and had been a miner, and had been a -coach-driver, and I don’t know all what; but this is his name, ‘Jim -Smith, _alias_ Horse-breaking Jim, _alias_ James Jones, _alias_ Bob the -Devil, _alias_,’” here he held up his finger to arrest her attention, -“‘Robert Ogilvy. It is suspected that the last may be his real name.’” - -Mrs Ogilvy was incapable of speech. She signed for the paper, raising -herself a little in her chair. - -“That is just all there is: you would not understand the story. I’ve -just carefully read it to you. Well, madam, if you will have it.” The -old gentleman was much disturbed. He let her take the paper because he -could not resist it, and then he went of his own accord and rang the -bell. “Will ye bring a little wine, or even a drop of brandy?” he said, -going to meet Janet at the door, “if your mistress ever takes it. She -has had a bit shock, and she’s not very well.” - -She had got the paper in her hands. The touch of that real thing brought -her back more or less to herself. She sat up and held it to the light, -and read it every word. There was more of it than Mr Somerville had -read. It was an account of a tumult at which murder had been done--no -accident, but cold-blooded murder, and the names given were of men more -or less involved. The last of these, perhaps, therefore, the least -guilty, was this man of many names, Robert Ogilvy--oh, to see it there -in such a record! The bonnie name, all breathing of youth and cheerful -life, with the face of the fresh boy looking at her through -it!--Robbie, her Robbie, _alias_ Jim, _alias_ Bob, _alias_---- She -clasped her hands together with the paper between them, and “O Lord -God!” she said, in tones wrung out of her very heart. - -“Just swallow this, swallow this, my dear lady; it will give you -strength. She has had a bit shock. She will be better, better directly. -Just do everything you can for her, like a good woman. I was perhaps -rash. But she’ll soon come to herself.” - -“I am myself, Mr Somerville, I am not needing any of your brandy. I -cannot bide the smell of it. Janet, take it way. I have got some news -that I will tell you after. Mr Somerville, I will have to take time to -think of it. I cannot get it into my mind all at once.” - -“No, no,” he said, soothingly, “it was not to be expected. I was too -rash. I should have broken it to you more gently: a wee drop of wine, if -you will not have the brandy?--though good spirit is always the best.” - -“I want nothing,” she said; “just give me a moment to think.” And then -out of that bitterness of death there came a low cry--“Oh, his bonnie -name, his bonnie name!” - -“Ay,” said the old gentleman, full of sympathy, “that is just what I -thought--my old friend’s name, douce honest man! that never did anything -to be ashamed of in all his days.” - -The blood came back to her face with a rush. - -“And how can you tell,” she said, “whether there’s anything to be -ashamed of there? You said yourself it was a wild place. They cannot be -on their p’s and q’s as we are, choosing their company. I am a decent -woman myself, and have been, as you say, all my days; but who could tell -what kind of folk I might have got among had I been there?” - -She rose up and began to walk about the room in sudden excitement. “He -would interfere to help the weak one,” she said. “If there was a weak -side, he would be upon that; he would be helping somebody. Him--murder a -man! You were his father’s friend, I know; but did you ever see Robbie -Ogilvy, my son?--and, if not, man! how daur you speak, and speak of -shame and my laddie together, to me?” - -Mr Somerville was so taken by surprise that he could not find a word to -say. “I thought,” he began--and then he stopped short. Had not shame -already been busy with Robbie Ogilvy’s name? But however much he had -been in possession of his faculties and recollections, silence was the -wiser way. - -“There is one thing,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “if this be true, and if it be -_him_--there will be a trial, and he will need defence. He must have the -best defence, the best advocate. You will send somebody out at once -without losing a day. Oh, I’m old, I’m weak, I’m an old woman that knows -nothing! I’ve never been from home. But what is all that. What is all -that to my Robbie? I think, Mr Somerville, I will go myself.” - -“You must not think of that,” he cried. “A wild unsettled country, and -miles and miles, in all probability, to be done on horseback, and no -certainty where to find him--if it is him--on one side of the continent -or the other. For, you will see, none of them were taken. Not the chief -person, who will doubtless be a very different sort of person, nor--any -of the others. They will all be away from that place like the lightning. -They will not bide to be put through an interrogatory or stand their -trial. I will tell you what I will do. I will write to our -correspondents most particularly. I will bid them employ the sharpest -fellow they can find about there to follow him and run him down.” - -“Run him down!” she cried, with a mixture of horror and -indignation,--“my boy! You use words that are ill chosen and drive me -out of my senses,” she added, with a certain dignity. “But you are well -meaning, Mr Somerville, and not an injudicious person in business so far -as I have seen. You will write to no correspondents. There must be sharp -fellows here, and men that have been about the world. You will send one -of them. If I go myself or not, I will take a little time to think; but -without losing a day or a moment you will send one of them.” - -“It will be a great expense, Mrs Ogilvy--and the other way would be -better. I might even cable to our correspondents: that means telegraph. -It’s another of their new-fangled words.” - -“The one need not hinder the other. You can do both. Cable, as you call -it----” - -“It is very expensive,” he said. - -“Man!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, towering over him, “what am I caring about -expense?--expense! when it’s him that is in question. It will be the -quickest way. Cable or telegraph, or whatever you call it; and since -there’s nothing that can be done to-night, send the man wherever you may -find him--to-morrow.” - -“You go very fast,” he cried, panting as if for breath. - -“And so would you, if it was your only son, your only child, that was in -question. And I will think. I will perhaps set out to-morrow myself.” - -“To-morrow is the Sabbath-day,” said Mr Somerville, with an -indescribable sensation of relief. - -This damped Mrs Ogilvy’s spirit for the moment. “It’s not that I would -be kept back by the Sabbath-day,” she said; “for Him that was the Lord -of the Sabbath, He just did more on that day than any other, healing -and saving: and would He put it against me? Oh no! I ken Him too well -for that. But since it’s not a lawful day for travelling, and there’s -few trains and boats, send your cable to-night, Mr Somerville. Let that -be done at least, if it is the only thing we can do.” - -“There will still be time; but I will have to hurry away,” said the old -gentleman reluctantly, “to Edinburgh by the next train.” - -And then there ensued a struggle in the mind of the hostess, to whom -hospitality was second nature. “I did not think of that; and you’ve had -a hot journey out here, and nothing to refresh you. Forgive me, that -have been just wrapped up in my own concerns. You will stay and -take--some dinner before you go back.” - -“No, no,” he said; “it’s a terrible thing for you to refuse a dinner to -a hungry man. You never did the like of that in your life before. But -it’s best I should go. There’s a train in half an hour. I’ll take a -glass of the wine you would not take, and I’ll be fresh again for my -walk to the station. It’s not just so warm as it was.” - -“You will stay to your dinner, Mr Somerville.” - -“No; I could not swallow it, and you could not endure to see me eating -it and losing time.” - -“Then Andrew shall put in the pony, and drive you down to Eskholm,” Mrs -Ogilvy said. This was a relief to her, in the unexampled contingency of -sending a visitor unrefreshed from her house--a thing which perhaps had -never happened in her life before. - -She went out to her habitual place outside a little later, at her usual -hour. She was not capable of saying anything to Janet, who followed her -wistfully, putting herself forward to bring out her mistress’s cushion, -her footstool, her book, her knitting, one after another, always hoping -to be told what Mrs Ogilvy had promised to tell her after. But not a -word did her mistress say. She did not even sit down as she usually did, -but walked about, quickly at first, then with gradually slackening -steps, sometimes pausing to look round, sometimes stooping to throw away -a withered leaf, but always resuming that restless walk which was so -unlike her usual tranquillity. She had her hand pressed upon her side, -as one might press a handkerchief upon a wound. And indeed she had the -stroke of a sword in her heart, and the life-blood flowing. Robert -Ogilvy, Robbie Ogilvy, the bonnie name! and after the silence of fifteen -years to hear it now as in the ‘Hue and Cry,’ at the end of all that -long string of awful nicknames. It was only now that she had full time -to realise it all. Yesterday at this time what would she not have given -for any indication that he was living and where he was! She would have -said she could bear anything only to know that he was safe, and to have -some clue by which he could be found. And now she had both, and a wound -gaping in her heart that required both her hands to cover it, to prevent -her life altogether from welling away. Robert Ogilvy, Robert Ogilvy--oh, -his bonnie name! - -After a while, her forces wearing out, she sat down in her usual place, -but not with her usual patience and calm. Was that what could be called -an answer to her prayers?--the sudden revelation of her son, for whom -she had cried to God for all these years night and day, in anguish and -crime and danger? Oh, was this an answer? Her eyes wandered by habit to -the landscape below and the road which she had watched so often, the -white road, white with summer dust, upon which every passing figure -showed. There was a passing figure now, walking slowly along as far as -she could see. On another day she would have wondered who the man was. -She took no interest in him now, but saw him pass and pass again as if -it were the merest accident. It was not until she had seen him pass -three or four times that her attention was roused. A big figure, not one -she could identify with any of the usual passers-by, strangely clad, and -carrying a cloak folded over one shoulder. A cloak? what could a man -like that want with a cloak--an old-fashioned cumbrous thing. Whatever -he wanted, he kept his face towards the Hewan. Sometimes he passed very -slow, lingering at every step; sometimes very fast, as if he were -pursued. Other figures went and came--the farmers’ gigs, a few carriages -of the gentry going home. It was late, though it was still so light. -What was that man doing loitering always there? Her attention was more -and more drawn to the road. At last she saw that nobody except this one -man was within sight, not a wheel audible, not a creature visible. The -figure seemed to hesitate, and then all at once with a dart approached -the gate, which swung at his touch. Was he coming here? Who was he? -Long, long had she watched and waited. Was he coming home at last this -June day,--this night of all nights? And who was he, who was he, the man -that was coming? It will only be some person with a message--it will -only be some gangrel person, Mrs Ogilvy said to herself. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -The footstep came slowly up the sloping path. The holly-hedges were -high, and for some time nothing more was visible than a moving speck -over the solid wall of green. There is something in awaiting in this way -the slow approach of a stranger which affects the nerves, even when -there is little expectation and no alarm in the mind. Mrs Ogilvy sat -speechless and unable to move, her throat parched and dry, her heart -beating wildly. Was it he? Was it some one pursuing him--some avenger of -blood on his track? Was it no one at all--some silly messenger, some -sturdy beggar, some one who would require Andrew to turn him away? These -questions went through her head in a whirl, without any volition of -hers. The last was the most likely. She waited with a growing passion -and suspense, yet still in outward semblance as the rose-bush with all -its buds showing white, which stood tranquilly in the dimness behind -her. It was growing dark; or rather it was growing dim, everything still -visible, but vaguely, as if a veil had dropped between the eye and what -it saw. When the man came out at the head of the path, detached and -separate from all the trees and their shadows, upon the little platform, -a thrill came over the looker-on. He seemed to pause there for a moment, -then advanced slowly. - -A tall big man, loosely dressed so as to make his proportions look -bigger: his features, which there would not in any case have been light -enough to see, half lost in a long brown beard, and in the shade of the -broad soft hat, partly folded back, which covered his head. He did not -take that off or say anything, but came slowly, half reluctantly -forward, till he stood before her. It seemed to Mrs Ogilvy that she was -paralysed. She could not move nor speak. This strange figure came into -the peaceful circle of the little house closing up for the night, -separated from all the world--in silence, like a ghost, like a secret -and mysterious Being whose coming meant something very different from -the comings and goings of the common day. He stood all dark like a -shadow before the old lady trembling in her chair, with her white cap -and white shawl making a strange light in the dim picture. How long this -moment of silence lasted neither knew. It became intolerable to both at -the same moment. She burst forth, “Who are you, who are you, man?” in a -voice which shook and went out at the end like the flame of a candle in -the air. “Have you forgotten me--altogether?” he said. - -“Altogether?” she echoed, painfully raising herself from her chair. It -brought her a little nearer to him, to the brown beard, the shadowed -features, the eyes which looked dimly from under the deep shade of the -hat. She stood for a moment tottering, trembling, recognising nothing, -feeling the atmosphere of him sicken and repel her. And then there came -into that wonderful pause a more wonderful and awful change of -sentiment, a revolution of feeling. “Mother!” he said. - -And with a low cry Mrs Ogilvy fell back into her chair. At such moments -what can be done but to appeal to heaven? “Oh my Lord God!” she cried. - -She had looked for it so long, for years and years and years, -anticipated every particular of it: how she would recognise him afar -off, and go out to meet him, like the father of the prodigal, and bring -him home, and fill the house with feasting because her son who had been -lost was found: how he would come to her all in a moment, and fling -himself down by her side, with his head in her lap, as had been one of -his old ways. Oh, and a hundred ways besides, like himself, like -herself, when the mother and the son after long years would look each -other in the face, and all the misery and the trouble would be -forgotten! But never like this. He said “Mother,” and she dropped away -from him, sank into the seat behind her, putting out neither hands nor -arms. She did not lose consciousness--alas! she had not that resource, -pain kept her faculties all awake--but she lost heart more completely -than ever before. A wave of terrible sickness came over her, a sense of -repulsion, a desire to hide her face, that the shadows might cover her, -or cover him who stood there, saying no more: the man who was her son, -who said he was her son, who said “Mother” in a tone which, amid all -these horrible contradictions, yet went to her heart like a knife. Oh, -not with sweetness! sharp, sharp, cutting every doubt away! - -“Mother,” he said again, “I would have sworn you would not forget me, -though all the world forgot me.” - -“No,” she said, like one in a dream. “Can a mother forget her----” Her -voice broke again, and went out upon the air. She lifted her trembling -hands to him. “Oh Robbie, Robbie! are you my Robbie?” she said in a -voice of anguish, with the sickness and the horror in her heart. - -“Ay, mother,” he said, with a tone of bitterness in his voice; “but take -me in, for I’m tired to death.” - -And then a great compunction awoke within her: her son, for whom she had -longed and prayed all these years--and instead of running out to meet -him, and putting the best robe on him, a ring on his hand, and shoes on -his feet, he had to remind her that he was tired to death! She took him -by the hand and led him in, and put him in the big chair. “I am all -shaken,” she said: “both will and sense, they are gone from me: and I -don’t know what I am doing. Robbie, if ye are Robbie----” - -“Do you doubt me still, mother?” He took off his hat and flung it on the -floor. Though he was almost too much broken down for resentment, there -was indignation in his tone. And then she looked at him again, and even -in the dimness recognised her son. The big beard hid the lower part of -his face, but these were Robbie’s eyes, eyes half turned away, sullen, -angry--as she had seen him look before he went away, when he was -reproved, when he had done wrong. She had forgotten that ever he had -looked like that, but it flashed back to her mind in a moment now. She -had forgotten that he had ever been anything but kind and affectionate -and trusting, easily led away, oh, so easily led away, but nothing worse -than that. Now it all came back upon her, the shadows that there had -been to that picture even at its best. - -“Robbie,” she said, with faltering lips, “Robbie, oh, my dear! I know -you now,” and she put those trembling lips to his forehead. They were -cold--it could not feel like a kiss of love; and she was trembling from -head to foot, chiefly with emotion, but a little with fear. She could -not help it: her heart yearned over him, and yet she was afraid of this -strange man who was her son. - -He did not attempt to return the salutation in any way. He said -drearily, “I have not had bite nor sup for twelve hours, nothing but a -cup of bad coffee this morning. My money’s all run out.” - -“Oh, my laddie!” she cried, and hurried to the bell but did not ring it, -and then to the door. But before she could reach the door, Janet came in -with the lamp. She came unconscious that any one was there, with the -sudden light illuminating her face, and making all the rest of the room -doubly dark to her. She did not see the stranger sitting in the corner, -and gave a violent start, almost upsetting the lamp as she placed it on -the table, when with a half laugh he suddenly said, “And here’s Janet!” -out of the shade. Janet turned round like lightning, with a face of -ashes. “Who’s that,” she cried, “that calls me by my name?” - -“We shall see,” he said, rising up, “if she knows me better than my -mother.” Mrs Ogilvy stood by with a pang which words could not describe, -as Janet flung up her arms with a great cry. It was true: the woman did -recognise him without a moment’s hesitation, while his mother had held -back--the woman, who was only the servant, not a drop’s blood to him. -The mother’s humiliation could not be put into words. - -“Janet,” she said severely, mastering her voice, “set out the supper at -once, whatever is in the house. It will be cold; but in the meantime put -the chicken to the fire that you got for to-morrow’s dinner: the cold -beef will do to begin with: and lose not a moment. Mr Robert,”--she -paused a moment after those words,--“Mr Robert has arrived suddenly, as -you see, and he has had a long journey, and wants his supper. You can -speak to him after. Now let us get ready his food.” - -She went out of the room before her maid. She would not seem jealous, or -to grudge Janet’s ready and joyful greeting. She went into the little -dining-room, and began to arrange the table with her own hands. “Go you -quick and put the chicken to the fire,” she said. Was she glad to escape -from his presence, from Robbie, her long absent son, her only child? All -the time she went quickly about, putting out the shining silver, freshly -burnished, as it was Saturday; the fresh linen, put ready for Sunday; -the best plates, part of the dinner-service that was kept in the -dining-room. “This will do for the cold things,” she said; “and oh, make -haste, make haste with the rest!” Then she took out the two decanters -of wine, the port and the sherry, which nobody drank, but which she had -always been accustomed to keep ready. The bread was new, just come in -from the baker’s, everything fresh, the provisions of the Saturday -market, and of that instinct which prepares the best of everything for -Sunday--the Sabbath--the Lord’s day. It was not the fatted calf, but at -least it was the best fare that ever came into the house, the Sunday -fare. - -Then she went back to him in the other room: he had not followed her, -but sat just as she had left him, his head on his breast. He roused up -and gave a startled look round as she came in, as if there might be some -horrible danger in that peaceful place. “Your supper is ready,” she -said, her voice still tremulous. “Come to your supper. It is nothing but -cold meat to begin with, but the chicken will soon be ready, Robbie: -there’s nothing here to fear----” - -“I know,” he said, rising slowly: “but if you had been like me, in -places where there was everything to fear, it would be long before you -got out of the way of it. How can I tell that there might not be -somebody watching outside that window, which you keep without shutter or -curtain, in this lonely little house, where any man might break in?” - -He gave another suspicious glance at the window as he followed her out -of the room. “Tell Janet to put up the shutters,” he said. - -Then he sat down and occupied himself with his meal, eating ravenously, -like a man who had not seen food for days. When the chicken came he tore -it asunder (tearing the poor old lady’s heart a little, in addition to -all deeper wounds, by the irreverent rending of the food, on which, she -had also remarked, he asked no blessing), and ate the half of it without -stopping. His mother sat by and looked on. Many a time had she sat by -rejoicing, and seen Robbie, as she had fondly said, “devour” his supper, -with happy laugh and jest, and questions and answers, the boy fresh from -his amusements, or perhaps, though more rarely, his work--with so much -to tell her, so much to say,--she beaming upon him, proud to see how -heartily he ate, rejoicing in his young vigour and strength. Now he ate -in silence, like a wild animal, as if it might be his last meal; while -she sat by, the shadow of her head upon the wall behind her showing the -tremor which she hoped she had overcome, trying to say something now and -then, not knowing what to say. He had looked up after his first -onslaught upon the food, and glanced round the table. “Have you no -beer?” he said. Mrs Ogilvy jumped up nervously. “There is the table-beer -we have for Andrew,” she said. “You will have whisky, at least. I must -have something to drink with my dinner,” he answered, morosely. Mrs -Ogilvy knew many uses for whisky, but to drink it, not after, but with -dinner, was not one that occurred to her. She brought out the -old-fashioned silver case eagerly from the sideboard, and sought among -the shelves where the crystal was for the proper sized glass. But he -poured it out into the tumbler, to her horror, dashing the fiery liquid -about and filling it up with water. “I suppose,” he said again, looking -round him with a sort of angry contempt, “there’s no soda-water here?” - -“We can get everything on Monday, whatever you like, my--my dear,” she -said, in her faltering voice. - -Afterwards she was glad to leave him, to go up-stairs and help Janet, -whose steps she heard overhead in the room so long unused--his room, -where she had always arranged everything herself, and spent many an hour -thinking of her boy, among all the old treasures of his childhood and -youth. It was a room next to her own--a little larger--“for a lad has -need of room, with his big steps and his long legs,” she had many a time -said. She found Janet hesitating between two sets of sheets brought out -from Mrs Ogilvy’s abundant store of napery, one fine, and one not so -fine. “It’s a grand day his coming hame,” Janet said. “Ye’ll mind, mem, -a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet: it’s true that shoon are -first necessaries, but no the ring on his finger.” - -“Take these things away,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with an indignation that was -more or less a relief to her, pushing away the linen, which slid in its -shining whiteness to the floor, as if to display its intrinsic -excellence though thus despised. She went to the press and brought out -the best she had, her mother’s spinning in the days when mothers began -to think of their daughter’s “plenishing” for her wedding as soon as she -was born. She brought it back in her arms and placed it on the bed. “He -shall have nothing but the best,” she said, spreading forth the snowy -linen with her own hands. Oh! how often she had thought of doing that, -going over it, spreading the bed for Robbie, with her heart dancing in -her bosom! It did not dance now, but lay as if dead, but for the pain of -its deadly wounds. - -“And, Janet,” she said, “how it is to be done I know not, but Andrew -must hurry to the town to get provisions for to-morrow. It will be too -late to-night, and who will open to him, or who will sell to him on the -Sabbath morning, is more than I can tell; but we must just trust----” - -“Mem,” said Janet, “I have sent him already up Esk to Johnny Small’s to -get some trout that he catched this afternoon, but couldna dispose o’ -them so late. And likewise to Mrs Loanhead at the Knowe farm, to get a -couple of chickens and as many eggs as he could lay his hands on. You’ll -not be surprised if ye hear the poor things cackling. We’ll just thraw -their necks the morn. I maun say again, as I have aye said, that for a -house like this to have nae resources of its ain, no a chicken for a -sudden occasion without flying to the neebors, is just a very puir kind -of thing.” - -“And what would become of my flowers, with your hens and their families -about?” - -“Flooers!” said Janet, contemptuously: and her mistress had not spirit -to continue the discussion. - -“And now,” she said, “that all’s ready, I must go down and see after my -son.” - -“Eh, mem, but you’re a proud woman this night to say thae words again! -and him grown sic a grand buirdly man!” - -The poor lady smiled--she could do no more--in her old servant’s face, -and went down-stairs to the dining-room, which she found to her -astonishment full of smoke, and those fumes of whisky which so often -fill a woman’s heart with sickness and dismay, even when there is no -need for such emotion. Robert Ogilvy sat with his chair pushed back from -the table, a pipe in his mouth, and a tumbler of whisky-and-water at his -hand. The whisky and the food had perhaps given him a less hang-dog -look, but the former had not in the least affected him otherwise, nor -probably had he taken enough to do so. But the anguish of the sight was -not less at the first glance to his mother, so long unaccustomed to the -habits of even the soberest men. She said nothing, and tried even to -disguise the trouble in her expression, heart-wrung with a cumulation of -experiences, each adding something to those that had gone before. - -“Your room is ready, Robbie, my dear. You will be wearied with this long -day--and the excitement,” she said, with a faint sob, “of coming home.” - -“I do not call that excitement,” he said: “a man that knows what -excitement is has other ways of reckoning----” - -“But still,” she said, with a little gasp accepting this repulse, “it -would be something out of the common. And you will have been travelling -all day. How far have you come to-day, my dear?” - -“Don’t put me through my catechism all at once,” he said, with a hasty -wrinkle of anger in his forehead. “I’ll tell you all that another time. -I’m very tired, at least, whether I’ve come a short way or a long.” - -“I have put your bed all ready for you--Robbie.” She seemed to say his -name with a little reluctance: his bonnie name! which had cost her so -keen a pang to think of as stained or soiled. Was it the same feeling -that arrested it on her lips now? - -“Am I bothering you, mother, staying here a little quiet with my pipe? -for I’ll go, if that is what you want.” - -She had coughed a little, much against her will, unaccustomed to the -smoke. “Bothering me!” she cried: “is it likely that anything should -bother me to-night, and my son come back?” - -He looked at her, and for the first time seemed to remark her -countenance strained with a wistful attempt at satisfaction, on the -background of her despair. - -“I am afraid,” he said, shaking his head, “there is not much more -pleasure in it to you than to me.” - -“There would be joy and blessing in it, Robbie,” she cried, forcing -herself to utterance, “if it was a pleasure to you.” - -“That’s past praying for,” he replied, almost roughly, and then turned -to knock out his pipe upon the edge of the trim summer fireplace, all so -daintily arranged for the warm season when fires were not wanted. Her -eyes followed his movements painfully in spite of herself, seeing -everything which she would have preferred not to see. And then he rose, -putting the pipe still not extinguished in his pocket. “If it’s to be -like this, mother,” he said, “the best thing for me will be to go to -bed. I’m tired enough, heaven knows; but the pipe’s my best friend, and -it was soothing me. Now I’ll go to bed----” - -“Is it me that am driving you, Robbie? I’ll go ben to the parlour. I -will leave you here. I will do anything that pleases you----” - -“No,” he said, with a sullen expression closing over his face, “I’ll go -to bed.” He was going without another word, leaving her standing -transfixed in the middle of the room--but, after a glance at her, came -back. “You’ll be going to church in the morning,” he said. “I’ll take -what we used to call a long lie, and you need not trouble yourself about -me. I’m a different man from what you knew, but--it’s not my wish to -trouble you, mother, more than I can help.” - -“Oh, Robbie, trouble me!” she cried: “oh, my boy! would I not cut myself -in little bits to please you? would I not---- I only desire you to be -comfortable, my dear--my dear!” - -“You’ll make them shut up all these staring open windows if you want me -to be comfortable,” he said. “I can’t bear a window where any d----d -fellow might jump in. Well, then, good-night.” - -She took his hand in both hers. She reached up to him on tiptoe, with -her face smiling, yet convulsed with trouble and pain. “God bless you, -Robbie! God bless you! and bless your homecoming, and make it happier -for you and me than it seems,” she said, with a sob, almost breaking -down. He stooped down reluctantly his cheek towards her, and permitted -her kiss rather than received it. Oh, she remembered now! he had done -that when he was angered, when he was blamed, in the old days. He had -not been, as she persuaded herself, all love and kindness even then. - -But she would not allow herself to stop and think. Though she had -herself slept securely for years, in the quiet of her age and -peacefulness, with little heed to doors and windows, she bolted and -barred them all now with her own hands. “Mr Robert wishes it,” she said, -explaining to Janet, who came in in much surprise at the sound. “He has -come out of a wild country full of strange chancy folk--and wild beasts -too, in the great forests,” she added by an after-thought. “He likes to -see that all’s shut up when we’re so near the level of the earth.” - -“I’m very glad that’s his opinion,” said Janet, “for it’s mine; no for -wild beasts, the Lord preserve us! but tramps, that’s worse. But -Andrew’s not back yet, and he will be awfu’ surprised to see all the -lights out.” - -“Andrew must just keep his surprise to himself,” said the mistress in -her decided tones, “for what my son wishes, whatever it may be, that is -what I will do.” - -“‘Deed, mem, and I was aye weel aware o’ that,” Janet said. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -The next day was such a Sunday as had never been passed in the Hewan -before. Mrs Ogilvy did not go to church: consequently Sandy was not -taken out of the stable, nor was there any of the usual cheerful bustle -of the Sunday morning, the little commotion of the best gown, the best -bonnet, the lace veil taken out of their drawers among the lavender. -Nobody but Mrs Ogilvy continued to wear a lace veil: but her old, softly -tinted countenance in the half mask of a piece of net caught upon the -nose, as was once the fashion, or on the chin, as is the fashion now, -would have been an impossible thing. Her long veil hung softly from her -bonnet behind it or above it. It could cover her face when there was -need; but there never was any reason why she should cover her face. Her -faithful servants admired her very much in her Sunday attire. Janet, -though she was so hot a churchwoman, was not much of a churchgoer. -Somebody, she said, had to stay at home to look after the house and the -dinner, even when it was a cold dinner: and to see the mistress sit down -without even a hot potatie, was more than she could consent to: so -except on great occasions she remained at home, and Andrew put a mark in -his Bible at the text, and told her as much as he could remember of the -discourse. It was a “ploy” for Janet to come out to the door into the -still and genial sunshine on Sunday morning, and see the little -pony-carriage come round, all its polished surfaces shining, and Sandy -tossing his head till every bit of the silver on his harness twinkled in -the sun, and Andrew, all in his best, bringing him up with a little dash -at the door. And then Mrs Ogilvy would come out, not unconscious and not -displeased that the old servants were watching for her, and that the -sight of her modest finery was a “ploy” to Janet, who had so few ploys. -She would pin a rose on her breast when it was the time of roses, and -take a pair of grey gloves out of her drawer, to give them pleasure, -with a tender feeling that made the little vanity sweet. The grey gloves -were, indeed, her only little adornment, breaking the monotony of the -black which she always wore; but Janet loved the lustre of the best -black silk, and to stroke it with her hand as she arranged it in the -carriage, loath to cover up its sheen with the wrapper which was -necessary to protect it from the dust. Nothing of all this occurred on -the dull morning of this strange Sabbath, which, as if in sympathy, was -grey and cheerless--the sky without colour, the landscape without -sunshine. Mrs Ogilvy came out to the door to speak to Andrew as he -ploughed across the gravel with discontented looks--for to walk in to -the kirk did not please the factotum, who generally drove. She called -him to her, standing on the doorstep drawing her white shawl round her -as if she had taken a chill. “Andrew,” she said, “I know you are not a -gossip; but it’s a great event my son coming home. I would have you say -little about it to-day, for it would bring a crowd of visitors, and -perhaps some even on the Sabbath: and Mr Robert is tired, and not caring -to see visitors. He must just have a day or two to rest before everybody -knows.” - -“I’m no a man,” said Andrew, a little sullen, “for clashes and clavers: -you had better, mem, say a word to the wife.” Andrew was conscious that -in his prowl for victuals the night before he had spread the news of -Ogilvy’s return,--“and nae mair comfort to his mother nor ever, or I am -sair mistaen”--far and wide. - -“Whatever you do,” Mrs Ogilvy said, a little subdued by Andrew’s looks, -“do not say anything to the minister’s man.” - -She went back, and sat down in her usual place between the window and -the fireplace. The room was full of flowers, gathered fresh for Sunday; -and the Bible lay on the little table, the knitting and the newspapers -being carefully cleared away. She took the book and opened it, or rather -it opened of itself, at those chapters in St John’s Gospel which are the -dearest to the sorrowful. She opened it, but she did not read it. She -had no need. She knew every word by heart, as no one could do by any -mere effort of memory: but only by many, many readings, long penetration -of the soul by that stream of consolation. It did her a little good to -have the book open by her side: but she did not need it--and, indeed, -the sacred words were mingled unconsciously by many a broken prayer and -musing of her own. She had gone to her son’s room, to the door, many -times since she parted with him the night before; but had heard no -sound, and, hovering there on the threshold, had been afraid to go in, -as she so longed to do. What mother would not, after so long an absence, -steal in to say again good-night--to see that all was comfortable, -plenty of covering on the bed, not too much, just what he wanted; or -again, in the morning, to see how he had slept, to recognise his dear -face by the morning light, to say God bless him, and God bless him the -first morning as the first night of his return? But Mrs Ogilvy was -afraid. She went and stood outside the door, trembling, but she had not -the courage to go in. She felt that it might anger him--that it might -annoy him--that he would not like it. He had been a long time away. He -had grown a man almost middle-aged, with none of the habits or even -recollections of a boy. He would not like her to go near him--to touch -him. With a profound humility of which she was not conscious, she -explained to herself that this was after all “very natural.” A man -within sight of forty (she counted his age to a day--he was -thirty-seven) had forgotten, being long parted from them, the ways of a -mother. He had maybe, she said to herself with a shudder, known--other -kinds of women. She had no right to be pained by it--to make a grievance -of it. Oh no, no grievance: it was “very natural.” If she went into the -parlour, where she always sat in the morning, she would hear him when he -began to move: for that room was over this. Meantime, what could she do -better than to read her chapter, and say her prayers, and bless him--and -try “to keep her heart”? - -Many, many times had she gone over the same thoughts that flitted about -her mind now and interrupted the current of her prayers, and of the -reading which was only remembering. There was Job, whom she had thought -of so often, whose habit was, when his sons and daughters were in all -their grandeur before anything happened to them, to offer sacrifices for -them, if, perhaps, in the carelessness of their youth, they might have -done something amiss. How she had longed to do that! and then had -reminded herself that there were no more sacrifices, that there had been -One for all, and that all she had to do was but to put God in mind, to -keep Him always in mind: that there was her son yonder somewhere out in -His world, and maybe forgetting what his duty was. To put God in -mind!--as if He did not remember best of all, thinking on them most when -they were lost, watching the night when even a mother slumbers and -sleeps, and never, never losing sight of them that were His sons before -they were mine! What could she say then, what could she do, a poor small -thing of a woman, of as little account as a fly in the big world of God? -Just sit there with her heart bleeding, and say between the lines, “In -my Father’s house are many mansions”--and, “If a man love me, my Father -will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him:” -nothing but “my Robbie, my Robbie!” with anguish and faith contending. -This was all mixed up among the verses now, those verses that were balm, -the keen sharpness of this dear name. - -She was not, however, permitted to remain with these thoughts alone. -Janet came softly to the door, half opening it, asking, “May I come -in?” “Oh, who can prevent you from coming in?” her mistress said, in the -sudden impatience of a preoccupied mind, and then softly, “Come in, -Janet,” in penitence more sudden still. Janet came in, and, closing the -door behind her, stood as if she had something of the gravest importance -to say. “What is it, woman, what is it?” Mrs Ogilvy cried in alarm. - -“I was thinking,” said Janet, “Mr Robert brought nae luggage with him -when he came last night.” - -“No--he was walking--how could he bring luggage?” cried Mrs Ogilvy, -picking up that excuse, as it were, from the roadside, for she had not -thought of it till this minute. - -“That is just what I am saying,” said Janet: “no a clean shirt, nor a -suit of clothes to change, and this the Sabbath-day----!” - -“There are his old things in the drawer,” said Mrs Ogilvy. - -“His auld things!--that wouldna peep upon him, the man he is now. He was -shapin’ for a fine figger of a man when he went away: but no braid and -buirdly as he is now.” - -Janet spoke in a tone of genuine admiration and triumph, which was balm -to her mistress’s heart. His bigness, his looseness of frame, had indeed -been one of the little things that had vexed her among so many others. -“Not like my Robbie,” she had breathed to herself, thinking of the slim -and graceful boy. But it gave her great heart to see how different -Janet’s opinion was. It was she who was always over-anxious. No doubt -most folk would be of Janet’s mind. - -“I was thinking,” said Janet, “to take him a shirt of my man’s, just his -best. It has not been on Andrew’s back for many a day. ’Deed, I just -gave it a wash, and plenty of stairch, as the gentlemen like, and ironed -it out this morning. The better day the better deed.” - -“On the Sabbath morning!” said Mrs Ogilvy, half laughing, half crying. - -“I’ll take the wyte o’t,” said Janet. “But I can do nae mair. I canna -offer him a suit of Andrew’s: in the first place, his best suit, he has -it on: and I wouldna demean Mr Robert to a common man’s working claes; -and then besides----” - -“If you’ll get those he’s wearing, Janet, and brush them well, that’ll -do fine. And then we must have no visitors to-day. I know not who would -come from the town on the Sabbath-day, except maybe Miss Susie. Miss -Susie is not like anybody else; but oh, I would not like her to see him -so ill put on! Yet you can never tell, with that ill habit the Edinburgh -folk have of coming out to Eskholm on the Sunday afternoon, and then -thinking they may just daunder in to the Hewan and get a cup of tea. The -time when you want them least is just the time they are like to come.” - -“We’ll just steek the doors and let them chap till they’re wearied,” -said Janet, promptly. “They’ll think ye’ve gane away like other folk, -for change of air.” - -“I’m loth to do that--when folk have come so far, and tired with their -walk. Do you think, Janet, you could have the tea ready, and just say I -have--stepped out to see a neighbour, or that I’m away at the manse, -or----? I would be out in the garden out of sight, so it would be no lee -to say I was out of the house.” - -“If it’s the lee you’re thinking of, mem--I’m no caring that,” and Janet -snapped her fingers, “for the lee.” - -Neither mistress nor maid called it a lie, which was a much more serious -business. The Scottish tongue is full of those _nuances_, which in other -languages we find so admirable. - -“Oh, Janet!” cried Mrs Ogilvy again, between laughing and crying, “I -fear I’ll have but an ill character to give you--washing out a shirt on -Sunday and caring nothing for a lee!” - -“If we can just get Andrew aff to his kirk in the afternoon. I’ll no -have him at my lug for ever wi’ his sermons. Lord, if I hadna kent -better how to fend for him than he did himsel’, would he ever have been -a man o’ weight, as they say he is, in that Auld Licht meetin’ o’ his, -and speaking ill o’ a’ the ither folk? Just you leave it to me. Bless -us a’! sae lang as the dear laddie is comfortable, what’s a’ the rest to -you and me?” - -“Oh, Janet, my woman!” said the mistress, holding out her hand. It was -so small and delicate that Janet was seized with a compunction after she -had squeezed it in her own hard but faithful one, which felt like an -iron framework in comparison. “I doubt I’ve hurt her,” she said to -herself; “but I was just carried away.” - -And Mrs Ogilvy was restored to her musing and her prayers, which -presently were interrupted again by sounds in the room overhead--Janet’s -step going in, which shook and thrilled the flooring, and the sound of -voices. The mother sat and listened, and heard his voice speaking to -Janet, the masculine tone instantly discernible in a woman’s house, -speaking cheerfully, with after a while a laugh. His tone to her had -been very different. It had been full of involuntary self-defence, a -sort of defiance, as if he felt that at any moment something might be -demanded of him, excuse or explanation--or else blame and reproach -poured forth upon him. The mother’s heart swelled a little, and yet she -smiled. Oh, it was very natural! He could even joke and laugh with the -faithful servant-woman, who could call him to no account, whom he had -known all his life. If there was any passing cloud in Mrs Ogilvy’s mind -it passed away on the instant, and the only bitterness was that wistful -one, with a smile of wonder accompanying it, “That he could think I -would demand an account--me!” - -He came down-stairs later, half amused with himself, in the high collar -of Andrew’s gala shirt, and with a smile on his face. “I’m very -ridiculous, I suppose,” he said, walking to the glass above the -mantelpiece; “but I did not want to vex the woman, and clean things are -pleasant.” - -“Is your luggage--coming, Robbie?” she ventured to say, while he stood -before the glass trying to fold over or modify as best he could the -spikes of the white linen which stood round his face. - -“How much luggage do you think a man would be likely to have,” he said -impatiently, standing with his back towards her, “who came from New York -as a stowaway in a sailing-ship?” - -She had not the least idea what a stowaway was, but concluded it to be -some poor, very poor post, with which comfort was incompatible. “My -dear,” she said, “you will have to go into Edinburgh and get a new -outfit. There are grand shops in Edinburgh. You can get things--I mean -men’s things--just as well, they tell me, as in London.” - -She spoke in a half-apologetic tone, as if he had been in the habit of -getting his clothes from London, and might object to a less fashionable -place--for indeed the poor lady was much confused, believing rather -that her son had lived extravagantly and lavishly than that he had been -put to all the shifts of poverty. - -“I’ve had little luggage this many a day,” he said,--“a set of flannels -when I could get them for the summer, and for winter anything that was -warm enough. I’ve not been in the way of sending to Poole for my -clothes.” He laughed, but it was not the simple laugh that had sounded -from the room above. “What did I ever know about London, or anything but -the commonest life?” - -“Just what we could give you, Robbie,” she said, in a faltering tone. - -“Well!” he cried impatiently. And then he turned round and faced -her--Andrew’s collars, notwithstanding all his efforts, giving still a -semi-ludicrous air, which gave the sting of an additional pang to Mrs -Ogilvy, who could not bear that he should be ridiculous. He confronted -her, sitting down opposite, fixing his eyes on her face, as if to -forestall any criticism on her part. “I’ve come back as I went away,” he -said with defiance. “I had very little when I started,--I have nothing -now. If you had not kept me so bare, and never a penny in my pocket, I -might have done better: but nothing breeds nothing, you know, mother. -It’s one of the laws of the world.” - -“Robbie, I gave you what I had,” she exclaimed, astonished, yet half -relieved, to find that it was she who was put on her defence. - -“Ay, that’s what everybody says. You must have kept a little more for -yourself, however, for you seem very comfortable: and you talk at your -ease of a new outfit, while I’ve been glad of a cast-off jacket or an -old pair of breeks that nobody else would wear.” - -“Oh Robbie, Robbie!” she cried in a voice of anguish, “and me laying up -every penny for you, and ready with everything there was--at a moment’s -notice!” - -“Well, perhaps it’s better as it is,” he said: “I might just have lost -it again. You get into a sort of a hack-horse way--just the same round, -and never able to get out of it--unless when you’ve got to cut and run -for your life.” - -“Robbie!” - -“I’ll tell you about that another time. I don’t know what you’re going -to do with me, now you’ve got me here. I’m a young fellow enough yet, -mother--a sort of a young fellow, but not good for anything. And then if -this affair comes up, I may have to cut and run again. Oh, I’ll tell you -about it in time! It’s not likely they’ll be after me, with all the -loose swearing there is yonder, and extraditions, and that kind of -thing; but I’m not one that would stand being had up and examined--even -if I was sure I should get off: I’d just cut and run.” - -“Is there any danger?” she said in a terrified whisper. - -He burst out laughing again, but these laughs were not good to hear. “Of -what do you think? That they might hang me up to the first tree? But -till it blows over I can be sure of nothing--or if any other man turns -up. There is a man before whom I would just cut and run too. If he -should get wind that I was here”--he gave a suspicious glance round. -“And this confounded house on a level with the ground, and the windows -open night and day!” - -“Who is it? Who is the man?” she said. She followed every change of his -face, every movement, every question, with eyes large with panic and -terror. - -What he said first, he had the grace to say under his breath out of some -revived tradition of respect, “Would you be any the wiser if I told you -a name--that you never heard before?” he said. - -“No, Robbie, no. But tell me one thing, is it a man you have wronged? Oh -Robbie, tell me, tell me that, for pity’s sake!” - -“No!” he shouted with a rage that overcame all other feelings. “Damn -him! damn him! it’s he that has never done anything but hunt and harm -me.” - -“Oh, God be thanked!” cried his mother, suddenly rising and going to -him. “Oh Robbie, my dear, the Lord be praised! and God forgive that -unfortunate person, for if it’s him, it’s not you!” - -He submitted unwillingly for a moment to the arm which she put round -him, drawing his head upon her breast, and then put her not ungently -away. “If there’s any consolation in that, you can take it,” he said: -“There’s not much consolation in me, any way.” And then he reached his -large hand over the table to her little bookcase, which stood against -the wall. “I can always read a book,” he said, “a story-book; it’s the -only thing I can do. You used to have all the Scotts here.” - -“They are just where they used to be, Robbie,” she said, in a subdued -tone. She watched him, still standing while he chose one; and throwing -himself back in his chair, began to read. It added a little sense of -embarrassment, of confusion and disorder, to all the heavier trouble, -that he had thrown himself into her chair, the place in which she had -sat through all those years when there was no one to interfere with her. -Glad was she to give up the best place in the house to him, whatever he -might please to choose; but it gave her a feeling of disturbance which -she could not explain, not being even aware at first what it was that -caused it. She did not know where to sit, nor what to do. She could not -go back to fetch her open Bible, nor sit down to read it, partly because -it would be a reproach to him sitting there reading a novel--only a -novel, no reading for Sabbath, even though it was Sir Walter’s; partly -because it would seem like indifference, she thought, to occupy herself -with reading at all, when at any moment he might have something to say -to her again. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Perhaps it would be well for Janet’s sake not to inquire into the -history of that Sabbath afternoon. Friends arrived from Edinburgh, as -Mrs Ogilvy had divined, carefully choosing that day when they were so -little wanted. There were some people who walked, keeping up an old -habit: the walk was long, but when you were sure of a good cup of tea -and a good rest at a friend’s house, was not too much for a robust -walker with perhaps little time for walking during the week: and -some--but they kept a discreet veil on the means of their -conveyance--would come occasionally by the wicked little train which, to -the great scandal of the whole village, had been permitted between -Edinburgh and Eskholm in quite recent days, by the direct influence of -the devil or Mr Gladstone some thought, or perhaps for the convenience -of a railway director who had a grand house overlooking the Esk higher -up the stream. It may well be believed, however, that nobody who visited -Mrs Ogilvy on Sunday owned to coming by the train. They could not resist -the delights of the walk in this fine weather, they said, and to breathe -the country air in June after having been shut up all the week in -Edinburgh was a great temptation. They all came from Edinburgh, these -good folks: and there was one who was an elder in the Kirk, and who said -that the road had been measured, and it was little more, very little -more, than a Sabbath-day’s journey, such as was always permitted. -Sometimes there would be none of these visitors for weeks, but naturally -there were two parties of them that day. Mrs Ogilvy, out in the garden -behind the house, sat trembling among Andrew’s flower-pots in his -tool-house, feeling more guilty than words could say, yet giving Janet a -certain countenance by remaining out of doors, to justify the statement -that the mistress just by an extraordinary accident was out. Robert was -in his room up-stairs with half a shelfful of the Waverleys round him, -lying upon his bed and reading. Oh how the house was turned upside down, -how its whole life and character was changed, and falsity and -concealment became the rule of the day instead of truth and openness! -And all by the event which last Sabbath she had prayed for with all the -force of her heart. But she did not repent her prayer. God be thanked, -in spite of all, that he had come back, that he that had been dead was -alive again, and that he that had been lost was found. Maybe--who could -tell?--the prodigal’s father, after he had covered his boy’s rags with -that best robe, might find many a thing, oh many a thing, in him, to -mind him of the husks that the swine did eat! - -Meantime Janet gave the visitors tea, and stood respectfully and talked, -now and then looking out for the mistress, and wondering what could have -kept her, and saying many a thing upon which charity demands that we -should draw a veil. She had got Andrew off to his kirk, which was all -she conditioned for. She could not, she felt sure, have carried through -if Andrew had been there, glowering, looking on. But she did carry -through; and I am not sure that there was not a feeling of elation in -Janet’s mind when she saw the last of them depart, and felt the full -sweetness of success. The sense of guilt, no doubt, came later on. - -“And I just would take my oath,” said Janet, “that they’re all away back -by _that_ train. Ye needna speak to me of Sabbath-day’s journeys, and -afternoon walks. The train, nae doubt, is a great easement. I ken a -sooth face from a leeing one. They had far ower muckle to say about the -pleesure of the walk. They’re just a’ away back by the train.” - -“It’s not for you and me to speak, Janet, that have done nothing but -deceive all this weary day!” - -“Toots!” said Janet, “you were out, mem, it was quite true, and just -very uncomfortable--and they got their rest and their tea. And I would -have gathered them some flowers, but Mrs Bennet said she would rather no -go back through the Edinburgh streets with a muckle flower in her hands, -as if she had been stravaigin’ about the country. So ye see, mem, they -were waur than we were, just leein’ for show and appearance--whereas -with us (though I leed none--I said ye were oot, and ye _were_ oot) it -was needcessity, and nae mair to be said.” - -Mrs Ogilvy shook her head as she rose up painfully from among the -flower-pots. It was just self-indulgence, she said to herself. She had -done harder things than to sit in her place and give her acquaintances -tea; but then there was always the risk of questions that old friends -feel themselves at liberty to ask. Any way, it was done and over; and -there was, as Janet assured her, no more to be said. And the lingering -evening passed again, oh so slowly--not, as heretofore, in a gentle -musing full of prayer, not in the sweet outside air with the peaceful -country lying before her, and the open doors always inviting a wanderer -back! Not so: Robert was not satisfied till all the windows were closed, -warm though the evening was, the door locked, the shutters bolted, -every precaution taken, as if the peaceful Hewan were to be attacked -during the night. He caught Andrew in the act of lighting that light -over the door which had burned all night for so many years. “What’s that -for?” he asked abruptly, stopping him as he mounted the steps, without -which he could not reach the little lamp. - -“What it’s for I could not take it upon me to tell you. It’s just a -whimsey of the mistress. They’re full of their whims,” Andrew said. - -“Mother, what’s the meaning of this?” Robert cried. - -She came to the parlour door to answer him, with her white shawl and her -white cap--a light herself in the dim evening. It was perhaps too dim -for him to see the expression in her eyes. She said, with a little -drawing of her breath and in a startled voice, “Oh, Robbie!” - -“That’s no answer,” he said, impatiently. “What’s the use of it? drawing -every tramp’s attention to the house. Of course it can be seen from the -road.” - -“Ay, Robbie, that was my meaning.” - -“A strange meaning,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “You’d better -leave it off now, mother. I don’t like such landmarks. Don’t light it -any more.” - -Andrew stood all this time with one foot on the steps and his candle in -his hand. “The mistress,” he said darkly, in a voice that came from his -boots, “has a good right to her whimsey--whatever it’s for.” - -“Did we ask your opinion?” cried Robert, angrily. “Put out the light.” - -“You will do what Mr Robert bids you, Andrew,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -And for the first time for fifteen years there was no light over the -door of the Hewan. It was right that it should be so. Still, there was -in Mrs Ogilvy’s mind a vague, unreasonable reluctance--a failing as if -of some visionary hope that it might still have brought back the real -Robbie, the bonnie boy she knew so well, out of the dim world in which, -alas! he was now for ever and for ever lost. - -Robert talked much of this before he went up-stairs to bed. Perhaps he -was glad to have something to talk of that was unimportant, that raised -no exciting questions. “You’ve been lighting up like a lighthouse; -you’ve been showing all over the country, so far as I can see. But -that’ll not do for me,” he said. “I’ll have to lie low for a long time -if I stay here, and no light thrown on me that can be helped. It’s -different from your ways, I know, and you have a right to your whimseys, -mother, as that gardener fellow says--especially as you are the one that -has to pay for it all.” - -“Robbie,” she cried, “oh, Robbie, do not speak like that to me!” - -“It’s true, though. I haven’t a red cent; I haven’t a brass farthing: -nothing but the clothes I’m standing in, and they are not fit to be -seen.” - -“Robbie,” she said, “I have to go in to Edinburgh in the morning. Will -you come with me and get what you want?” - -“Is that how it has to be done?” he said, with a laugh. “I thought you -were liberal when you spoke of an outfit; but what you were thinking of -was a good little boy to go with his mother, who would see he did not -spend too much. No, thank you: I’ll rather continue as I am, with -Andrew’s shirt.” He gave another laugh at this, pulling the corners of -the collar in his hand. - -Mrs Ogilvy had never allowed to herself that she was hurt till now. She -rose up suddenly and took a little walk about the room, pretending to -look for something. One thing with another seemed to raise a little keen -soreness in her, which had nothing to do with any deep wound. It took -her some time to bring back the usual tone to her voice, and subdue the -quick sting of that superficial wound. “I am going very early,” she -said; “it will be too early for you. I am going to see Mr Somerville, -whom perhaps you will remember, who does all my business. There was -something he had taken in hand, which will not be needful now. But you -must do--just what you wish. You know it’s our old-fashioned way here -to do no business on the Sabbath-day; but the morn, before I go, I will -give you--if you could maybe tell me what money you would want----?” - -“There’s justice in everything,” he said, in a tone of good-humour. “I -leave that to you.” - -Then he went to his room again, carrying with him another armful of -Waverleys. Was it perhaps that he would not give himself the chance of -thinking? It cheered his mother vaguely, however, to see him with the -books. It was not reading for the Sabbath-day; but yet Sir Walter could -never harm any man: and more still than that--it was not ill men, men -with perverted hearts, that were so fond of Sir Walter. That was -Robbie--the true Robbie--not the man that had come from the wilds, that -had come through crime and misery, that had run for his life. - -She left him a packet of notes next morning before she went to -Edinburgh. This must not be taken as meaning too much, for it was -one-pound notes alone which Mrs Ogilvy possessed. She was glad to be -alone in the train, having stolen into a compartment in which a woman -with a baby had already placed herself. She did not know the woman, but -here she felt she was safe. The little thing, which was troublesome and -cried, was her protection, and she could carry on her own thoughts -little disturbed by that sound: though indeed after a while it must be -acknowledged that Mrs Ogilvy succumbed to a temptation almost -irresistible to a mother, and desired the woman to “give me the bairn,” -with a certainty of putting everything right, which something magnetic -in the experienced touch, in the soft atmosphere of her, and the -_frôlement_ of her silk, and the sweetness of her face, certainly -accomplished. She held the baby on her knee fast asleep during the rest -of the short journey, and that little unconscious contact with the -helpless whom she could help did her good also. And the walk to Mr -Somerville’s office did her good. On the shady side of the street it is -cool, and the little novelty of being there gave an impulse to her -forces. When she entered the office, where the old gentleman received -her with a little cry of surprise, she was freshened and strengthened by -the brief journey, and looked almost as she had looked when he found -her, fearing no evil, in the great quiet of the summer afternoon two -days before. He was surprised yet half afraid. - -“I know what this means,” he said, when he had shaken hands with her and -given her a seat. “You’ve made up your mind, Mrs Ogilvy, to make that -dreadful journey. I see it in your face--and I am sorry. I am very -sorry----” - -“No,” she said; “you are mistaken. I am not going. I came to ask you, on -the contrary, after all we settled the other day, to do nothing -more----” - -“To do nothing more!--I cabled as I promised, and I’ve got the man ready -to go out----” - -“He must not go,” she said. - -“Well---- I think it is maybe just as wise. But you have changed your -mind very quick. I will not speak the common nonsense to you and say -that’s what ladies will do: for no doubt you will have your reasons--you -have your reasons?” - -She looked round her, trembling a little, upon the quiet office where -nobody could have been hidden, scarcely a fly. - -“Mr Somerville,” she said, “you were scarcely gone that day--oh, how -long it is ago I know not--it might be years!--you were scarcely gone, -when my son came home.” - -“What?” he cried, with a terrifying sharpness of tone. - -Her face blanched at the sound. “Was it an ill thing to do? Is there -danger?” she cried; and then with deliberate gravity she repeated, “You -were scarcely gone when, without any warning, my Robbie came home.” - -“God bless us all!” said the old gentleman. “No; I do not know that -there is any danger. It might be the wisest thing he could do--but it is -a very surprising thing for all that.” - -“It is rather surprising,” she said, with a little dignity, “that having -always his home open to him, and no safeguards against the famine that -might arise in that land--and indeed brought down for his own part, my -poor laddie, to the husks that the swine do eat--he should never have -come before.” - -“That’s an old ferlie,” said Mr Somerville; “but things being so that he -should have come now--that’s what beats me. There’s another paper with -more particulars: maybe he was well advised. It’s a far cry to Lochow. -That’s a paper I have read with great interest, Mrs Ogilvy, but it would -not be pleasant reading for you.” - -“But is there danger?” she said, her face colouring and fading under her -old friend’s eye, as she watched every word that fell from his lips. - -“Well,” he said, “with a thing like that hanging over a man’s head, it’s -rash to say that there’s no danger; but these wild offeecials in the -wild parts of America--sheriffs they seem to call them--riding the -country with a wild posse, and a revolver in every man’s hand--bless me, -very unlike our sheriffs here!--have not their eyes fixed on Mid-Lothian -nor any country place hereaway, we may be sure. They will look far -before they will look for him here.” - -“But is it him--him, my son--that they are looking for, my Robbie?” she -said, with a sharp cry. - -“I think I can give you a little comfort in that too--it’s not him in -the first place, nor yet in the second. But he was there--and he was one -of them, or supposed to be one of them. Mistress Ogilvy,” said the old -gentleman, slowly and with emphasis, “we must be very merciful. A young -lad gets mixed in with a set of these fellows--he has no thought what -it’s going to lead to--then by the time he knows he’s so in with them, -he has a false notion that his honour’s concerned. He thinks he would be -a kind of a traitor if he deserted them,--and all the more when there’s -danger concerned. I have some experience, as you will perhaps have -heard,” he said, after a pause, with a break in his voice. - -“God help us all!” she said, putting out her hand, her eyes dim with -tears. He took it and grasped it, his hand trembling too. - -“You may know by that I will do my very best for him,” he said, “as if -he were my own.” Then resuming his business tones, “I would neither hide -him nor put him forward, Mrs Ogilvy, if I were you. I would keep him at -home as much as possible. And if the spirit moves him to come and tell -me all about it---- Has he told you----?” - -“Something--about not being one to stand an examination even if he -should get off, and about some man--some man that might come after him: -but he will not explain. I said, Was it a man he had wronged? and he -cried with a great No! that it was one that had wronged him.” - -“Ah! that’ll just be one of them: but let us hope none of these -American ruffians will follow Robert here. No, no, that could not be; -but, dear me, what a risk for you to run in that lonely house. I always -said the Hewan was a bonnie little place, and I could understand your -fancy for it, but very lonely, very lonely, Mrs Ogilvy. Lord bless us! -if anything of that kind were to happen----! But no, no; across half the -continent and the great Atlantic--and for what purpose? They would never -follow him here.” - -“I have never been frighted of my house, Mr Somerville; and now there is -my son Robbie in it, a strong man, bless him!--and Andrew the -gardener--and plenty of neighbours less than half a mile off--oh, much -less than half a mile.” - -“Do you keep money in the house?” - -“Money! very little--just enough for my quarter’s payments, nothing to -speak of--unless when William Tod at the croft comes up to pay me my -rent.” - -“Then keep none,” said Mr Somerville; “just take my word and ask no -questions--keep none. It’s never safe in a lonely house; and let in no -strange person. A man might claim to be Robert’s friend when he was no -friend to Robert. But your heart’s too open and your faith too great. -Send away your money to the bank and lock up your doors before the -darkening, and keep every strange person at a safe distance.” - -“But,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “where would be my faith then, and my peace of -mind? Nobody has harmed me all my days--not a living creature--if it -were not them that were of my own house,” she added, after a moment’s -pause. “And who am I that I should distrust my neighbours?--no, no, Mr -Somerville. There is Robbie to take care of me, if there was any danger. -But I am not feared for any danger--unless it were for him--and you -think there will be none for him?” - -“That would be too much to say. If he were followed here by any of those -ill companions---- Mind now, my dear lady. You say Robert will take care -of you. It will be far more you that will have to take care of him.” - -“I have done that all his days,” she said, with a smile and a sigh; -“but, oh, he is beyond me now--a big, strong, buirdly man.” - -They were Janet’s words, and it was in the light of Janet’s admiration -that his mother repeated them. “I am scarcely higher than his elbow,” -she said, with a more genuine impulse of her own. “And who am I to take -care of a muckle strong man.” - -“Mind!” cried the old gentleman, with a kind of solemnity, “that’s just -the danger. If there’s cronies coming after him, Lord bless us, it may -just be life or death. Steek your doors, Mrs Ogilvy, steek your doors. -Let no stranger come near you. And mind that it is you to take care of -Robert, not him of you.” - -She came away much shaken by this interview. And yet it was very -difficult to frighten her, notwithstanding all her fears. Already as she -came down the dusty stairs from Mr Somerville’s office, her courage -began to return. Everybody had warned her of the danger of tramps and -vagabonds for the last twenty years, but not a spoon had ever been -stolen, nor a fright given to the peaceful inhabitants of the Hewan. No -thief had ever got into the house, or burglar tried the windows that -would have yielded so easily. And it could not be any friend of Robbie’s -that would come for any small amount of money she could have, to his -mother’s house. No, no. Violence had been done, there had been quarrels, -and there had been bloodshed. But that was very different from Mr -Somerville’s advices about the money in the house. Robbie’s friends -might be dangerous men, they might lead him into many, many ill ways; -but her little money--no, no, there could be nothing to do with that. -She went home accordingly almost cheerfully. To be delivered from her -own thoughts, and brought in face of the world, and taught to realise -all that had happened as within the course of nature, and a thing to be -faced and to be mended, not to lie down and die upon, was a great help -to her. She would lock the doors and fasten the windows as they all -said. She would watch that no man should come near that was like to harm -her son. To do even so much or so little as that for him, it would be -something, something practical and real. She would not suffer her -eyelids to slumber, nor her eyes to sleep. She would be her own -watchman, and keep the house, that nothing harmful to her Robbie should -come near. Oh, but for the pickle money! there was no danger for that. -She would like to see what a paltry thief would do in Robbie’s hands. - -With this in her mind she went back, her heart rising with every step. -From the train she could see the back of the Hewan rising among the -trees--not a desolate house any longer, for Robbie was there. How ill to -please she had been, finding faults in him just because he was a boy no -longer, but a man, with his own thoughts and his own ways! But to have -been parted from him these few hours cleared up a great deal. She went -home eagerly, her face regaining its colour and its brightness. She was -going back not to an empty house, but to Robbie. It was as if this, and -not the other mingled moment, more full of trouble than joy, was to be -the mother’s first true meeting with her son after so many years. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -When Mrs Ogilvy reached, somewhat breathless, the height of the little -brae on which her own door, standing wide open in the sunshine, offered -her the usual unconscious welcome which that modest house in its natural -condition held out to every comer, it was with a pang of disappointment -she heard that Robert had gone out. For a moment her heart sank. She had -been looking forward to the sight of him. She had felt that to-day, -after her short absence, she would see him without prejudice, able to -make allowance for everything, not looking any longer for her Robbie of -old, but accustomed and reconciled to the new--the mature man into which -inevitably in all these years he must have grown. She had hurried home, -though the walk from the station was rather too much for her, to realise -these expectations, eager, full of love and hope. Her heart fluttered a -little: the light went out of her eyes for a moment; she sat down, all -the strength gone out of her. But this was only for a moment. “To be -sure, Janet,” she said, “he has gone in to Edinburgh to--see about his -luggage. I mean, to get himself some--things he wanted.” Janet had a -long face, as long as a winter’s night and almost as dark. Her mistress -could have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her. What right had she -to take it upon her to misdoubt her young master, or to be so anxious as -that about him--as if she were one that had a right to be “meeserable” -whatever might happen? - -“Could he not have gane with you, mem, when you were going in yoursel’?” - -“He was not ready,” said Mrs Ogilvy, feeling herself put on her defence. - -“You might have waited, mem, till the next train----” - -“If you will know,” cried Mrs Ogilvy, indignant, “my boy liked best to -be free, to take his own way--and I hope there is no person in this -house that will gainsay that.” - -“Eh, mem, I’m aware it’s no for me to speak--but so soon, afore he has -got accustomed to being at hame--and with siller in his pouch.” - -“What do you know about his siller in his pouch?” cried the angry -mistress. - -“I saw the notes in his hand. He’s aye very nice to me,” said Janet, -not without a little pleasure in showing how much more at his ease -Robert was with her than with his mother, “and cracks about everything. -He just showed me in his hand--as many notes as would build a kirk. He -said: ‘See how liberal----’” Janet stopped here, a little confused; for -what Robert had said was, “See how liberal the old woman is.” She liked -to give her mistress the tiniest pin-prick, perhaps, but not the stab of -a disrespect like that. - -“I wish to be liberal,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “I am very glad he was pleased: -and I knew he was going,--there was nothing out of the way about it that -you should meet me with such a long face. I thought nothing less than -that he must be ill after all his fatigues and his travels.” - -“Oh, no a bit of him,” said Janet--“no ill: I never had ony fears about -that.” - -Mrs Ogilvy by this time had quite recovered herself. “He will have a -good many things to do,” she said. “He will never be able to get back to -his dinner. I hope he’ll get something comfortable to eat in Edinburgh. -You can keep back the roast of beef till the evening, Janet, and just -give me some little thing: an egg will do and a cup of tea----” - -“You will just get your dinner as usual,” said Janet, doggedly, “as you -did before, when you were in your natural way.” - -When she was in her natural way! It was a cruel speech, but Mrs Ogilvy -took no notice. She did not fight the question out, as Janet hoped. If -she shed a few tears as she took off her things in her bedroom, they -were soon wiped away and left no traces. Robbie could not be tied to her -apron-strings. She knew that well, if Janet did not know it. And what -could be more natural than that he should like to buy his clothes and -get what he wanted by himself, not with an old wife for ever at his -heels? She strengthened herself for a quiet day, and then the pleasure -of seeing him come back. - -But it was wonderful how difficult it was to settle for a quiet day. She -had never felt so lonely, she thought, or the house so empty. It had -been empty for fifteen years, but it was long since she had felt it like -this, every room missing the foot and the voice and the big presence, -though it was but two days since he came back. But she settled herself -with an effort, counting the trains, and making out that before five -o’clock it would be vain to look for him. He would have to go to the -tailor’s, and to buy linen, and perhaps shoes, and a hat--maybe other -things which do not in a moment come to a woman’s mind. No; it could not -be till five o’clock, or perhaps even six. He would have a great many -things to do. She would not even wonder, she said to herself, if it were -later. He would, no doubt, just walk about a little and look at things -that were new since he went away. There were some more of these statues -in the Princes Street Gardens. Mrs Ogilvy did not care for them herself, -but Robbie would. A young man, noticing everything, he would like to see -all that was new. - -A step on the gravel roused her early in the afternoon--the swing of the -gate, and the sound of the gradually nearing footstep. Ah, that was him! -earlier than she had hoped for, knowing she would be anxious, making his -mother’s heart to sing for joy. She watched discreetly behind the -curtain, that he might not think she was looking out for him, or had any -doubts about his early return. Poor Mrs Ogilvy! she was well used to -that kind of disappointment, but it seemed like a blow full in her face -now, a stroke she had not the least expected, when she saw that it was -not Robbie that was coming, but the minister--the minister of all -people--who had the right of old friendships to ask questions, and to -have things explained to him, and who was doubtless coming now to ask if -she had been ill yesterday,--for when had it happened before that she -had not been in her usual place in the kirk? She sat down faint and -sick, but after a moment came round again, saying to herself that it -would have been impossible for Robbie to get back so soon, and that she -richly deserved a disappointment that she had brought on herself. When -Mr Logan came in she was seated in her usual chair (she had moved it -from its old place since Robert seemed to like that, placing for him a -bigger chair out of the dining-room, which suited him better), and -having her usual looks, so that he began by saying that he need not ask -if she had been unwell, for she was just as blooming as ever. Having -said this, the minister fell into a sort of brown study, with a smile on -his face, and a look which was a little sheepish, as if he did not know -what more to say. He asked no questions, and he did not seem even to -have heard anything, for there was no curiosity in his face. Mrs Ogilvy -made a few short remarks on the weather, and told him she had been in -Edinburgh that morning, which elicited from him nothing more than a -“Dear me!” of the vaguest interest. Not a word about Robbie, not a -question did he ask. She had been alarmed at the idea of these -questions. She was still more alarmed and wondering when they did not -come. - -“I had a call from Susie--the other day,” she said at last. Was it -possible that it was only on Saturday--the day that was now a marked -day, above all others, the day that Robbie came home! - -“Ay!” said the minister, for the first time looking up. “Would she have -anything to tell you? I’m thinking, Mrs Ogilvy, Susie has no secrets -from you.” - -“I never heard she had any secrets. She is a real upright-minded, -well-thinking woman. I will not say bairn, though she will always be a -bairn to me----” - -“No, she’s no bairn,” said the minister, shaking his head. -“Two-and-thirty well-chappit, as the poor folk say. She should have been -married long ago, and with bairns of her own.” - -“And how could she be married, I would like to ask you,” cried Mrs -Ogilvy, indignant, “with you and your family to look after? And never -mother has done better by her bairns than Susie has done by you and -yours.” - -“I am saying nothing against that. I am saying she has had the burden on -her far too long. I told you before her health is giving way under it,” -the minister said. He spoke with a little heat, as of a man crossed and -contradicted in a statement of fact of which he was sure. - -“I see no signs of that,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -“I came up the other night,” he went on, “to open my mind to you if I -could, but you gave me no encouragement. Things have gone a little -further since then. Mrs Ogilvy, you’re a great authority with Susie, and -the parish has much confidence in you. I would like you to be the first -to know--and perhaps you would give me your advice. It is not as to the -wisdom of what I’m going to do. I am just fairly settled upon that, and -my mind made up----” - -“You are going--to marry again,” she said. - -He gave a quick look upward, his middle-aged countenance growing red, -the complacent smile stealing to the corners of his mouth. “So you’ve -guessed that!” - -“I have not guessed it--it was very clear to see---- both from her and -from you.” - -“You’ve guessed the person, too,” he said, the colour deepening, and the -smile turning to a confused laugh. - -“There was no warlock wanted to do that; but what my advice would be -for, I cannot guess, Mr Logan, for, if your mind’s fixed and all -settled----” - -“I did not say just as much as that; but--well, very near it. Yes, very -near it. I cannot see how in honour I could go back.” - -“And you’ve no wish to do so. And what do you want with advice?” Mrs -Ogilvy said. - -She was severe, though she was thankful to him for his preoccupation, -and that he had no leisure at his command to ask questions or to pry -into other people’s affairs. - -“Me,” he said; “that’s but one side of the subject. There’s Susie. It’s -perhaps not quite fair to Susie. I’ve stood in her way, you may say. -She’s been tangled with the boys--and me. There’s no companion for a -man, Mrs Ogilvy, like the wife of his bosom; but Susie--I would be the -last to deny it--has been a good daughter to me.” - -“It would set you ill, or any man, to deny it!” cried Mrs Ogilvy. “And -what are you going to do for Susie, Mr Logan? A sister that keeps your -house, you just say Thank you, and put her to the door; but your -daughter--you’re always responsible for her----” - -“Till she’s married,” he said, giving his severe judge a shamefaced -glance. - -“Have you a man ready to marry her, then?” she asked, sharply. - -“It’s perhaps not the man that has ever been wanting,” said the -minister, with a half laugh. - -“And how are you going to do without Susie?” said Mrs Ogilvy, always -with great severity. “Who is to see the callants off to Edinburgh every -morning, and learn the little ones their lessons? It will be a great -handful for a grand lady like yon.” - -“That’s just a mistake that is very painful to me,” said Mr Logan. “The -lady that is going to be--my wife----” - -“Your second wife, Mr Logan,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with great severity. - -“I am meaning nothing else--my second wife--is not a grand lady, as you -all suppose. She is just a sweet, simple woman--that would be pleased to -do anything.” - -“Is she going to learn the little ones their lessons, and be up in the -morning to give the boys their breakfasts and see them away?” - -Mr Logan waved his hand, as a man forestalled in what he was about to -say. “There is no need for all that,” he said--“not the least need. The -servant that has been with them all their days is just very well capable -of seeing that they get off in time. And as for the little ones, I have -heard of a fine school--in England.” - -Mrs Ogilvy threw up her arms with a cry. “A school--in England!” - -“Which costs very little, and is just an excellent school--for the -daughters of clergymen--but, I confess, it’s clergymen of the other -church: it is not proved yet if a Scotch minister will be allowed----” - -“A thing that’s half charity,” said Mrs Ogilvy, scornfully. “I did not -think, Mr Logan, that you, that are come of well-kent folk, would demean -yourself to that.” - -“She says--I mean, I’m told,” said the poor man, “that it’s sought after -by the very best. The English have not our silly pride. When a thing is -a good thing and freely offered----” - -“You will not get it, anyway,” said Mrs Ogilvy, quickly. “You’re not a -clergyman according to the English way. You’re a Scotch minister. But if -all this is to be done, I’m thinking it means that there will be no -place for Susie at all in her father’s house.” - -“She will marry,” the minister said. - -“And how can you tell that she will marry? Is she to do it whether she -will or not? There might be more reasons than one for not marrying. -It’s not any man she wants, but maybe just one man.” - -Mrs Ogilvy thought she was well aware what it was that had kept Susie -from marrying. Alas, alas! what would she think of him now if she saw -him, and how could she bear to see the wonder and the pain reflected in -Susie’s face? - -“I thought,” said Mr Logan, rising up, “that I would have found sympathy -from you. I thought you would have perceived that it was as much for -Susie I was thinking as for myself. She will never break the knot till -it’s done for her. She thinks she’s bound to those bairns; but when she -sees they are all provided for without her----” - -“The boys by the care of a servant. The little ones in a school that is -just disguised charity----” - -“You’re an old friend, Mrs Ogilvy, but not old enough or dear enough to -treat my arrangements like that.” - -“Oh, go away, minister!” cried the mistress of the Hewan. She was -beginning to remember that Robbie’s train might come in at any moment, -and that she would not for the world have him brought face to face with -Mr Logan without any warning or preparation. “Go away! for we will never -agree on this point. I’ve nothing to say against you for marrying. If -your heart’s set upon it, you’ll do it, well I know; but to me Susie and -the bairns are the first thing, and not the second. Say no more, say no -more! for we’ll never agree.” - -“You’ll not help me, then?” he said. - -“Help you! how am I to help you? I have nothing to do with it,” she -cried. - -“With Susie,” he repeated. “I’ll not quarrel with you: you mean well, -though you’re so severe. There is nobody like you that could help me -with Susie. You could make her see my position--you could make her see -her duty----” - -“If it is her duty,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -She could scarcely hear what he said in reply. Was that the gate again? -and another step on the gravel? Her heart began to choke and to deafen -her, beating so loud in her ears. Oh, if she could but get him away -before Robbie, with his rough clothes, his big beard, his air of -recklessness and vagabondism, should appear! She felt herself walking -before him to the door, involuntarily moving him on, indicating his -path. I think he was too deeply occupied with his own affairs to note -this; but yet he was aware of something repellent in her aspect and -tone. It was just like all women, he said to himself: to hear that a -poor man was to get a little comfort to himself with a second wife -roused up all their prejudices. He might have known. - -It was time for Robbie’s train when she got her visitor away. She sat -down and listened to his footsteps retiring with a great relief. That -sound of the gate had been a mistake. How often, how often had it been a -mistake! She lingered now, sitting still, resting from the agitation -that had seized upon her till the minister’s steps died away upon the -road. And as soon as they were gone, listened, listened over again, with -her whole heart in her ears, for the others that now should come. - -It was six o’clock past! If he had come by this train he must have been -here, and there was not another for more than an hour. He must have been -detained. He must have been looking about the new things in the town, -the new buildings, the things that had been changed in fifteen years, -things that at his age were just the things a young man would remember; -or perhaps the tailor might be altering something for him that he had to -go back to try on, or perhaps---- It would be all right anyway. What did -six o’clock matter, or half-past seven, or whatever it was? It was a -fine light summer night; there was plenty of time,--and nobody waiting -for him but his mother, that could make every allowance. And it was not -as if he had anything to do at home. He had nothing to do. And his first -day in Edinburgh after so many years. - -She was glad, however, to hear the step of Janet, so that she could call -her without rising from her seat, which somehow she felt too tired and -feeble to do. - -“Janet,” she said, “you will just keep back the dinner. Mr Robert has -been detained. I’ve been thinking all day that perhaps he might be -detained, maybe even later than this. If we said eight o’clock for once? -It’s a late hour; but better that than giving him a bad dinner, neither -one thing nor another, neither hot nor cold. Where were you going, my -woman?” Mrs Ogilvy added abruptly, with a suspicious glance. - -“I was just gaun to take a look out. I said to mysel’ I would just look -out and see if he was coming: for it’s very true, you say, a dinner in -the dead thraws, neither hot nor cauld, is just worse than no dinner at -all.” - -“Just bide in your kitchen,” said her mistress, peremptorily. “I’ll let -you know when my son comes.” - -“Oh, I’ll hear soon enough,” Janet said. And then the mother was left -alone. But not undisturbed: for presently Andrew’s slow step came round -the corner, with a clanking of waterpots and the refreshing sounds and -smell of watering--that tranquil employment, all in accord with the -summer evening, when it was always her custom to go out and have a talk -with Andrew about the flowers. She did not feel as if she could move -to-night--her feet were cold and like lead, her cheeks burning, and her -heart clanging in her throat. Nevertheless the bond of custom being on -her, and a strong sense that to fulfil every usual occupation was the -most satisfying exercise, she presently rose and went out, the pleasant -smell of the refreshed earth and thirsty plants, bringing out all the -sweetest home breath of the flowers, coming to meet her as she went -forth to the open door. - -“It’s very good for them, Andrew, after this warm day.” - -“Ay, it’s good for them,” Andrew said. - -“You will mind to shut up everything as soon as my son comes home,” she -said. - -“Oh ay,” said Andrew, “there was plenty said about it yestreen.” - -“The sweet-williams are coming on nicely, Andrew.” - -“Ah,” said Andrew, “they’re common things; they aye thrive.” - -“They are very bonnie,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I like them better than your -grand geraniums and things.” - -“There’s nae accounting for tastes,” Andrew said, in his gruff voice. - -By this time she felt that she could not continue the conversation any -longer, and went back to her chair inside. The sound of the flowing -water, and even of Andrew clanking as he moved, was sweet to her. The -little jar and clang fell sweetly into the evening, and they were so -glad of that refreshing shower, the silly flowers! though maybe it -would rain before the morning, and they would not need it. Then -Andrew--though nobody could say he was quick, honest man!--finished his -task and went in. And there was a great quiet, the quiet of the falling -night, though the long light remained the same. And the time passed for -the next train. Janet came to the door again with her heavy step. “He -will no be coming till the nine train,” she said; “will you have the -dinner up?” “Oh no,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ll not sit down to a big meal -at this hour of the night. Put out the beef to let it cool, and it will -be supper instead of dinner, Janet.” - -“But you’ve eaten nothing, mem, since----” - -“Am I thinking of what I eat! Go ben to your kitchen, and do what I tell -you, and just leave me alone.” - -Janet went away, and the long vigil began again. She sat a long time -without moving, and then she took a turn about the house, looking into -his room for one thing, and looking at the piles of books that he had -carried up-stairs. There were few traces of him about, for he had -nothing to leave behind,--only the big rough cloak, of a shape she had -never seen before, which was folded on a chair. She lifted it, with a -natural instinct of order, to hang it up, and found falling from a -pocket in it a big badly printed newspaper, the same newspaper in which -Mr Somerville had showed her her son’s name. She took it with her half -consciously when she went down-stairs, but did not read it, being too -much occupied with the dreadful whirl of her own thoughts. Nine o’clock -passed too, and the colourless hours ran on. And then there was the -sound all over the house of Andrew fulfilling his orders, shutting up -every window and door. When he came to the parlour to shut the window by -which she sat, his little mistress, always so quiet, almost flew at him. -“Man, have you neither sense nor reason!” she cried. It was more than -she could bear to shut and bar and bolt when nobody was there that -either feared or could come to harm. No one disturbed her after that. -The couple in the kitchen kept very quiet, afraid of her. Deep night -came on; the last of all the trains rumbled by, making a great crash in -the distance in the perfect stillness. There had been another time like -this, when she had watched the whole night through. And midnight came -and went again, and as yet there was no sound. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -When one struck on the big kitchen clock, with an ominous sound like a -knell, Janet, trying to reduce her big step to an inaudible footfall, -came “ben” again. She found her mistress sitting still idly as if she -were dead, the lamp burning solemnly, not the sound even of a breath in -the room. “No stocking in her hands, not even reading a book,” Janet -said. For a moment, indeed, with a quick impulse of fear, the woman -thought that Mrs Ogilvy had died in the new catastrophe. “Oh, mem, mem!” -she cried, and in an instant there was a faint stir. - -“Well, Janet,” Mrs Ogilvy said in a stifled voice. - -“Will ye sit up longer? A’ the trains are passed, and long passed. He -will be coming in the morning; he must just--have missed the last.” - -“I am not going to my bed just yet,” the mistress said. - -“But, mem, you will be worn out. You have just had no meat and no sleep -and no rest, and you’ll be weariet to death.” - -“And what would it matter if I was?” she answered, with a faint smile. - -“Oh, dinna say that; how can we tell what may be wanted of you, and -needing a’ your strength?” - -Mrs Ogilvy roused herself at these words. “And that’s quite true,” she -said. “You have more sense than anybody would expect; you are a lesson -to me, that have had plenty reason to know better. But, nevertheless, I -will not go to my bed yet--not just yet. I can get a good sleep in this -chair.” - -“With the window open, mem, in the dead of the night, after all Mr -Robert said!” - -“Do you call that the dead of the night?” said the mistress. And the two -women looked out silenced in the great hush and awe of that pause of -nature between the night and the day. It was like no light that ever was -on sea or land, though it _is_ daily, nightly, for watchers and -sleepless souls. It was lovely and awful--a light in which everything -hidden in the dark came to life again, like the light alone of the -watchful eyes of Him who slumbereth not nor sleeps. They felt Him -contemplating them and their troubles, knowing what was to come of them, -which they did not, from the skies--and their hearts were hushed within -them: there was silence for a moment, the profound silence that reigned -out and in, in which they were as the trees. - -Then Mrs Ogilvy started and cried, “What is that?” Was it anything at -all? There are sounds that enhance the silence, just as there are -discords that increase the harmony of music--sounds of insects stirring -in their sleep, of leaves falling, of a grain of sand losing its balance -and rolling over on the way. Janet heard nothing. She shook her head in -her big white cap. And then suddenly her mistress gripped her with a -force that no one could have suspected to be in those soft old hands. -“Now, listen! There’s somebody on the road, there’s somebody at the -gate!” - -I will not describe the heats and chills of the moment that elapsed -before the big loose figure appeared on the walk, coming on leisurely, -with a perceptible air of fatigue. “Ah, you’re up still,” he said, as he -came within hearing. Janet had flown to open the door for him, undoing -all the useless bars, making a wonderful noise in the night. “I could -have stepped in through the window,” he said. “You’ve walked from -Edinburgh,” cried Janet; “you must be wanting some supper.” “I would not -object to a little cold meat,” he said, with a laugh. His tone was -always pleasant to Janet. His mother stood and listened to this colloquy -within the parlour door. She must have been angry, you would say, -jealous that her maid should be more kindly used by her son than she, -exasperated by his heedless selfishness. She was none of all those -things. Her heart was like a well, a fountain of thankfulness welling up -before God: her whole being over-flooded with sudden relief and sweet -content. - -“How imprudent with that window open--in the middle of the night; how -can you tell who may be about?” were the first words he said, going up -himself to the window and closing it and the shutters over it hastily. -“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said afterwards. “I missed the last train, and -then I think I missed the road. I’ve been a long time getting here. -These confounded light nights; you’ve no shelter at all, however late -you walk.” - -“You will be tired, my dear.” He had brought in an atmosphere with him -that filled in a moment this little dainty old woman’s room. It was -greatly made up of tobacco, but there was also whisky in it and other -odours indiscriminate, the smell of a man who had been smoking all day -and drinking all day, though the latter process had not affected his -seasoned senses. Of all things horrible to her this was the most -horrible: it made her faint and sick. But he was, of course, quite -unconscious of any such effect, nor did he notice the paleness that had -come over her face. - -“Yes, I am tired,” he said; “Janet’s suggestion was not a bad idea. I -have not walked so far for years. A horse between my legs, and I would -not mind a dozen times the distance; but I’ve got out of the use of my -own feet.” He spoke more naturally, with a lighter heart than he had -shown yet. “I have not had a bad day. I looked up some of the old -howffs. Nobody there that remembered me, but still it was a little like -old times.” - -“Wouldn’t you be better, Robbie, oh my dear, to keep away from the old -howffs?” she said, trembling a little. - -“It was to be expected that you would say that. If you mean for the -present affair, no; if you mean for general good behaviour, perhaps yes; -but it is early days. I may surely take a little licence the first days -I am back. There are some of your new clothes,” he added, tossing down a -bundle, “and more will be ready in a day or two. I’ve rigged myself out -from head to foot. But I wouldn’t have them sent out here. I’m not too -fond of an address. I promised to call for them on Saturday.” - -The poor mother’s heart was transfixed as with a sudden arrow. This, -then, would be repeated again; once more she would have to watch the day -out and half the night through--and again, no doubt, and again. - -“There’s Janet as good as her word,” he said, as the sound of her -proceedings in the next room became audible. And he ate an immense meal -in the middle of the night, the light growing stronger every moment in -the crevices of the shutters. I don’t know what there is that is -wholesome, almost meritorious, in the consumption of food. Mrs Ogilvy -forgot the smell of the tobacco and the whisky in the pleasure of seeing -the roast beef disappear in large slices from his plate. “It was a -pleasure to see him eating,” she said afterwards to Janet. Yes, it is -somehow wholesome and meritorious. It implies a good digestion, not -spoiled by other pernicious things; it implies (almost) an easy mind and -a peaceful conscience, and something like innocence in a man. A good -meal, not voracious, as of a creature starving, but eaten with good -appetite, with satisfaction,--it is a kind of certificate of morality -which many a poor woman has hailed with delight. They have their own way -of looking at things. - -And thus the evening and the morning made a new day. - -The next day, before she left her room, Mrs Ogilvy took the newspaper, -which she had laid carefully aside, and read for the first time--locking -her door first, which was a thing she had scarcely done all her life -before--the story of the crime which had thrown a shadow over her son, -and had made him “cut and run,” as he said, for his life. She had to -read it three or four times over before she could make out what it -meant, and even then her understanding was not very clear. For one -thing, she had not, as was natural, the remotest idea what “road agents” -were. Mercifully for her: for I believe, though I know as little as she, -that it means, not to put too fine a point upon it, highwaymen, neither -more nor less. A party of these men--she thought it must mean some kind -of travelling merchants; not perhaps a brilliant career, but no harm in -it, no harm in it!--had been long about the country, a country of which -she had never heard the name, in a half-settled State equally unknown, -and at length had been traced to their headquarters. They had been -pursued hotly by the Sheriff for some time. To Mrs Ogilvy a sheriff -meant an elderly gentleman in correct legal costume, a person of serious -importance, holding his courts and giving his judgments. She could not -realise to herself the Sheriff-Substitute of Eskshire riding wildly over -moss and moor after any man; but no doubt in America it was different. -It was proved that the road agents had sworn vengeance against him, and -that whoever met him first was pledged to shoot him, whether he himself -could escape or not. The meeting took place by chance at a roadside -shanty in the midst of the wilds, and the Sheriff was shot, before his -party had perceived the other, by a premeditated well-directed bullet -straight to the heart. Who had fired it? The most likely person was the -leader of the band, of whom the Western journalist gave a sensational -history, and to secure him was the object of the police; but there were -half-a-dozen others who might have done it, and whom it was of the -utmost importance to secure, if only in the hope that one of them might -turn Queen’s evidence. (I don’t know what they call this in America, -nor, indeed, anything but what I have heard vaguely reported of such -matters. The better instructed will pardon and rectify for themselves.) -Among these, but at the end--heaven be praised, at the end!--was the -name of Robert. The band had dispersed in different directions and fled, -all but one, who was killed. - -When she had got all this more or less distinctly into her mind, she -read the story of the captain of the band, Lewis or Lew Winterman, with -a dozen aliases. He was a German by origin, though an American born. He -spoke English with a slight German accent. He was large and tall and -fair, of great strength, and very ingratiating manners. He had gone -through a hundred adventures all told at length. He had ruined both men -and women wherever he took his fatal way. He was a hero of romance, he -was a monster of cruelty. Slaughter and bloodshed were his natural -element. He was known to have an extraordinary ascendancy over his band, -so that there was nothing they would not do while under his influence; -though, when free from him, they hated and feared him. Thus every man of -the party was the object of pursuit, if not for himself, yet in hopes -of finding some clue to the whereabouts of this master ruffian, whose -gifts were such that, though he would not recoil from the most -cold-blooded murder, he could also wheedle the bird from the tree. Mrs -Ogilvy carefully locked this dreadful paper away again with trembling -hands. It took her a little trouble to find a safe place to which there -was a lock and key, but she did so at last. And when she went -down-stairs it was with a feeling that Mr Somerville’s prayer to steek -her doors, and Robbie’s concern for the fastening of all the windows, -were perhaps justified; but what would bring a man like that over land -and sea--what would bring him here to the peaceful Hewan? No, no; it was -not a thing for any reasonable person to fear. There were plenty of -places in the world to take refuge in more like such a man. What would -he do here?--he could find nothing to do here. America, Mrs Ogilvy had -always heard, was a very big place, far bigger than England and Scotland -and Ireland put together. He must have plenty of howffs there. And if -not America, there was Germany, which they said he came from, or other -places on the Continent, far, far more likely to have hiding-holes for a -criminal than the country about Edinburgh. No, no. No, no. Therefore -there was no fear. - -When Robert came down-stairs, which was not till late, he was a little -improved in appearance by a new coat, but not so much as his mother had -hoped. She was disappointed, though in face of the other things this was -such a very small matter. He was just a backwoodsman, a bushman, -whatever you call it, still. He had not got back that air of a gentleman -which had been his in his youth--that most prized and precious thing, -which is more than beauty, far more than fine clothes or good looks. -This gave her a pang: but then there were many things that gave her a -pang, though all subsided in the thought that he was here, that he had -come back guiltless and uninjured from Edinburgh, notwithstanding the -anxiety he had given her. But was it not her own fault that she was -anxious, always imagining some dreadful thing? After his breakfast -(again such an excellent breakfast, quite unaffected by his late hours -or his large supper!) he came to her into the parlour with the -‘Scotsman,’ which Janet had brought him, in his hand. “I thought you -would like to hear,” he said, carefully closing the door after him. “You -remember that man I mentioned to you?” - -“Yes, Robbie,”--she had almost said the man’s name, but refrained. - -“There is no word of him,” he said. “That was one thing I was anxious -about. There are places where--communications are kept up. I had an -address in Edinburgh to inquire.” - -“What has he to do with Edinburgh?” she cried in dismay. - -“Nothing; but there’s a kind of a communication, everywhere. Nothing has -been heard of him. So long as nothing is heard of him I can breathe -free. There’s no reason he should come here----” - -“Come here! For what would he come here?” - -“How can I tell? If you knew the man----” - -“God forbid I should ever know the man,” she cried with fervour. - -“I say Amen to that. But if you knew him, you would know it’s the place -that is least likely which is the place where he appears.” - -“It may be so,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “but a place like this--a small bit -house deep in the bosom of the country, and nothing but quiet -country-folk about----” - -“What is that but the best of places for a hunted man? He said once that -if I ever came home he would come after me--that it was just the place -he wanted to lie snug in, where nobody would think of looking for him. -You think me a fool to be so anxious about the bolts and the bars; but -the room might be empty one moment, and the next you might look round, -and he would be there.” - -Though it was morning, before noon, and the safety of the full day was -upon the house, with its open windows, he cast a doubtful suspicious -glance round, as if afraid of seeing some one behind him even now. - -“Robbie,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “there is no man that has to do with you, -were he good or bad, that I would close my doors upon, except the -shedder of blood. He shall not come here.” - -“There is nothing I can refuse him,” cried the young man. “I would say -so too. I say, Curse him; I hate his very name. He’s done me more harm -than I can ever get the better of. I’ve seen him do things that would -curdle your blood in your veins; but him there and me here, standing -before each other--there is nothing I can refuse him!” he cried. - -“Robbie, you will think I am but a poor old woman,” said his mother, -with her faltering voice. “I could not stand up, you will think, to any -strange man; but the shedder of blood is like nothing else. It shall -never be said of me that I harboured a shedder of blood.” - -“Oh, mother! how can you tell--how can you tell?” he cried, “when I that -know tell you that I could not refuse him anything. I am just his slave -at his chariot-wheels.” - -“But I am not his slave,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a glitter of spirit in -her eyes. “I can face him, though you may not think it. He shall never -come here!” - -He flung himself down into a chair, and put the newspaper between her -and himself, making a semblance of reading. But this he could not keep -up: the stillness, and the peace, and the innocence about him affected -the man, who, whatever he was now, had been born Robbie Ogilvy of the -Hewan. He made a stifled sound in his throat once or twice as if about -to speak, but brought forth no certain sound for some five minutes, when -he suddenly burst forth in a high but broken voice, “What would you say -if I were to tell you----?” and suddenly stopped again. - -“What, Robbie?” she said, quivering like a leaf. - -“Nothing,” he replied, looking up with sudden defiance in her face. - -And there was a silence again in the room--the silence of the sweet -morning: not a sound to break the calm: the birds in the trees, the -scent of the roses coming in at the window--there was no such early -place for roses in all Mid-Lothian--and the house basking in the sun, -and the sun shining on the house, as if there was no roof-tree so -beloved in all the basking and breathing earth. Then the voice of the -little old lady uplifted itself in the midst of all that peace of -nature--small, like her delicate frame; low--a little sound that could -have been put out so easily,--almost, you would have said, that a sudden -breath of wind would have put it out. - -“Robbie, my son,” she said, “there is nothing you could tell me, or that -any man could tell me, that would put bar or bolt between you and me. -What is yours is mine, if there is any trouble to bear; and thankful -will I be to take my share. There is no question nor answer between you -and me. If you’ve been wild in the world, my own laddie, I’ve been here -on my knees for you before the Lord. Whatever there is to tell, tell it -to Him, and He will not turn His back upon you. Then, do you think your -mother will? But that’s not the question--not the question. My house is -my own house, and I will defend it and my son, and all that is in -it--ay, if it were to the death!” - -He looked at her for a moment, half impressed; but the glamour soon went -out of Robert’s eyes. The reality was a very quiet feeble old woman, -with the strength of a mouse, with a flash of high spirit such as he -knew of old his mother possessed, and a voice that shook even while it -pronounced this defiance of every evil thing. Short work would be made -with that. He could remember scenes in which other old women had tried -to protect their belongings, and short work had been made with them. He -had never, never laid a finger on one himself. If he had ever dared to -make his penitence, and could have disentangled his own story from that -of those among whom he was, it might have been seen how little real -guilt there ever was in his disorderly wretched life; but he could not -disentangle it, even to himself: he felt himself guilty of many things -in which he had had no share. Even in the confusion of the remorse that -sometimes came upon him, he believed himself to have executed orders -which were never given to him. The only thing he was not doubtful about -was where these orders came from, and that if the same voice spoke them -again suddenly at any moment, it would be his immediate impulse to obey. - -And after this he took up the ‘Scotsman,’--that honest peaceable paper, -with its clever articles, and its local records, and consciousness of -the metropolitan dignity which has paled a little in the hurry and flash -of the times--the paper that goes to every Scotsman’s heart, whatever -may be his politics, throughout the world, which everywhere, even in -busy London, compatriots will offer to each other as something always -dear. Wild as his life had been, and distracted as he now was, the sight -and the sound of the ‘Scotsman’ was grateful to Robert Ogilvy. The paper -in his hands not only shielded his face from observation, but gradually -calmed him down, drew back his interest, and, wonder of wonders, -occupied his mind. He had himself said he could always read. After this -scene, with its half revelation and its overmastering dread, he in a few -minutes read the ‘Scotsman’ as if there had been neither crime nor -punishment in the world. And Mrs Ogilvy had already taken up her -knitting; but what was in her heart, still throbbing and aching with the -energy of that outburst, and how much less quickly the high tide died -down, I will not venture to say. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Robert went in again to Edinburgh a few days later, with results very -similar. Mrs Ogilvy once more waited for him half through the night: but -she sat with her window closed, and with a book in her hand, reading or -making believe to read, and with no longer any passion of tears or panic -in her heart, but a vague misery, a thrill of expectation she knew not -of what, of bad or good, of danger or safety. He came in always, -sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, with a kind of -regularity which she had to accept, which, indeed, she accepted, without -remonstrance or complaint. The atmosphere about him was always the same, -tobacco and whisky, to both which things the little fragrant feminine -house was getting accustomed, to which she consented with a pang -indescribable, but which had no consequences to make any complaint of, -as she acknowledged with thankfulness. When he did not go to Edinburgh, -he remained quietly enough in the house, doing nothing, saying not very -much, taking his walks in the darkening, when it was quite late, and -consequently keeping her in a sort of perennial uneasiness, only -intensified on those occasions when he went to Edinburgh. On no evening -was she sure that he might not come in, in a state of alarm, bidding her -extinguish every light, and watching from the chinks of the window lest -some one clandestine might be roaming round the house; or that he might -not appear with another at his elbow, the man whom he hated yet would -obey, the shedder of blood, as she called him; or, finally, that he -might never come back at all,--that the man who had so much influence -over him might sweep him away, carry him off, notwithstanding all his -unwillingness. It is not to be supposed that much comfort now dwelt in -the Hewan, in the constant contemplation of so many dangers. Yet -everything was more or less as before. The mistress of the house gave no -external sign of trouble. To anxious eyes, had there been any to inspect -her, there would have appeared new lines in her countenance; but no eyes -were anxious about her looks. She pursued her usual habits, as careful -as always of the neatness of her house, her dress, her garden, -everything surrounding her. Her visitors still came, though this was her -hardest burden. To them she said nothing of her son’s return. He -withdrew hurriedly to his room whenever there was the smallest sign of -any one approaching; and few of them were of his time. The neighbourhood -had changed in fifteen years, as the face of the country changes -everywhere. There were plenty of people in the neighbourhood who knew -Robert Ogilvy, but these were not of the kind who go out in the -afternoon to tea. The habit had not begun when he left home. There were -wives of his own contemporaries among the ladies who paid their visits -at the Hewan, but Robert was not acquainted with them. Of those whom he -had known of old, the elder ladies were like his mother, receiving their -little company, not going forth to seek it, and the younger ones -married, bearing names with which he was not acquainted, or perhaps gone -from the country-side altogether. “I know nobody, and nobody would know -me,” he said; which was a great mistake, however, for already the rumour -of his return had flashed all over the neighbourhood, and was hotly -discussed in the parish, and half of the visitors who came to the Hewan -came with the determination of ascertaining the truth. But they -ascertained nothing. He was never visible, his mother looked “just in -her ordinary,” the house seemed undisturbed and unchanged. Sometimes a -whiff of tobacco was sensible to the nostrils of some of the guests; but -when one bold woman said so, Mrs Ogilvy had answered quietly, “There is -at present a great deal of smoke about the house,” with a glance, or so -the visitor thought, at her rose-trees, which Andrew fumigated -diligently against the greenfly in that simple way. The greenfly is a -subject on which all possessors of gardens are kin. The questioner -determined that she would have it tried that very evening on her own -rose-bushes, for Mrs Ogilvy’s buds were uncommonly vigorous and clean; -and so the smell of tobacco ceased to be discussed or perceived, being -accounted for. - -This secrecy could not, of course, have been maintained had Mrs Ogilvy -taken counsel with any one, or opened her mind on the subject. It could -not have been maintained, for instance, had Mr Logan, the minister, been -in his right mind. I do not know that she would have naturally consulted -on such a subject her legitimate spiritual guide. But the intimacy -between the families was such that it could not have been hid. Even had -the boys been at home instead of going to Edinburgh every day, some -large-limbed rapid lad would no doubt have darted into the house with a -message from Susie at an inopportune moment, and found Robert. Susie -herself was the only person now whom Mrs Ogilvy half dreaded, half hoped -for. The secret could not have been kept from her--that would have been -impossible; and from day to day her coming was looked for, not without -a rising of hope, not without a thrill of fear. In other circumstances -Mrs Ogilvy would have been moved to seek Susie, to discover how she was -bearing the complications of her own lot. Susie was the only creature -for whom Mrs Ogilvy longed: the sight of her would have been good: the -possibility of unburdening her soul, even if she had not done it, would -have been a relief, to the imagination at least. Her complete separation -from Susie for the time, which was entirely accidental, was one of the -most curious circumstances in this curious and changed life. - -If she did not see Susie, however, she saw the woman who was about to -change Susie’s life and circumstances still more than her own were -changed,--the lady from England who carried an indefinable atmosphere of -suspicion about with her, as Robbie carried that whiff of tobacco. Mrs -Ainslie took upon her an air of unwarrantable intimacy which the -mistress of the Hewan resented. “I thought you would have come to see -me,” the visitor said, in a tone of flattering reproach. - -“I go to see nobody,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “except old friends, or where I -am much needed. It’s a habit of mine that is well known.” - -“But you must excuse me,” said the other, “for not knowing all the -habits of the people here” (as if Mrs Ogilvy of the Hewan had been but -one of the people here!). And then she made a pause and put her head on -one side, and regarded the old lady, now impenetrable as a stone wall, -with cajoling sweetness. “He has told you!” she said. - -“If you are meaning the minister----” - -“Oh, why should we play at hide-and-seek, when I am dying for your -sympathy, and you know very well whom I mean? Who could I mean but---- -And oh, dear Mrs Ogilvy, do wish me joy, and say you think I have done -well----” - -“Upon your marriage with the minister?” - -“Oh,” cried the lady, holding up her hands, “don’t crush me with your -minister! I think it’s pretty. I have no objections to it: but still you -do call him Mr Logan when you speak to him. Poor man! he has been so -lonely ever since his poor wife died. And I--I have been very lonely -too. Can any one ever take the same place as a wife or a husband? We are -two lonely people----” - -“Not him,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I can say nothing for you. Very good -company he has had, better than most of the wives I see. His own -daughter just the best and the kindest--and that has kept his house in -such order--as it will take any strange woman no little trouble to do.” - -“Oh, don’t think I shall attempt that,” said the visitor. “I have -promised to be his wife, but not to be his drudge. Poor Susan has been -his drudge. Not much wonder, therefore, that she could not be much of a -companion to him. One can’t, my dear Mrs Ogilvy, be busy with a set of -children, and teaching the a b c, all day, and then be lively and -amusing to a man when he comes in tired at night.” - -“I have nothing to say to it one way or another,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “I -wish you may never rue it, neither him nor you, and that is just all -that will come to my lips. If she is a lively companion or not, I cannot -say, but my poor Susie has been a mother to these bairns; and what he -will do with the little ones turned out of the house, and Susie turned -out of his house----” - -“You are so prejudiced! The little girls will be far better at -school--and Susie is going to marry, which she should have done ten -years ago. Her father has no right to keep a girl from making a happy -marriage and securing the man of her heart.” - -“And where is she to get,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a slight choke in her -throat, “what you call the man of her heart?” - -“Oh, my dear lady, you that have known Susie all through, how can you -ask? He proposed to her when she was twenty, and I believe he has asked -her every year since----” - -“So he has told you that old story; but he had not the courage, knowing -a little more than you do, to speak to me of the man of her heart. Oh -no, he had not the boldness to do that! And is Susie aware of the -happiness you are preparing for her, her father and you?” the old lady -said, grimly. - -“Mr Logan,” said the lady, “has a timidity about that which I don’t -understand. I tell him he is frightened for his daughter. It is as if he -felt he had jilted her.” - -“Indeed, and it is very like that,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -“He thought you, perhaps, dear Mrs Ogilvy, as such a very old friend, -would tell her,--and then, when he found that you were disinclined to do -it, he--well, I fear he has shirked it again. Nothing so cowardly as a -man in certain circumstances. I believe at the last I will have to do it -myself.” - -“Nobody could be better qualified----” - -“Do you really think so? I’m so glad you are learning to do me justice. -It’s all for her good--you know it is. To marry and have children of her -own is better than acting mother to another person’s children. Oh yes, -they are her own brothers and sisters now; but they will grow up, and if -Susie does not marry, what prospect has she? Those who really love her -should take all these things into account.” - -Mrs Ainslie spoke these sensible words with many little gestures and -airs, which exasperated the older woman perhaps all the more that there -was nothing to be said against the utterance itself. But at that moment -she heard a step that she knew well upon the gravel outside, and of all -people in the world to meet and divine who Robert was, and publish it -abroad, this interloper, this stranger, who had awakened a warmer -feeling of hostility in Mrs Ogilvy’s bosom than any one had done before, -was the last. She sat breathless, making no answer, while she heard him -enter the house: he had been in the garden with his pipe and his -newspaper--for it was still morning, and not an hour when the Hewan was -on guard against visitors. His large step, so distinctly a man’s step, -paused in the hall. Mrs Ogilvy raised her voice a little, to warn him, -as she made an abstract reply. - -“It’s rare,” she said, “that we’re so thankful as we ought to be--to -them that deal with us for our good.” - -“Do you hear that step in the passage?” cried Mrs Ainslie. “Ah, I know -who it is. It is dear James--it is Mr Logan, I mean. I felt sure he -would not be long behind me. Mayn’t I let him in?” - -She rose in a flutter, and rushing to the door threw it open, with an -air of eager welcome and arch discovery; but recoiled a step before the -unknown personage, large, silent, with his big beard and watchful -aspect, who stood listening and uncertain outside. “Oh!” she cried, and -fell back, not without a start of dismay. - -Mrs Ogilvy’s pride did not tolerate any denial of her son, who stood -there, making signs to her which she declined to notice. “This is my -son,” she said, “the master of the house. He has just come back after a -long time away.” - -“Oh--Mr Ogilvy!” the lady faltered. She was anxious to please everybody, -but she was evidently frightened, though it was difficult to tell why. -“How pleased you must be to have your son come back at last!” - -He paused disconcerted on the threshold. “I did not mean to--disturb -you, mother--I did not know there was anybody here.” - -“Don’t upbraid me, please, with coming at such untimely hours,” she -cried. Mrs Ainslie was in a flutter of consciousness, rubbing her gloved -hands, laughing a little hysterically, but more than ever anxious to -please, and instinctively putting on her little panoply of airs and -graces. “I had business. I had indeed. It was not a mere call meaning -nothing. Your mother will tell you, Mr Ogilvy----” She let her veil drop -over her face, with a tremulous movement, and almost cringed while she -flattered him, with little flutterings and glances of incomprehensible -meaning. - -The woman was trying to cast her spells over Robbie! There flew through -Mrs Ogilvy’s mind a sensation which was not all disagreeable. “The -woman” was odious to her; but she was a well-looking woman, and not an -ignorant one, knowing something of the world; and Robert, with his big -beard and his rough clothes, had given Mrs Ogilvy the profoundly -humiliating consciousness that he had ceased to look like a gentleman; -but the woman did not think so. The woman made her little coquettish -advances to him as if he had been a prince. This was how his mother -interpreted her visitor’s looks: she thought no better of her for this, -but yet the sensation was soothing, and raised her spirits,--even though -she scorned the woman for it, and her son for the hesitating smile which -after a moment began to light up his face. - -“However,” said the lady, hurriedly, “unless you wish for the minister -on my heels, perhaps I had better go now. No? you will not be persuaded, -indeed? You are more hard-hearted than I expected. So then there is -nothing for it but that I must do it myself. There, Mr Ogilvy! You see -we have secrets after all--mysteries! Two women can’t meet together, can -they, without having something tremendous, some conspiracy or other, for -each other’s ears?” - -“I did not say so,” said Robert, not unresponsive, though taken by -surprise. - -“Oh no, you did not say so; but you were thinking so all the same. They -always do, don’t they? Gentlemen have such fixed ideas about women.” She -had overcome her little tremor, but was more coquettish than ever. While -she held his mother’s hand in hers, she held up a forefinger of the -other archly at Robert. “Oh, I’ve had a great deal of experience. I know -what to expect from men.” - -She led him out after her to the door talking thus, and down towards the -gate; while Mrs Ogilvy stood gazing, wondering. It was one of her -tenets, too, that no man can resist such arts; but the anger of a woman -who sees them thus exerted in her very presence was still softened by -the sensation that this woman, so experienced, still thought Robbie -worth her while. He came back again in a few minutes, having accompanied -the visitor to the gate, with a smile faintly visible in his beard. “Who -is that woman?” he said. “She is not one of your neighbours here?” - -“What made you go with her, Robbie?” - -“Oh, she seemed to expect it, and it was only civil. Where has she come -from? and how did you pick such a person up?” - -“She is a person that will soon be--a neighbour, as you say, and a -person of importance here. She is going to be married upon the minister, -Robbie.” - -“The minister!” he gave a low whistle--“that will be a curious couple; -but I hope it’s a new minister, and not poor old Logan, whom I--whom I -remember so well. I’ve seen women like that, but not among ministers. I -almost think I’ve--seen her somewhere. Old Logan! But he has a wife,” -Robert said. - -“He had one; but she’s been dead these ten years, and this lady is new -come to the parish, and he has what you call fallen in love with her. -There are no fules like old fules, Robbie. I like little to hear of -falling in love at that age.” - -“Old Logan!” said Robert again. There were thoughts in his eyes which -seemed to come to sudden life, but which his mother did not dare -investigate too closely. She dreaded to awaken them further; she feared -to drive them away. What memories did the name of Logan bring? or were -there any of sufficient force to keep him musing, as he seemed to do, -for a few minutes after. But at the end of that time he burst into a -sudden laugh. “Old Logan!” he said; “poor old fellow! I remember him -very well. The model of a Scotch minister, steady-going, but pawky too, -and some fun in him. Where has he picked up a woman like that? and what -will he do with her when he has got her? I have seen the like of her -before.” - -“But, Robbie, she is just a very personable, well-put-on woman, and -well-looking, and no ill-mannered. She is not one I like,--but I am -maybe prejudiced, considering the changes she will make; and there is -no harm in her, so far as we have ever heard here.” - -“Oh, very likely there is no harm in her; but what has she to do in a -place like this? and with old Logan!” He laughed again, and then, -growing suddenly grave, asked, “What changes is she going to make?” - -“There are always changes,” said Mrs Ogilvy, evasively, “when a man -marries that has a family, and everything settled on another foundation. -They are perhaps more in a woman’s eyes than in a man’s; I will tell you -about that another time. But you that wanted to be private, -Robbie--there will be no more of that, I’m thinking, now.” - -“Well, it cannot be helped,” he said, crossly; “what could I do? Could I -refuse to answer her? Private!--how can you be private in a place like -this, where every fellow knew you in your cradle? Two or three have -spoken to me already on the road----” - -“I never thought we could keep it to ourselves--and why should we?” his -mother said. - -He answered with a sort of snort only, which expressed nothing, and then -fell a-musing, stretched out in the big chair, his legs half away across -the room, his beard filling up all the rest of the space. His mother -looked at him with mingled sensations of pride and humiliation--a -half-admiration and a half-shame. He was a big buirdly man, as Janet -said; and he had his new clothes, which were at least clean and fresh: -but they had not made any transformation in his appearance, as she had -hoped. Was there any look of a gentleman left in that large bulk of a -man? The involuntary question went cold to Mrs Ogilvy’s heart. It still -gave her a faint elation, however, to remember that Mrs Ainslie had -quite changed her aspect at the sight of him, quite acknowledged him as -one of the persons whom it was her mission in the world to attract. It -was a small comfort, and yet it was a comfort. She took up her stocking -and composed herself to wait his pleasure, till he should have finished -his thoughts, whatever they were, and be disposed to talk again. - -But when his voice came finally out of his beard and out of the silence, -it was with a startling question: “What do you mean to do with me, -mother, now I am here?” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -They sat and looked at each other across the little area of the peaceful -room. He, stretching half across it, too big almost for the little -place. She, in her white shawl and her white cap, its natural occupant -and mistress. Her stocking had dropped into her lap, and she looked at -him with a pathos and wistfulness in her eyes which were scarcely -concealed by the anxious smile which she turned upon him. They were not -equal in anything, in this less than in other particulars--for he was -indifferent, asking her the question without much care for the answer, -while she was moved to her finger-ends with anxiety on the subject, -thrilling with emotion and fear. She looked at him for her inspiration, -to endeavour to read in his eyes what answer would suit him best, what -she could say to follow his mood, to please him or to guide him as might -be. Mrs Ogilvy had not many experiences that were encouraging. She had -little confidence in her power to influence and to lead. If she could -know what he would like her to say, that would be something. She had in -her heart a feeling which, though very quiet, was in reality despair. -She did not know what to do with him--she had no hope that it would -matter anything what she wanted to do. He would do what he liked, what -he chose, and not anything she could say. - -“My dear,” she said, “when this calamity is over-past, and you have got -settled a little, there will be plenty of things that you could do.” - -“That’s very doubtful,” he said; “and you have not much faith in it -yourself. I’ve been used to do nothing. I don’t know what work is like. -Do you think I’m fit for it? I had to work on board ship, and how I -hated it words could never tell. I was too much of a duffer, they said, -to do seaman’s work. They made me help the cook--fancy, your son helping -the cook!” - -“It is quite honest work,” she said, with a little quiver in her -voice--“quite honest work.” - -He laughed a little. “That’s like you,” he said; “and now you will want -me to do more honest work. I will need to, I suppose.” He paused here, -and gave her a keen look, which, fortunately, she did not understand. -“But the thing is, I’m good for nothing. I cannot dig, and to beg I am -ashamed. I’ve done many things, but I’ve not worked much all my life. I -will be left on your hands--and what will you do with me?” He was not -so indifferent, after all, as when he began. He was almost in earnest, -keeping his eye upon her, to read her face as well as her words. But -somehow she, who was so anxious to divine him, to discover what he -wished her to say--she had no notion, notwithstanding all her anxiety, -what it was he desired to know. - -“My bonnie man!” she said, “it’s a hard question to answer. What could I -wish to do with you but what would be best for yourself? I have made no -plan for you, Robbie. Whatever you can think of that you would like--or -whatever we can think of, putting our two heads together--but just, my -dear, what would suit you best----” - -“But suppose there is nothing I would like--and suppose I was just on -your hands a helpless lump----” - -“I will suppose no such thing,” she said, with the tears coming to her -eyes; “why should I suppose that of _my_ son? No, no! no, no! You are -young yet, and in all your strength, the Lord be praised! You might have -come back to me with the life crushed out of you, like Willie Miller; or -worn with that weary India, and the heat and the work, like Mrs -Allender’s son in the Glen. But you, Robbie----” - -“What would you have done with me,” he repeated, insisting, though with -a half smile on his face, “if it had been as bad as that--if I had come -to you like them?” - -“Why should we think of that that is not, nor is like to be? Oh! my -dear, I would have done the best I could with a sore heart. I would just -have done my best, and pinched a little and scraped a little, and put -forth my little skill to make you comfortable on what there was.” - -“You have every air of being very comfortable yourself,” he said, -looking round the room. “I thought so when I came first. You are like -the man in the proverb--the parable, I mean--whose very servants had -enough and to spare, while his son perished with hunger.” - -She was a little surprised by what he said, but did not yet attach any -very serious meaning to it. “I am better off,” she said, “than when you -went away. Some things that I’ve been mixed up in have done very well, -so they tell me. I never have spent what came in like that. I have saved -it all up for you, Robbie.” - -“Not for me, mother,” he said; “to please yourself with the thought that -there was more money in the bank.” - -“Robbie,” she said, “you cannot be thinking what you are saying. That -was never my character. There is nobody that does not try to save for -their bairns. I have saved for you, when I knew not where you were, nor -if I would ever see you more. The money in the bank was never what I was -thinking of. There would be enough to give you, perhaps, a good -beginning--whatever you might settle to do.” - -“Set me up in business, in fact,” he said, with a laugh. “That is what -would please you best.” - -“The thing that would please me best would be what was the best for -you,” she said, with self-restraint. She was a little wounded by his -inquiries, but even now had not penetrated his meaning. He wanted more -distinct information than he had got. Her gentle ease of living, her -readiness to supply his wants, to forestall them even--the luxury, as it -seemed to him after his wild and wandering career, of the long-settled -house, the carefully kept gardens, the little carriage, all the modest -abundance of the humble establishment, had surprised him. He had -believed that his mother was all but poor--not in want of anything -essential to comfort, but yet very careful about her expenditure, and -certainly not allowing him in the days of his youth, as he had often -reflected with bitterness, the indulgences to which, if she had been as -well off as she seemed now, he would have had, he thought, a right. What -had she now? Had she grown rich? Was there plenty for him after her, -enough to exempt him from that necessity of working, which he had always -feared and hated? It was, perhaps, not unreasonable that he should wish -to know. - -“I told you,” he said, after a short interval, “that I was good for -nothing. If I had stayed at home, what should I have been now? A Writer -to the Signet with an office in Edinburgh, and, perhaps, who can tell, -clients that would have come to consult me about where to place their -money and other such things.” He laughed at the thought. “I can never be -that now.” - -“No,” she said, in tender sympathy with what she was quick to think a -regret on his part. “No, Robbie, my dear; I fear it’s too late for that -now.” - -“Well! it’s perhaps all the better: for how could I tell them what to do -with their money, who never had any of my own? No; what I shall do is -this: be a dependent on you, mother, all my life; with a few pounds to -buy my clothes, and a few shillings to get my tobacco and a daily paper, -now that the ‘Scotsman’ comes out daily--and some wretched old library -of novels, where I can change my books three or four times a-week: and -that’s how Rob Ogilvy will end, that was once a terror in his way--no, -it was never I that was the terror, but those I was with,” he added, in -an undertone. - -Mrs Ogilvy’s heart was wrung with that keen anguish of helplessness -which is as the bitterness of death to those who can do nothing to help -or deliver those they love. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” she said, “why -should that be so? It is all yours whatever is mine. It’s not a fortune, -but you shall be no dependent--you shall have your own: and better -thoughts will come--and you will want more than a library of foolish -books or a daily paper. You will want your own honest life, like them -that went before you, and your place in the world--and oh, Robbie! God -grant it! a good wife and a family of your own.” - -He got up and walked about, with large steps that made the boards creak, -and with the laugh which she liked least of all his utterances. “No, -mother, that will never be,” he said. “I’m not one to be caught like -that. You will not find me putting myself in prison and rolling the -stone to the mouth of the cave.” - -“Robbie!” she cried, with a sense of something profane in what he said, -though she could scarcely have told what. But the conversation was -interrupted here by Janet coming to announce the early dinner, to which -Robert as usual did the fullest justice. Whatever he might have done or -said to shock her, the sight of his abundant meal always brought Mrs -Ogilvy’s mind, more or less, back to a certain contentment, a sort of -approval. He was not too particular nor dainty about his food: he never -gave himself airs, as if it were not good enough, nor looked -contemptuous of Janet’s good dishes, as a man who has been for years -away from home so often does. He ate heartily, innocently, like one who -had nothing on his conscience, a good digestion, and a clean record. It -was not credible even that a man who ate his dinner like that should not -be one who would work as well as eat, and earn his meal with pleasure. -It uplifted her heart a little, and eased it, only to see him eat. - -Afterwards it could scarcely be said that the conversation was resumed; -but that day he was in a mood for talk. He told her scraps of his -adventures, sitting with the ‘Scotsman’ in his hand, which he did not -read--taking pleasure in frightening her, she thought; but yet, after -leading her to a point of breathless interest, breaking off with a half -jest--“It was not me, it was him.” She got used to this conclusion, and -almost to feel as if this man unknown, who was always in her son’s mind, -was in a manner the soul of Robert’s large passive body, moving that at -his will. Then her son returned with a sudden spring to the visitor of -the morning, and to poor old Logan and the strangeness of his fate. -“She’s like a woman I once saw out yonder”--with a jerk of his thumb -over his shoulder--“a singer, or something of that sort,--a woman that -was up to anything.” - -“Don’t say that, my dear, of a woman that will soon be the minister’s -wife.” - -“The minister’s wife!” he said, with a great explosion of laughter. And -then he grew suddenly grave. “Old Logan,” he said, with a sort of -hesitation, “had--a daughter, if I remember right.” - -“If you remember right! Susie Logan, that you played with when you were -both bairns--that grew up with you--that I once thought---- a daughter! -Well I wot, and you too, that he had a daughter.” - -“Well, mother,” he said, subdued, “I remember very well, if that will -please you better. Susie: yes, that was her name. And Susie--I suppose -she is married long ago?” - -“They are meaning,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with an intonation of scorn, “to -marry her now.” - -“What does that mean--to marry her now? Do you mean she has never -married--Susie? And why? She must be old now,” he said, with a half -laugh. “I suppose she has lost her looks. And had no man the sense to -see she was--well, a pretty girl--when she was a pretty girl?” - -“If that was all you thought she was!” said Mrs Ogilvy--even her son was -not exempted from her disapproval where Susie was concerned. She paused -again, however, and said, more softly, “It has not been for want of -opportunity. The man that wants her now wanted her at twenty. She has -had her reasons, no doubt.” - -“Reasons--against taking a husband? I never heard there were any--in a -woman’s mind.” - -“There are maybe more things in heaven and earth--than you just have the -best information upon,” she said. - -She thought it expedient after this to go up-stairs a little, to look -for something Janet wanted, she explained. Sometimes there were small -matters which affected her more than the greater ones. The early -terrible impression of him was wearing a little away. She had got used -to his new aspect, to his new voice, to the changed and altered being he -was. The bitterness of the discovery was over. She knew more or less -what to expect of him now, as she had known what to expect of the boyish -Robbie of old; and, indeed, this man who was made up of so many things -that were new to her had thrown a strange and painful light on the -Robbie of old, whom during so many years she had made into an ideal of -all that was hopeful and beautiful in youth. She remembered now, yet was -so unwilling to remember. She was very patient, but patient as she was, -there were some things, some little things, which she found hard to -bear; as for instance about Susie--Susie: that she was a pretty girl, -but must be old now, and had probably lost her looks,--was that all that -Robert Ogilvy knew of Susie? It gave her a sharp pang of anger, in spite -of her great patience, in spite of herself. - -It took her some time to find what Janet wanted. She was not very sure -what it was. She opened two or three cupboards, and with a vague look -went over their contents, trying to remember. Perhaps it was nothing of -importance after all. She went down again to the parlour at last, to -resume any conversation he pleased, or to listen to whatever he might -tell her, or to be silent and wait till he might again be disposed to -talk; passing by the kitchen on her way first to tell Janet that she had -forgotten what it was she had promised to get for her: but if she would -wait a little, the first time she went up-stairs,--and then the mistress -returned to her drawing-room by the other way, coming through the back -passage. She had not heard any one come to the front door. - -But when she went into the room she saw a strange sight. In the doorway -opposite to her stood a familiar figure, which had always been to Mrs -Ogilvy like sunshine and the cheerful day, always welcome, always -bringing a little brightness with her--Susie Logan, in her light summer -dress, a soft transparent shadow on her face from the large brim of her -hat, every line of her figure expressing the sudden pause, the arrested -movement of a great surprise and wonder,--nothing but wonder as yet. She -stood with her lips apart, one foot advanced to come in, her hand upon -the door as she had opened it, her eyes large with astonishment. She was -gazing at him, where he half sat, half lay, in the great chair, his long -legs stretched half across the room, his head laid back. He had fallen -asleep in the drowsy afternoon, after the early dinner, with the -newspaper spread out upon his knee. He had nothing to do, there was not -much in the paper: there was nothing to wonder at in the fact that he -had fallen asleep. His mother, to whom it always gave a pang to see him -do so, had explained it to herself as many times as it happened in this -way; and there sprang up into her eyes the ready challenge, the instant -defence. Why should he not sleep? He had had plenty, oh plenty, to weary -him; he was but new come home, where he could rest at his pleasure. But -this warlike explanation died out of her as she watched Susie’s face, -who as yet saw nobody but this strange sleeper in possession of the -room. The wonder in it changed from moment to moment; it changed into a -gleam of joy, it clouded over with a sudden trouble: there came a quiver -to her soft lip, and something liquid to her eyes, more liquid, more -soft than their usual lucid light, which was like the dew. There rose in -Susie’s face a look of infinite pity, of a tenderness like that of a -mother at the sight of a suffering child. Oh, more tender than me, more -like a mother than me! said to herself the mother who was looking on. -And then there came from Susie’s bosom a long deep sigh, and the tears -brimmed over from her eyes. She stepped back noiselessly from the door -and closed it behind her; but stood outside, making no further movement, -unable in her great surprise and emotion to do more. - -There Mrs Ogilvy found her a moment after, when, closing softly, as -Susie had done, the other door upon the sleeper, she went round -trembling to the little hall, in which Susie stood trembling too, with -her hand upon her breast, where her heart was beating so high and loud. -They took each other’s hands, but for a moment said nothing. Then Susie, -with the tears coming fast, said under her breath, “You never told me!” -in an indescribable tone of reproach and tenderness. - -Mrs Ogilvy led her into the other room, where they sat down together. -“You knew him, Susie, you knew him?” she said. - -“Knew him!--what would hinder me to know him?” Susie replied, with the -same air of that offence and grievance which was more tender than love -itself. - -“Oh, me! I was not like that,” the mother cried. She remembered her -first horror of him, with horror at herself. She that was his mother, -flesh of his flesh, and bone of his bone. And here was Susie, that had -neither trouble nor doubt. - -“To think I should come in thinking about nothing--thinking about my own -small concerns--and find him there as innocent! like a tired bairn. And -me perhaps the only one,” said Susie, “never to have heard a word! -though the oldest friend--I do not mind the time I did not know Robbie,” -she cried, with that keen tone of injury; “it began with our life.” - -Here was the difference. He too had admitted that he remembered her very -well--a pretty girl; but she must be old now, and have lost her looks. -Susie had not lost her looks; it was he who had lost his looks. Mrs -Ogilvy’s heart sank, as she thought how completely those looks were -lost, and of the unfavourable aspect of that heavy sleep, and the -attitude of drowsy abandonment in the middle of the busy day. But Susie -was conscious of none of these things. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -The day after this was one of the days on which Robert chose to go to -Edinburgh, which were days his mother dreaded, though no harm that she -could specify came of them. He had not seen Susie on that afternoon, but -was angry and put out when he heard of her visit, and that she had seen -him asleep in his chair. “You might have saved me from that,” he said, -angrily; “you need not have made an exhibition of me.” “I did not know, -Robbie, that she was there.” “It is the same thing,” he cried: “you keep -all your doors and windows open, in spite of everything I say. What’s -that but making an exhibition of me, that am something new, that anybody -that likes may come and stare at?” She thought he had reason for his -annoyance, though it was no fault of hers: and it pleased her that he -should be angry at having been seen by Susie in circumstances so -unfavourable. Was not that the best thing for him to be roused to a -desire to appear at his best, not his worse? He went to Edinburgh next -day in the afternoon, after the early dinner. There was no question put -to him now as to when he should be back. - -During that afternoon Susie came again, and was much disappointed and -cast down not to see him. Perhaps it was well that Susie’s first sight -of him had been at a moment when he could say or do nothing to diminish -or spoil her tender recollection. None of those things that vexed the -soul of his mother affected Susie. The maturity of the man, so different -from the boy; the changed tone; the different way of regarding all -around him; the indifference to everything,--all these were hidden from -her. The only thing unfavourable she had seen of him was his personal -appearance, and that had not struck Susie as unfavourable. The long, -soft, brown beard, so abundant and well grown, had been beautiful to -her; his size, the large development of manhood, had filled her with a -half pride, half respect. Pride! for did not Robbie, her oldest friend, -more or less belong to Susie too. She had dreamt already of walking -about Eskholm with him, happy and proud in his return, in the -falsification of all malicious prophecies to the contrary. He was her -oldest friend, her playfellow from her first recollection. There was -nothing more wanted to justify Susie’s happy excitement--her -satisfaction in his return. - -“And he is away to Edinburgh, and has never come to see us! That is not -like Robbie,” she cried, with a trace of vexation in her eyes. - -“Susie, I will tell you and no other the secret, if it is a secret -still. He had fallen into ill company, as I always feared, in that -weary, far America.” - -“How could he help it?” cried Susie, ready to face the world in his -defence, “young as he was, and nobody to guide him.” - -“That is true; and we that live in a quiet country, and much favoured -and defended on every side, we know nothing of the lawlessness that is -there. You will read even in the very papers, Susie: they think no more -of drawing a pistol than a gentleman here does of taking his stick when -he goes out for a walk.” - -Susie nodded her head in acquiescence, and Mrs Ogilvy went on: “Where -that’s the custom, harm will come. Men with pistols in their hands like -that, that sometimes go off, even when it’s not intended, as you may -also read in the papers every day----. Oh, Susie! it happened that there -was an accident. How can we tell at this long distance, and so little as -we know their manners and their ways, the rights of it all, and what -meaning there was in it, or if there was any meaning! But a shot went -off, and a man was killed. I am used to it now,” said Mrs Ogilvy, her -lip quivering, her face appealing in every line to the younger woman at -her side not--oh! not--to condemn him; “but at the first moment I was -as one that had no more life. The stain of blood may be upon my son’s -hand.” - -“No, no!” cried Susie. “No, I will not believe it--not him, of all that -are in the world!” - -“God bless you, my bonnie dear, that is just the truth! But the shot -came out of the band, he among them. There is another man that was at -the head who is likely the man. And he is like Robbie, the same height, -and so forth. And he has kept hold of him, and kept fast to him, and -never let him go.” - -“I am not surprised,” said Susie, very pale, and with her head high. -“For Robbie would never betray him. He would never fail one that trusted -in him.” - -“And the terror in his heart is--oh, he says little to me, but I can -divine it!--the terror in his heart is that this man will come after him -here.” - -“From America!” said Susie; “so far, so far away.” - -“It is not so far but that you can come in a week or a fortnight,” said -Mrs Ogilvy; “you or me would say, impossible: but naturally he is the -one that knows best. And he does not think it is impossible. He makes us -bolt all the windows and lock the doors as soon as the sun goes down. -Susie, this is what is hanging over us. How can he go and see his -friends, or let them know he is here, or take the good of coming -home--with this hanging over him night and day?” - -The colour had all gone out of Susie’s face. She put an arm round her -old friend, and gave her a trembling almost convulsive embrace. “And you -to have this to bear after all the rest!” - -“Me!” said Mrs Ogilvy; “who is thinking of me? It is an ease to my mind -to have said it out. You were the only one I could speak to, Susie, for -you will think of him just as I do. You will excuse him and forgive him, -and explain it all within yourself---- as I do, as I must do.” - -“Excuse him!” cried Susie; “that will I not! but be proud of him, -because he’s faithful to the man in trouble, whoever he may be!” - -Mrs Ogilvy did not say, even to Susie, that it was not faithfulness but -panic that moved Robert, and that all his anxiety was to keep the man in -trouble at arm’s-length. Even in confessing what was his problematical -guilt and danger, it was still the first thing in her thoughts that -Robbie should have the best of it whatever the position might be. They -were walking up and down together on the level path in front of the -house--now skirting the holly hedges, now brushing the boxwood border -that made a green edge to the flowers. Susie had come with perplexities -of her own to lay before her friend, but they all fled from her mind in -face of this greater revelation. What did it matter about Susie? -Whatever came to her, it would be but she who was in question, and she -could bear it--but Robbie! Me! who is thinking of me? she said to -herself, as Mrs Ogilvy had said it, with a proud contempt of any such -petty subject. It was not the spirit of self-sacrifice, the instinct of -unselfishness, as people are pleased to call such sentiments. I am -afraid there was perhaps a little pride in it, perhaps a subtle -self-confidence that whatever one had to fear in one’s own person, what -did it matter? one would be equal to it. But Robbie---- What blood could -be shed, what ordeal dared to keep it from him! - -“You will feel now that I am always ready,” said Susie, “to do anything, -if there is anything to do. You will send for me at any moment. If it -were to take a message, if it were to send a letter, if it were to go to -Edinburgh for any news, if it were to--hide the man----” - -“Susie!” - -“And wherefore not? it’s not ours to punish. I know nothing about him: -but to save Robbie and you, or only to help you, what am I caring? I -would put my arm through the place of the bolt, like Katherine Douglas -for King James. And why should I not hide a man in trouble? Them that -went before us have done that, and more than that, for folk in trouble, -many a day.” - -“But not for the shedder of blood,” said Mrs Ogilvy. - -“They were all shedders of blood,” cried Susie; “there was not one side -nor the other with clean hands--and our fore-mothers helped them all, -whichever were the ones that were pursued: and so would I any man that -stood between you and peace. If he were as bad a man as ever lived, I -would help him to get away.” - -“We must not go so far as that, Susie. We will hope that nothing will -need to be done. Robbie and me, we will just keep very quiet till all -this trouble blows over. I have a confidence that it will blow over,” -said Mrs Ogilvy, with a shadow in her eyes which belied her words. - -“Certainly it will,” cried Susie, with an intensity of assent which, -though she knew so little, yet comforted the elder woman’s heart. - -And Susie once more left her friend without saying a word of the -anxieties which were becoming more and more urgent in her own life. She -had not yet been told what was the true state of the case, but many -alarms had filled her mind, terrors which she would not acknowledge to -herself. It did not seem credible that she should be dethroned from her -own household place, which she had filled so long, to make way for a -stranger, “a strange woman,” as Susie, like Mrs Ogilvy, said; nor that -the children should be taken out of her hands, and her home be no longer -hers. But all other apprehensions and alarms had been confusedly -deepened and increased, she could scarcely tell how, by the sudden -interference of her father in behalf of an old lover long ago rejected, -whose repeated proposals had become the jest of the family, a man whom -nobody for years had taken seriously. Mr Logan had suddenly taken up his -cause, and pressed it hotly and injudiciously, filling Susie with -consternation and indignant distress. The minister had naturally -employed the most unpalatable arguments. He had bidden her to remember -that her time was running short, that she had probably out-stayed her -market, that a wooer was not to be found by every dykeside, and that at -her age it was no longer possible to pick and choose, but to take what -you could get. Exasperated by all this, Susie had rushed to her friend -to ask what was the interpretation of it. But the appearance of Robert -had driven every other thought out of her mind, and now again, more than -ever, his story, the danger he was in, the reason why his return was not -published abroad and rejoiced in. To Susie’s simple and straightforward -mind this was the only point in the whole matter that was to be -deplored. She found no fault with Robbie’s appearance, with his mid-day -sleep, with the failure of his career--even with the ill company and -dreadful associations of which Mrs Ogilvy’s faltering story had told -her. She was ready to wipe all that record out with one tear of -tenderness and pity. He had been led away; he had come back. That he -had come back was enough to atone for all the rest. But there should be -no secret, no concealing of him, no silence as to this great event. She -accepted the bond, but it was heavy on her soul, and went home, her mind -full of Robert, only vexed and discouraged that she must not speak of -Robert, forgetting every other trouble and all the changes that seemed -to threaten herself. Me! who is caring about me? Susie said to herself -proudly, as Mrs Ogilvy said it. These women scorned fate when it was but -themselves that were threatened by it. - -When she was gone, Mrs Ogilvy continued for a while to walk quietly up -and down the little platform before the door of her peaceful house. She -had almost given up her evenings out of doors since Robert’s return, but -to-night her heart was soothed, her fears were calmed. Susie could do -nothing to clear up the situation. Yet to have unbosomed herself to -Susie had done her good. The burden which was so heavy on herself, which -was Robbie in his own person, the most intimate of all, did not affect -Susie. She was willing to take him back as at the same point where he -had dropped from her ken. There was no criticism in her eyes or her -mind,--nothing like that dreadful criticism, that anguish of -consciousness which perceived all his shortcomings, all the loss that -had happened to him in his dismal way through the world, which was in -his mother’s mind. That Susie did not perceive these things was a -precious balm to Mrs Ogilvy’s wounds. It was her exacting imagination -that was in fault, perhaps nothing else or little else. If Susie were -pleased, why should she, who ought to be less clear-sighted than Susie, -be so far from pleased? Nothing could have so comforted her as did this. -She was calmed to the bottom of her heart. Robbie would be very late -to-night, she knew; but what harm was there in that, if it was an -amusement to him, poor laddie? He had no variety now in his life, he -that had been accustomed to so much. She heard Andrew come clanking -round from the back-garden with his pails and his watering-pots. She had -not assisted at the watering of the flowers, not since the day of -Robbie’s return, but she did so this calm evening in the causeless -relief of her spirit. “But I would not be so particular,” she said, -“Andrew; for it will rain before the morning, or else I am mistaken.” -“It’s very easy, mem, to be mistaken in the weather,” said Andrew; “I’ve -thought that for a week past.” “That is true; it has been a by-ordinary -dry season,” his mistress said. “Just the ruin of the country,” said the -man. “Oh,” cried she, “you are never content!” - -But she was content that night, or as nearly content as it was possible -to be with such a profound disturbance and trouble in her being. She had -her chair brought out, and her cushion and footstool, her stocking and -her book, as in the old days, which had been so short a time before and -yet seemed so far off. It was not so fine a night as it had usually -been, she thought _then_. The light had not that opal tint, that silvery -pearl-like radiance. There was a shadow as of a cloud in it, and the -sky, though showing no broken lines of vapour, was grey and a little -heavy, charged with the rain which seemed gathering after long drought -over the longing country. Esk, running low, wanted the rain, and so did -the thirsty trees, too great to be watered like the flowers, which had -begun to have a dusty look. But in the meantime the evening was warm, -very warm and very still, waiting for the opening up of the fountains in -the skies. Mrs Ogilvy sat there musing, almost as she had mused of old: -only instead of the wistful longing and desire in her heart then, she -had now an ever-present ache, the sense of a deep wound, the only -partially stilled and always quivering tremor of a great fear. -Considering that these things were, however, and could not be put away, -she was very calm. - -She had been sitting here for some time, reading a little of her book, -knitting a great deal of her stocking, which did not interfere with her -reading, thinking a great deal, sometimes dropping the knitting into her -lap to think the more, to pray a little--one running into the other -almost unconsciously--when she suddenly heard behind her a movement in -the hedge. It was a high holly hedge, as has been already said, very -well trimmed, and impenetrable, almost as high as a man. When a man -walked up the slope from the road, only his hat, or if he were a tall -man, his head, could be seen over it. The hedge ran round on the -right-hand side to the wall of the house, shutting out the garden, which -lay on the other slope, as on the left it encircled the little platform, -with its grass-plot and flower-borders and modest carriage-drive in -front of the Hewan. It was in the garden behind that green wall that the -sound was, which a month ago would not have disturbed her, which was -probably only Janet going to the well or Andrew putting his -watering-cans away. Mrs Ogilvy, however, more easily startled now, -looked round quickly, but saw nothing. The light was stealing away, the -rain was near; it was that rather than the evening which made the -atmosphere so dim. The noise had made her heart beat a little, though -she felt sure it was nothing; it made her think of going in, though she -could still with a slight effort see to read. It was foolish to be -disturbed by such a trifle. She had never been frightened before: a -step, a sound at the gate, had been used, before Robert came back, to -awaken her to life and expectation, to a constantly disappointed but -never extinguished hope. That, however, was all over now: but at this -noise and rustle among the bushes, which was not a footstep or like any -one coming, her heart stirred in her, like a bird in the dark, with -terror. She was frightened for any noise. This was one of the great -differences that had arisen in herself. - -She turned, however, again, with some resolution, to her former -occupations. It was not light enough to see the page with the book lying -open on her knee. She took it in her hand, and read a little. It was one -of those books which, for my own part, I do not relish, of which you are -supposed to be able to read a little bit at a time. She addressed -herself to it with more attention than usual, in order to dissipate her -own foolish thrill of excitement and the disturbance within her. She -read the words carefully, but I fear that, as is usual in such cases, -the meaning did not enter very clearly into her mind. Her attention was -busy, behind her back as it were, listening, listening for a renewal of -the sound. But there was none. Then through her reading she began to -think that, as soon as she had quite mastered herself, she would go in -at her leisure, and quite quietly, crying upon Janet to bring in her -chair and her footstool; and then would call Andrew to shut the windows -and bar the door, as Robbie wished. Perhaps a man understood the dangers -better, and it was well in any case to do what he wished. She would -have liked to rise from her seat at once, and go in hurriedly and do -this, but would not allow herself, partly because she felt it would be -foolish, as there could be no danger, and partly because she would not -allow herself to be supposed to be afraid, supposing that there was. She -sat on, therefore, and read, with less and less consciousness of -anything but the words that were before her eyes. - -When suddenly there came almost close by her side, immediately behind -her, the sound as of some one suddenly alighting with feet close -together, with wonderfully little noise, yet a slight sound of the -gravel disturbed: and turning suddenly round, she saw a tall figure -against the waning light, which had evidently vaulted over the hedge, in -which there was a slight thrill of movement from the shock. He was -looking at his finger, which seemed, from the action, to have been -pricked with the holly. Her heart gave a great leap, and then became -quiet again. There was something unfamiliar, somehow, in the attitude -and air; but yet no doubt it was her son--who else could it be?--who had -made a short cut by the garden, as he had done many a time in his -boyhood. Nobody but he could have known of this short cut. All this ran -through her mind, the terror and the reassurance in one breath, as she -started up hastily from her chair, crying, “Robbie! my dear, what a -fright you have given me. What made you come that way?” - -He came towards her slowly, examining his finger, on which she saw a -drop of blood; then enveloping it leisurely in the handkerchief which he -took from his pocket, “I’ve got a devil of a prick from that dashed -holly,” he said. - -And then she saw that he was not her son. Taller, straighter, of a -colourless fairness, a strange voice, a strange aspect. Not Robbie, not -Robbie! whoever he was. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -For a moment Mrs Ogilvy’s heart sank within her. There was something in -the moment, in the hour, in that sudden appearance like a ghost, only -with a noise and energy which were not ghost-like, of this man whom at -the first glance she had taken for Robbie, which chilled her blood. Then -she reminded herself that a similar incident had befallen her before -now. A tramp had more than once made his way into the garden, and, but -for her own lion mien, and her call upon Andrew, might have robbed the -house or done some other unspeakable harm. It was chiefly her own aspect -as of a queen, protected by unseen battalions, and only conscious of the -extraordinary temerity of the intruder, that had gained her the victory. -She had not felt then as she felt now: the danger had only quickened her -blood, not chilled it. She had been dauntless as she looked: but now a -secret horror stole her strength away. - -“I think,” she said, with a little catching of the breath, “you have -made a mistake. This is no public place, it is my garden; but if you -have strayed from the road, I will cry upon my man to show you the right -way--to Edinburgh, or wherever you may be going.” - -“Edinburgh’s not good for my health. I like your garden,” he said, -strolling easily towards her; “but look here, mother, give me something -for my scratch. I’ve got a thorn in my hand.” - -“You will just go away, sir,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “Whoever you may be, I -permit no visitor here at this late hour of the night. I will cry upon -my man.” - -“I’m glad you’ve got a man about the place,” said the stranger, sitting -down calmly upon the bench and regarding her little figure as she stood -before him, with an air half of mockery, half of kindness. “It’s a -little lonely for an old lady. But then you’re all settled and civilised -here. None the better for that,” he continued, easily; “snakes in the -grass, thieves behind the door.” - -“I have told you, sir,” said Mrs Ogilvy, trembling more and more, yet -holding her ground, “that I let nobody come in here, at this hour. You -look like--like a gentleman:” her voice trembled on the noiseless -colourless air, in which there was not a breath to disturb anything: -“you will therefore not, I am sure, do anything to disturb a woman--who -lives alone, but for her faithful servants--at this hour of the night.” - -“You are a very plucky old lady,” he said, “and you pay me a compliment. -I’m not sure that I’m a gentleman in your meaning, but I’m proud that -you think I look like one. Sit down and let us talk. There’s no pleasure -in sitting at one’s ease when a lady’s standing: and, to tell the truth, -I’m too tired to budge.” - -“I will cry upon my man Andrew----” - -“Not if you’re wise, as I’m sure you are.” The stranger’s hand made a -movement to his pocket, which had no significance for Mrs Ogilvy. She -was totally unacquainted with the habits of people who carry weapons; -and if she had thought there was a revolver within a mile of her, would -have felt herself and the whole household to be lost. “It will be a -great deal better for Andrew,” said this man, with his easy air, “if you -let him stay where he is. Sit down and let’s have our talk out.” - -Mrs Ogilvy did not sit down, but she leant trembling upon the back of -her chair. “You’re not a tramp on the roads,” she said, “that I could -fee with a supper and a little money--nor a gentleman, you say, that -will take a telling, and refrain from disturbing a woman’s house. Who -are you then, man, that will not go away,--that sit there and smile in -my face?” - -“I’m a man that has always smiled in everybody’s face,--if it were the -whole posse, if it were Death himself,” he replied. “Mother, sit down -and take things quietly. I’m a man in danger of my life.” - -A shriek came to her lips, but she kept it in by main force. In a moment -the vague terror which had enveloped her became clear, and she knew what -she had been afraid of. Here was the man who was like Robbie, who was -Robbie’s leader, his tyrant, whose influence he could not -resist--provided only that Robbie did not come back and find him here! - -“Sir,” she said, trembling so that the chair trembled too under the -touch of her hand, but standing firm, “you are trying to frighten -me--but I am not feared. If it is true you say (though I cannot believe -it is true), what can I do for you? I am a peaceable person, with a -peaceable house, as you see. I have no hiding-places, nor secret -chambers. Where could I put you that all that wanted could not see? Oh, -for the love of God, go away! I know nothing about you. I could not -betray you if--if I desired to do so.” - -“You would never betray anybody,” he said, quite calmly. “I know what is -in a face. If you thought it would be to my harm, though you hate me and -fear me, you would die before you would say a word.” - -“God forbid I should hate you!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, with trembling white -lips. “Why should I hate you?--but oh, it is late at night, and you will -get no bed any place if you do not hurry and go away.” - -“That’s what I ask myself,” he said, unmoved. “Why should you hate me, -if you know nothing about me?--that is what surprises me. You know -something about me, eh?--you have a guess who I am? you are not -terrified to death when a tramp comes in to your grounds, or a gentleman -strays: eh? You call for Andrew. But you haven’t called for Andrew--you -know who I am?” - -“I know what you are not,” she cried, with the energy of despair. “You -are no vagrant, nor yet a gentleman astray. You would have gone away -when I bid you, either for fear or for right feeling, if you had been -the one or the other. I know you not. But go, for God’s sake go, and I -will say no word to your hurt, if all the world were clamouring after -you. Oh, man, will ye go?” - -She thought she heard that well-known click of the gate,--the sound -which she had listened for, for years--the sound most unwished and -unlooked for now--of Robbie coming home. He saw her momentary pause and -the holding of her breath, the almost imperceptible turn of her head as -she listened. It had now become almost dark, and she was not much more -than a shadow to him, as he was to her; but the whiteness of her shawl -and cap made her outline more distinct underneath the faintly waving -shadows of the surrounding trees. The stranger settled himself into the -corner of the bench. He watched her repressed movements and signs of -agitation with amusement, as one watches a child. She would not betray -him--but even in the dimness of the evening air she betrayed herself. -Her eagerness, her agitation, were far more, he judged rightly, being a -man accustomed to study the human race and its ways, than any chance -accident would have brought about. She was a plucky old lady. A vagrant -would have had no terrors for her, still less a gentleman--a gentleman! -that name that the English give such weight to. Her appeal to him as -being like one had gone deep into his soul. - -“I will do better,” he said, “mother, than seek a bed in any strange -place; you will give me one here.” - -“I hope you will not force me--to take strong measures,” she said, with -consternation which she could scarcely conceal. “There is a -constable--not far off. I will have to send for him, loath, loath though -I would be to do so, if ye will not go away.” - -The stranger laughed, and made again that movement towards his pocket. -“You will have to provide then for his widow and his orphans: and a -country constable has always a large family,” he said. - -“Man,” cried the little lady with passion, “will ye mock both at the law -and at what is right? Then you shall not mock at me. I will put you -forth from my door with my own hands.” - -“Ah,” he said, startled, “that’s a different thing.” He was moved by -this extraordinary threat. Even in her agitation Mrs Ogilvy felt there -must be some good in him, for he was visibly moved. And she felt her -power. She went forward undaunted to take him by the arm. When she was -close to him he put out his hand, and smiled in her face, not with a -smile of ridicule but of appeal. “Mother,” he said, “is it the act of a -mother to turn a man out of doors to the wild beasts that seek his -life--even if he has deserved it, and if he is not her son?” - -There came from her strained bosom a faint cry. A mother, what is that? -The tigress that owns one cub, and would murder and slay a thousand for -it, as men sometimes say--or something that is pity and help and love, -the mother of all sons through her own? Her hand dropped from his -shoulder. The sensation that she would have done what she threatened, -that he would not have resisted her, made her incapable even of a touch -after that. - -“Besides,” he said in another tone, having, as he perceived, gained the -victory, “I have come to tell you of your son.” - -A swift and sudden change came over Mrs Ogilvy’s mind. He did not know, -then, that Robbie had come back. He had come in ignorance, not meaning -any harm, meaning to appeal to her for help for Robbie’s sake. And she -was in no danger from him, though Robbie was. She might even help him -secretly, and do her son no harm. If only a good Providence would keep -Robbie late to-night. - -“Sir,” she said, “I can do nothing against you with my son’s name on -your lips; but if you are in danger as you say, there is no safety for -you here. I have friends coming to see me that would wonder at you, and -find out about you, and would not be held back like me. I cannot -undertake for what times they might come, morning or night: and their -first question would be, Who is that you have in your house? and, What -is he doing here? You would not be safe. I have a number of -friends--more than I want, more than I want--if there was anything to -hide. But if you will trust yourself to me, I will find a good bed for -you, and a safe place, where my word will be enough. I will send my -woman-servant with you. That will carry no suspicion: and I will come -myself in the morning to see what I can do for you--what you want, if it -is clothes or if it is money, or---- Ah! I think I heard the click of -that gate,--that will be somebody coming. There is a road by the back of -the house--oh, come with me and I will show you the way!” - -For a moment he seemed inclined to yield; but he saw her extreme -agitation, and his quick perception divined something more than alarm -for him behind. - -“I think,” he said, stretching himself out on the bench, “that I prefer -to take the risks and to stay. If I cannot take in a parcel of your -country-folks, I am not good for much. You can say I am a friend of -Rob’s. And that is true, and I bring you news of him--eh? Don’t you want -to hear news of your son?” - -She heard a step on the gravel coming up the slope, slow as it was now, -not springy and swift as Robbie’s once was, and her anguish grew. She -took hold of his arm again, of his hand. “Come with me, come with me,” -she cried, scarcely able to get out the words, “before you are seen! -Come with me before you are seen!” - -He was so carried away by her passion, of which all the same he was very -suspicious, that he permitted her to raise him to his feet, following -her impulse with a curious smile on his face, perhaps touched by the -feeling of the small old soft hand that laid hold upon his--when Janet -with her large solid figure filling the whole framework of the door -suddenly appeared behind him. “Will I bring in the supper, mem?” Janet -said in her tranquil tones, “for I hear Mr Robert coming up the road: -and you’re ower lang out in the night and the falling dew.” - -The stranger threw himself back on the bench with a loud laugh that -seemed to tear the silence and rend it. “So that’s how it is!” he said. -“You’ve got Rob here--that’s how it is! I thought you knew more than -you said. Dash you, old woman, I was beginning to believe in you! And -all the time it was for your precious son!” - -Mrs Ogilvy took hold of the back of her chair again to support her. Here -was this strange man now in possession of her poor little fortress. And -Robbie would be here also in a moment. Two lawless broken men, and only -she between them, a small old woman, to restrain them, to conceal them, -to feed and care for them, to save their lives it might be. She felt -that if the little support of the chair were taken from her she would -drop. And yet she must stand for them, fight for them, face the world as -their champion. She felt the stranger’s reproach, too, thrill through -her with a pang of compunction over all. Yes, it had been not for his -sake, not for pity or the love of God, but for her son’s sake, for the -love of Robbie. She was the tigress with her cub, after all. Her heart -spoke a word faintly in her own defence, that it was not to betray this -strange man that she had intended, but to save him too: only also to get -him out of her way, out of Robbie’s way; to save her son from the danger -of his company, and from those still more apparent dangers which might -arise from his mere presence here. She did not say a word, however, -except faintly, with a little nod of her head to Janet, “Ay,--and put -another place.” The words were so little distinct that, but for her -mistress’s look towards the equally indistinct figure on the bench, -Janet would not have understood. With a little start of surprise and -alarm she disappeared into the house, troubled in her mind, she knew not -why. “Andrew,” she said to her husband when she returned to the kitchen, -“I would just take a turn about the doors, if I were you, in case ye -should be wanted.” “Wha would want me? and what for should I turn about -the doors at this hour of the nicht?” “Oh, I was just thinking----” said -Janet: but she added no more. After all, so long as Mr Robert was there, -nothing could happen to his mother, whoever the strange man might be. - -There was silence between the two outside the door of the Hewan--silence -through which the sound of Robbie’s slow advancing step sounded with -strange significance. He walked slowly nowadays--at least heavily, with -the step of a man who has lost the spring of youth: and to-night he was -tired, no doubt by the long day in Edinburgh, and going from place to -place seeking news which, alas! he would only find very distinct, very -positive, at home. While Mrs Ogilvy, in this suspense, almost counted -her son’s steps as he drew near, the other watcher on the bench, almost -invisible as the soft dimness grew darker and darker, listened too. He -said “Groggy?” with a slight laugh, which was like a knife in her -breast. She thought she smelt the sickening atmosphere of the whisky -and tobacco come into the pure night air, but said half aloud, “No, no,” -with a sense of the intolerable. No, no, he had never given her that to -bear. - -And then Robbie appeared another shadow in the opening of the road. He -did not quicken his pace, even when he saw his mother waiting for him: -his foot was like lead--not life enough in it to disturb the gravel on -the path. - -“You’re late, Robbie.” - -“I might have been later and no harm done,” he said, sulkily. “Yes, I’m -late, and tired, and with bad news which is the worst of all.” - -“What bad news?” she cried. - -Robbie did not see the vague figure, another shadow, in grey -indistinguishable garments like the night, which lay on the bench. He -came up to her heavily with his slow steps, and then stopped and said, -with an unconscious dramatic distinctness, “That fellow--has come home. -He’s in England, or perhaps even in Scotland, by now: and the peace of -my life’s gone.” - -“Oh, Robbie,” cried his mother in anguish, wringing her hands; and then -she put her hands on his shoulders, trying to impart her information by -the thrill of their trembling, which gave a shake to his heavy figure -too. “Be silent, be silent; say no more!” - -“Why should I say no more? I expected you would feel it as I do: home -was coming over me, the feeling of being here--and you--and Susie. But -now that’s all over. You cannot get away from your fate. That man’s my -fate. He will turn me round his little finger,--he will make me do, not -what I like, but what he likes. It’s my fault. I have put myself in his -power. I would go away again, but I know I would meet him, round the -first corner, outside the door.” And Robert Ogilvy sighed--a profound, -deep breath of hopelessness which seemed to come from the bottom of his -heart. He put his heavy hand on the chair which had supported his -mother. She now stood alone, unsupported even by that slight prop. - -“You will come in now, my dear, and rest. You have had a hard day: and -everything is worse when you are tired. Janet has laid your supper -ready; and when you have rested, then we’ll hear all that has -happened--and think,” she said, with a tremor in her voice, “what to -do.” - -She did not dare to look at the stranger directly, lest Robbie should -discover him; but she gave a glance, a movement, in his direction, an -appeal--which that close observer understood well enough. She had the -thought that her son might escape him yet--at which the other smiled in -his heart, but humoured her so far that he did not say anything yet. - -“It is easy for you,” said Robbie, with another profound sigh, “to -think what you will do--you neither know the man, nor his cleverness, -nor the weak deevil I am. I’ll not go in. That craze of yours for all -your windows open--they’re not shut yet, by George! and it’s ten o’clock -and more--takes off any feeling of safety there might be in the house. I -shall sit here and watch for him. At least I can see him coming, here.” - -“Robbie, oh Robbie! come in, come in, if you would not kill me!” - -“Don’t take so much trouble, old lady,” said the stranger from the -bench, at the sound of whose voice Robbie started so violently, taking -up the chair in his hand, that his mother made a spring and placed -herself between them. “I see what you want to do, but you can’t do it. -It’s fate, as he says; and he’ll calm down when he knows I am here. So, -Bob, you stole a march on me,” he said, raising himself up. He was the -taller man, but Robbie was the heavier. They stood for a moment--two -dark shadows in the night--so near that the whiteness of Mrs Ogilvy’s -shawl brushed them on either side. - -“You’re here, then, already!” Robbie held the chair for a moment like a -weapon of offence, and then pitched it from him. “What’s the good? I -might have known, if there was an unlikely spot on the earth, that’s -where you would be found.” - -“You thought this an unlikely spot? Why, you’ve told me of it often -enough, old fellow: safety itself and quiet; and your mother that would -feed us like fighting cocks. Where else did you think I would come? The -t’other places are too hot for us both. But I say, old lady, I should -not mind having a look at that supper now: we’ve only been waiting for -Rob, don’t you know?” - -Mrs Ogilvy, in her anguish, made still another appeal. She said, “For -one moment listen to me. I don’t even know your name; but there’s one -thing I know--that you two are safest apart. I am not, sir, meaning my -son alone,” she said with severity, for the stranger had given vent to a -short laugh, “nor for the evil company that I have heard you are. I am -speaking just of your safety. You are in more danger than he is, and -there’s more chance they will look for you here than elsewhere. If it -was to save your life,” she added, after a pause to recover her voice, -“even for Robbie, no, I would not give up a young man like you to what -you call your fate. But you’re safest apart: if you think a moment you -will see that. I will,” cried the little indistinguishable whiteness -between the two men, “take it in my hands. You shall have meat, you -shall have rest, you shall have whatever you need to take you--wherever -may be best; not for him, but for you. Young man, in the name of God -listen to me--it’s not that I would harm you! The farther off you are -from each other the safer you are--both. And I’ll help--I’ll help you -with all my heart.” - -“There’s reason in what she says, Bob,” said the stranger, in an easy -voice, as if of a quite indifferent matter. “The old lady has a great -deal of sense. You would have been wise to take her advice long ago -while there was time for it.” - -She stood between them, her hands clasped, with a forlorn hope in the -new-comer, who was not contemptuous of her, like Robbie--who listened so -civilly to all she said. - -“But,” he added, with a laugh, “what’s safety after all? It’s death -alive; it’s not for you and me. The time for a meal and a sleep, and -then to face the world again--eh, Bob? that’s all a man wants. Let’s see -that supper. I am half dead for want of food.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -Robert had led the way sullenly into the dining-room. He had made as -though he would not sit down at table, where the other placed himself at -once unceremoniously, pulling towards him the dish which Janet had just -placed on the table, and helping himself eagerly--waiting for no grace, -giving no thanks, nor even the tribute of civility to his entertainers, -as Mrs Ogilvy remarked in passing, though her mind was full of other and -more important things. “I’m too tired, I think, to eat; I’ll go to bed, -mother,” Robbie said. Mrs Ogilvy seized the chance of separating him -from the other with rapture. She ventured--it was not always she could -do so--to give him a good-night kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “I -will send you up something,” unwilling that he should suffer by so much -as a spoilt meal. - -“What! are you going to leave me in the lurch, Bob? steal another march -on me, now I’ve thrown myself like an innocent on your good faith? -That’s not like a _bon camarade_. I thought we were to stick to each -other for life or death.” - -“I never bargained--you were to come here and frighten my mother.” - -“No, no,” she cried; “no, no,” with her hand on his arm patting it -softly, endeavouring to lead him away. - -“Your mother’s not frightened, old boy. She’s full of pluck, and we’re -the best of friends. It’s you that are frightened. You think I’ve got -hold of you again. So I have, and you’re not going to give me the slip -so soon. Sit down and don’t be uncivil. I never yet got the good of a -dinner by myself.” - -Mrs Ogilvy held her son’s arm with her hand. She felt the thrill in him -turning towards his old comrade, though he did not move. Perhaps the -pressure of her hand was too strong on his arm. A woman does not know -exactly how far to go. An added hair’s-breadth is sometimes too much. - -“I don’t want to be uncivil,” said Robbie, after a moment’s hesitation. -“After all, I think I’ll try to eat a morsel, mother; I’m in my own -place. And you asked him in, I suppose; he’s in a manner your guest----” - -“If you think so, Robbie----” Her hand loosened from his arm. Perhaps if -she had been firm at that moment,--but she had already been fighting for -a long time; and when a woman is old she gets tired. Her legs were -trembling under her. She did not feel as if she could stand many minutes -longer. She did, however; while Robbie, with an air of much sullenness -and reluctance, took his place at the table, and secured the remains of -the dish which his friend had nearly emptied. Robert held his place as -host with an air of offended dignity, which would have touched his -mother with amusement had her mind been more free. But there was no -strength in him; already he was yielding to the stronger personality; -and as he ate and listened, though in spite of himself, it was clear -that one by one the reluctances gave way. Mrs Ogilvy did not pretend to -take part in the meal. It was prepared for Robbie, as was always the -case when he went to Edinburgh and returned late. She remained in the -room for a time, sometimes going to the kitchen to see what more could -be found to replenish the table,--for the stranger ate as if he had -fasted for a twelvemonth, and Robbie on his part had always an excellent -appetite. How it did not choke them even to swallow a morsel in the -situation of danger in which they were, bewildered her. And greater -wonders still arose. As she went and came, the conversation quickened -between them; and when she came back the second time from the kitchen, -Robbie was leaning back in his chair, his mouth open in a great peal of -laughter, his countenance so brightened and smoothed out, that for the -first time since his return Mrs Ogilvy’s heart bounded with a -recognition of her bright-faced smiling boy as he had been, but was no -more. His face overcast again for a moment at the sight of her, as if -that was enough to damp all pleasurable emotion; and when she had again -looked round the table to see if anything was wanted, the mother, with a -little movement of wounded pride, left them. She went into her parlour, -and sat down in the dark, in the silence, to rest a little. If her -overstrained nerves and the quick sensation of the wound of the moment -brought a tear or two to her eyes, that was nothing. Her mind -immediately began to plan and arrange how this dangerous stranger could -be got away, how his safety could be secured. I presume that Mrs Ogilvy -had forgotten what his crime was. Is it not impossible to believe that a -man who is under your own roof, who is like other men, who has smiled -and spoken, and shown no barbarous tendency, should be a murderer? The -consciousness of that had gone out of her mind. She thought, on the -contrary, that there was good in him: that he was not without -understanding, even of herself, an old woman, which was, Mrs Ogilvy was -aware, unusual among young men. He had no contempt for her, which was -what they generally had, even Robbie: perhaps--it was at least within -the bounds of possibility--he might be got to do what she suggested. She -searched into all the depths to find out what would be the best. To -provide a place for him more private than the Hewan, a room in a -cottage which she knew, where he would be made quite comfortable; and -then, after great thought taken, where would be the best and safest -refuge, to get him to depart thither, with money enough--money which, -with a faint pang to lose it for Robbie, she felt would be well-spent -money to free him for ever from that dangerous companion. Mrs Ogilvy -thought, and better thought, as she herself described the process: where -would be the safest place for him to go? How would one of the Highland -isles do, or the Isle of Man, or perhaps these other islands which she -believed were French, though that would most likely make no -difference--Guernsey or Jersey, or some of these? She was strongly, in -her mind, in favour of an island. It was not so easy to get at, and yet -it was easy to escape from should there be any pursuit. She thought, and -better thought, sitting there in the dark, with the window still open, -and the air of the night blowing in. The wind was cold rather; but her -mind was so taken up that she scarcely felt it. It is when the mind is -quite free that you have time to think of all these little things. - -While she was sitting so quiet the conversation evidently warmed in the -other room, the voices grew louder, there were peals of laughter, sounds -of gaiety which had not been heard there for many a day. Mrs Ogilvy’s -heart rose in spite of herself. She had not heard Robbie laugh like -that--not since he was a boy. God bless him! And, oh, might she not -say, God bless the other too, that made him laugh so hearty? He could -not be all bad, that other one: certainly there was good in him. It was -not possible that he could laugh like that, a man hunted for his life, -if he had his conscience against him too. She began to think that there -must be some mistake. And so great are the inconsistencies of human -nature, that this mother who had repulsed the stranger with almost -tragic passion so short a time ago, sat in the dark soothed and almost -happy in his presence--almost glad that her Robbie had a friend. She -heard Janet come and go, with a cheerful word addressed to her, and -giving cheerful words in return and advice to the young men to go to -their beds and not sit up till all the hours of the night. After one of -these colloquies Robbie came into the room where Mrs Ogilvy was. “Are -you here, mother?” he said, “sitting in the dark without a candle--and -the window still open. I think it is your craze to keep these windows -open, whatever I may say.” - -“It can matter little now, Robbie--since he’s here.” - -“Oh, since he’s here! and how about those that may come after him? But -you never will see what I mean. There is more need than ever to bar the -doors.” He closed the window himself with vehemence, and the shutters, -leaving her in total darkness. “I will tell Janet to bring you a -light,” he said. - -“You need not do that: I will maybe go up-stairs.” - -“To your bed--as Janet has been bidding us to do.” - -“I’ll not promise” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ve many things to think of.” - -“Never mind to-night; but there’s one thing I want of you,--your keys. -Janet says the mistress locks everything up but just what is going. -There is next to nothing in the bottle.” - -“Oh, Robbie, my man, it’s neither good for him nor for you! It would be -far better, as Janet says, to go to your beds.” - -“It is a pretty thing,” said Robbie, “that I cannot entertain a friend, -not for once, and he a stranger that has heard me boast of my home; and -that you should grudge me the first pleasant night I have had in this -miserable dull place.” - -“Oh, Robbie!” she cried, as if he had given her a blow. And then -trembling she put her keys into his hand, groping to find it in the -dark. He went away with a murmur, whether of thanks or grumbling she -could not tell, and left her thus to feel the full force of that flying -stroke. Then she picked herself up again, and allowed to herself that it -was a dull place for a young man that had been out in the world and had -seen much. And it was natural that he should be pleased and excited, -with a man to talk to. Almost all women are humble on this point. They -do not hope that their men can be satisfied with their company, but are -glad that they should have other men to add salt and savour to their -life. It gave Mrs Ogilvy a pang to hear her gardevin unlocked, and the -bottles sounding as they were taken out: but yet that he should make -merry with his friend, was not that sanctioned by the very Scripture -itself? She sat there a while trying to resume the course of her -thoughts; but the sound of the talk, the laughing, the clinking of the -glasses, filled the air and disordered all these thoughts. She went -softly up-stairs after a while; but the sounds pursued her there almost -more distinctly, for her room was over the dining-room,--the two voices -in endless conversation, the laughter, the smell of their tobacco. You -would have said two light-hearted laddies to hear them, Mrs Ogilvy said -to herself: and one of them a hunted man, in danger of his life! She did -not sleep much that night, nor even go to bed, but sat up fully dressed, -the early daylight finding her out suddenly in her white shawl and cap -when it came in, oh! so early, revealing the whole familiar world -about,--giving her a surprise, too, to see herself in the glass, with -her candle flickering on the table beside her. It was broad -daylight--but they would not see it, their shutters being closed--before -the sounds ceased, and she heard them stumbling up-stairs, still -talking and making a great noise in the silence, to their rooms; and -then after a while everything was still. And then she could think. - -Then she could think! Oh, her plan was a very simple one, involving -little thought,--first that house down the water, on the very edge of -the river, where Andrew’s brother lived. It was as quiet a place as -heart could desire, and a very nice room, where in her good days, in -Robbie’s boyhood, in the time when there were often visitors at the -Hewan, she had sent any guest she had not room for. Down the steep bank -behind on which the Hewan stood, you could almost have slid down to the -little house in the glen. There would be very little risk there. Robbie -and he could see each other, and nobody the wiser; and then, after he -was well rested, he would see the danger of staying in a place like the -Hewan, where anybody at any moment might walk up to the door. And then -the place must be chosen where he should go. If he would but go quiet to -one of the islands, and be out of danger! Mrs Ogilvy’s mind was very -much set on one of the islands; I cannot tell why. It seemed to her so -much safer to be surrounded by the sea on every side. If he would -consent to go to St Kilda or some place like that, where he would be as -safe as a bird in its nest. Ah! but St Kilda--among the poor -fisher-folk, where he would have no one to speak to. A chill came over -her heart in the middle of her plans. Would he not laugh in her face if -she proposed it? Would he go, however safe it might be? Did he care so -much for his safety as that? She wrung her hands with a sense of -impotence, and that all her fine plans, when she had made them, would -come to nothing. She might plan and plan; but if he would not do it, -what would her planning matter? If she planned for Robbie in the same -way, would he do it? And she had no power over this strange man. Then -after demonstrating to herself the folly of it, she began her planning -all over again. - -In the morning there were the usual pleasant sounds in the house of -natural awakening and new beginning, and Mrs Ogilvy got up at her usual -hour and dressed herself with her usual care. She saw, when she looked -at herself in the glass, that she was paler than usual. But what did -that matter for an old woman? She was not tired--she did not feel her -body at all. She was all life and force and energy, thrilling to her -finger-points with the desire of doing something--the ability to do -whatever might be wanted. She would have gone off to St Kilda straight -without the loss of a moment, if her doing so could have been of any -avail. But of what avail could that have been? The early morning passed -over in its usual occupations, and grew to noon before there was any -stirring up-stairs. Then Janet, who had no responsibility, who had -always kept her old footing with Robbie as his old nurse who might say -anything and do anything--without gravity, laughing with him at herself -and her old domineering ways, yet sometimes influencing him with her -domineering more than his mother’s anxious love could do--Janet went -boldly up-stairs with her jugs of hot water, and knocked at one door -after another. Mrs Ogilvy then heard various stirrings, shouts to know -what was wanted, openings of doors, Robbie, large and heavy, though with -slippered feet, going into his companion’s room, and the loud talk of -last night resumed. Nearly one o’clock, the middle of the day. Alas for -that journey to St Kilda, or anywhere! When the day was half over, how -was any such enterprise to be undertaken? And if the police were after -him--the police! in her honourable, honest, stainless house--how was he -to get away, to have a chance of escape? in his bed and undefended, -sleeping and insensible to any danger, till one of the clock. It must -have been two before Robbie showed down-stairs. He was a little abashed, -not facing his mother--looking, she thought, as if his eyes had been -boiled. - -“We were a little late last night,” he said. “I’m sorry, but it’s -nothing to look so serious about. Lew’s first night.” - -“Robbie,” she said, “it’s nothing. I’m old-fashioned. I have my -prejudices. But it was not that I was thinking of. Is he in danger of -his life or no?” - -Robbie blanched a little at this, but shook himself with nervous -impatience. “That’s a big word to use,” he said. - -“It was the word he used to me when he came upon me last night. If he is -in danger of his life, he is not safe for a moment here.” - -“Rubbish!” said Robbie; “why is he not safe? It is as out of the way as -anything can be. Not a soul about but your village people, who don’t -know him from Adam, nor anything about us, good or bad. I am just your -son to them, and he is just my friend.” - -“If that were so! It is not a thing I know about: it is only what you -have told me, him and you. He said he was in danger of his life.” - -“He was a fool for his pains; but he always liked a sensation, and to -talk big----” - -“Then it is not true?” - -She looked at him, and he at her. He was pale, too, with the doings of -last night, but a quick colour flashed over his face under her eyes. “I -am not going to be cross-examined,” he said. Then after a pause: “It may -be true, and it mayn’t be true--if they’re on his track. But he doesn’t -think now that they are on his track.” - -“He thought so last night, Robbie.” - -“What does it matter about last night? You’re insufferable--you can -imagine nothing. There is a difference between a man when he’s tired and -fasting, and when he’s had a good rest and a square meal. He doesn’t -think so now. He’s quite happy about us both. He says we’ll pull along -here famously for a time. You so motherly (he likes you), and Janet such -a good cook, and the whisky very decent. He’s a connoisseur, I can tell -you!--and nobody here that has half an idea in their heads----” - -“You may be deceived, there,” said Mrs Ogilvy, suddenly resenting what -he said--“you may be deceived in that, both him and you----” - -“Not about the cook and the whisky,” said Robbie, with a laugh. “In -short, we think we can lie on our oars a little and watch events. We can -cut and run at any moment if danger appears.” - -“You say ‘we,’ Robbie?” - -“Yes,” he said, with a momentary scowl, “I said ‘we.’ Of course, I’m in -with Lew as soon as he turns up. I always said I was. You forget the -nonsense I’ve talked about him. That’s all being out of sight that -corrupts the mind. Lord, what a difference it makes to have him here!” - -She looked a little wistfully at the young man to whom her own love and -devotion mattered nothing. He calculated on it freely, took advantage of -it, and thought no more of it--which was “quite natural”: she quieted -all possibilities of rebellion in her own mind by this. “But, Robbie,” -she said, “if he is in danger. I’m not one to advise you to be -unfaithful to a friend--oh, not even if---- But his welfare goes before -all. If it’s true all I’ve heard--if there’s been wild work out yonder -in America, and he’s blamed for it----” - -“Who told you that?” - -“Partly Mr Somerville before you came, Robbie, and partly yourself--and -partly it was in a newspaper I read.” - -“A newspaper!” he cried, almost with a shout. “If it has been in the -newspapers here----” - -“I did not say it was a newspaper here.” - -“I know what it was,” said Robbie, with a scornful laugh. “You’ve been -at a woman’s tricks. I thought you were above them. You’ve searched my -pockets, and you’ve found it there.” - -“I found it lying with your coat, in no pocket: and I had seen it before -in Mr Somerville’s hands. You go too far--you go too far!” she said. - -“Well,” he said with bravado, “what does a Yankee paper matter?--nobody -reads them here. Anyhow,” he added, “Lew and I, we’re going to face it -out. We’ll stay where we are, and make ourselves as comfortable as we -can. Danger at present there’s none. Oh, you need not answer me with -supposing this or that; I know.” - -Mrs Ogilvy opened her lips to speak, but said no word. She was perhaps -tempted to suggest that it was her house, her money, her life and -comfort, of which these two men were disposing so calmly; but she did -not. After all, she said to herself, it was not hers, but Robbie’s; -everything that was hers was his. She had saved the money which he might -have been spending had he been at home--which he might have been -extravagant with, who could tell?--for him. And should she grudge him -the use of it now? If he was right, if all was safe, if there was no -need for alarm, why, then---- Her peace was gone; but had she not all -these years been ready to sacrifice peace, comfort, life -itself--everything in the world--for Robbie’s sake? And now that he had -been brought back to her as if it were out of the grave,--“this thy son -was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found,”--what was -there more to say? That father who ran out to meet his son, who fell -upon his neck, and clothed him in the best garment, and would not even -listen to his confession and penitence--perhaps when the prodigal had -settled back again into the monotony of home, was not so happy in him as -he had hoped to be. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -There followed after this a period which was the most terrible of Mrs -Ogilvy’s life. It had not the anguish of that previous time when Robert -had disappeared from his home; but in pain and active distress, and the -horrors of fear and anxiety, it was sometimes almost as bad--sometimes -worse than that. When she looked back on it after, it seemed to her like -a nightmare, the dream of a long fever too dreadful to be true. The -happiness of having her son under her own roof was turned into torture, -though still remaining in its way a kind of terrible happiness; for did -not she see him day by day falling into all that was to her mind most -appalling--the habits of such a life as was odious and terrible to the -poor lady, with all her traditions of decent living, all her prejudices -and delicacies? His very voice had changed; it was more gay and lively -at times than she had ever known, and this gave her a pang of pleasure -often in the midst of her trouble. Indeed there were times when even the -noise of the two young men in the house affected her mind with a certain -pleasure and elation, and gratitude to God that she was there to make -their life possible, to make it comfortable, to give them occasion for -the light-heartedness, though she could not understand it, which they -showed. But these were evanescent moments, and her life day by day was a -kind of horror to her, as if she were herself affected by the careless -ways, the profane words, the self-indulgence, and disregard of -everything lovely and honest and of good report, which she seemed to be -encouraging and keeping up while she looked on and suffered. - -The situation is too poignant to be easily recorded. One has heard of a -wife oppressed and disgusted by a dissipated husband; one has heard of -the horrors of a drunkard’s home. But this was a different thing. So far -as any one in the house was aware, these young men were not drunkards. -There were no dreadful scenes in which they lost control of themselves -or the possession of their senses. Was it almost worse than that? Mrs -Ogilvy felt as if she were being put through the treatment which some -people suppose to be a cure for that terrible weakness, the mixture of -intoxicating spirit with every meal and every dish. Her very cup of tea, -the old lady’s modest indulgence, seemed to be flavoured from the -eternal whisky-bottle which was always there, the smell and the sight of -which made her sick, made her frantic with suppressed misery. They meant -no harm, she tried to explain to herself. It was a habit of their rough -life, and the much exercise and fatigue to which they subjected -themselves, for good or for evil, in the far-away place from which they -had come, the outskirts of civilisation. They were not capable of -understanding what it was to her to see her trim dining-room always made -disorderly (as she felt) by that bottle, the atmosphere flavoured with -it, its presence always manifest. The pipes, too: her mantelpiece, -always so nicely arranged with its clock, its flower-vases, its shells -and ornaments, was now encumbered and dusty with pipes, with ashes of -cigars, with cans and papers of tobacco: how they would have laughed had -they known what a vexation this was! or rather Robbie would have been -angry--he would have said it was one of her ridiculous ways--and only -the other would have laughed. It is a little hard to have your son speak -of your ridiculous ways before another man who is indulgent and laughs. -But still the pipes were nothing in comparison with that other -thing--the bottle of whisky always there. What would the grocer in -Eskholm think, from whom she got her supplies, when, instead of the -small discreet bottle at long intervals--for not to have whisky in the -house, the old-fashioned Scotch remedy for so many things, would have -seemed to Mrs Ogilvy almost a crime--there were gallon jars, she did not -like to ask Andrew how many, supplied to the Hewan? The idea that it was -not respectable cut into her like a knife. And it would be thought that -it was Robbie who consumed all that,--Robbie, who was known to be there, -yet never had been seen in Eskholm, or taking his walks like other sober -folk on Eskside. - -And they turned life upside down altogether, both in and out of the -house. They rarely went out in daylight, but would take long walks, -scouring the country in the late evening, and come home very late to sit -down to a supper specially prepared for them, as on the first day of the -stranger’s appearance. He had affected to think it was the ordinary -habit of the house, and approved of it much, he said. And they sat late -after it, always with a new bottle of whisky, and went to bed in the -daylight of the early summer morning, with the natural consequence that -they did not get up till the middle of the day, lacerating Mrs Ogilvy’s -mind, doing everything that she thought most disorderly and wrong. She -never went to bed until they had come in and she had seen them safely -established at their supper. And then she would go quietly up-stairs, -but not to rest--for her room was over the dining-room, as has been -said, and the noise of their talk, their jokes and laughter, kept sleep -from her eyes. She was not a very good sleeper at the best. It could -scarcely, she said to herself, be considered their fault. And sometimes -the sound of their cheerful voices brought a sudden sense of strange -happiness with it. Men that are ill men, that have done dreadful things, -could not laugh like that, she would sometimes feel confident--and -Robbie gay and loud, though all that she had once hoped to be refinement -had gone out of his voice: this had something in it that went to her -heart. If he was happy after all, what did anything else matter? His -voice rang like a trumpet. There was no sound in it of depression or -dejection. He had recovered his spirits, his confidence, his freedom. -The heavy dulness, which was his prevailing mood before the stranger -appeared, was gone. Then he had been discontented and miserable, -notwithstanding the thankfulness he expressed to have escaped from the -dominion of his former leader. But now he was, or appeared to be, happy, -hugging his chains, delighted, as it seemed, to return to his bondage. -It was not likely that this change could be a subject of gratification -to his mother; and yet his altered tone, his brightened aspect, the -sound of his laughter, gave her something that was almost like -happiness. But for this, perhaps, she could not have borne as she did -the transformation of her life. - -The two young men sometimes went to Edinburgh, as Robbie had been in the -habit of doing before the other’s arrival. They went in the morning and -returned late at night, the much disturbed and troubled household -sitting up for them to give them their meal and secure their perfect -comfort. After the first time Mrs Ogilvy, though her heart was always -full of anxiety for their safety, thought it best not to appear when -they returned. They had both gibed at her anxiety, at the absurdity and -impossibility of her sitting up for them, and her desire to tie her son -to her apron-strings. Robbie was angry, indignantly accusing her of -making him ridiculous by her foolish anxiety. Poor Mrs Ogilvy had no -desire to tie him to her apron-strings. It was not foolish fondness, but -terror, that was in her heart. She had a fear--almost a certainty--that -one time or other they would not come back,--that they would hear bad -news and not return at all, but depart again into the unknown, leaving -her on the rack. - -But though she did not appear, she sat up in her room at the window, -watching for the click of the gate, the sound of their steps on the -path, the dark figures in the half dark of the summer night. They had -means of getting news, she knew not how, and came back sometimes elated -and noisy, sometimes more quiet, according as these were bad or good. -And then she heard Janet bustling below bringing their supper, asking, -in the peremptory tones which amused them in her, if they wanted -anything more, if they could not just get what they wanted themselves, -and let a poor woman, that had to be up in the morning to her work, get -to her bed. Sometimes Janet held forth to them while she put their -supper on the table. “It’s fine for you twa strong buirdly young men, -without a hand’s turn to do, to turn day into nicht and nicht into -day--though, losh me! how ye can pit up with it, just jabbering and -reading idle books a’ the day, and good for nothing, is mair than I can -tell. But me, I’m a hard-working woman. I’ve my man’s breakfast to get -ready at seeven, and the house to clean up, and to keep the whole place -like a new pin. Bless me, if ye were to take a turn at the garden and -save Andrew’s auld bones, that are often very bad with the rheumatism, -or carry in a bucket of coals or a pail of water for me that am old -enough to be your mother, it would set you better. Just twa strong young -men, and never doing a hand’s turn--no a hand’s turn from morning to -nicht.” - -“There’s truth in what she says, Bob--we are a couple of lazy dogs.” - -“I was not just made,” said Robbie, who was less good-humoured than his -friend, “to hew wood and to draw water in my own house.” - -“It would be an honour and a credit to you to do something, Mr Robert,” -said Janet, with a touch of sternness. “Eh, laddie! the thing that’s -maist unbecoming in this world is to eat somebody’s bread and do nothing -for it--no even in the way of civeelity--for here’s the mistress put -out of everything. She has no peace by night or by day. Do you think she -is sleepin’, with you making a’ that fracaw coming in in the middle of -the nicht, and your muckle voices and your muckle steps just making a -babel o’ the house? She’s no more sleepin’ than I am: and my opinion is -that she never sleeps--just lies and ponders and ponders, and thinks -what’s to become of ye. Eh, Mr Robert, if you canna exerceese your ain -business, whatever it may be----” - -Then there was a big laugh from both of the young men. “We have not got -our tools with us, Janet,” said the stranger. - -“I’m no one that holds very much with tools, Mr Lewis,” said Janet. -“Losh! I would take up just the first thing that came, and try if I -couldna do a day’s work with that, if it were me.” - -Mr Lewis was what the household had taken to calling the visitor. He had -never been credited with any name, and Robert spoke to him as Lew. It -was Janet who had first changed this into Mr Lewis. Whether it was his -surname or his Christian name nobody inquired, nor did he give any -information, but answered to Mr Lewis quite pleasantly, as indeed he did -everything. He was, as a matter of fact, far more agreeable in the house -than Robbie, who, quiet enough before he came, was now disposed to be -somewhat imperious and exacting, and show that he was master. The old -servants, it need scarcely be said, were much aggrieved by this. “He -would just like to be cock o’ the walk, our Robbie,” Andrew said. - -“And if he is, it’s his ain mother’s house, and he has the best right,” -said Janet, not disposed to have Robert objected to by any one but -herself. “He was aye one that likit his ain way,” she added on her own -account. - -“That’s the worst o’ weemen wi’ sons,” said Andrew; “they’re spoilt and -pettit till they canna tell if they’re on their heels or their head.” - -“A bonnie one you are to say a word against the mistress,” cried Janet; -“and weemen, says he! I would just like to ken what would have become of -ye, that were just as bad as ony in your young days, if it hadna been -for the mistress and me?” - -But on the particular evening on which Janet had bestowed her advice on -the young men in the dining-room, they continued their conversation -after she was gone in another tone. “That good woman would be a little -startled if she knew what work we had been up to,” said Lewis; “and our -tools, eh, Bob?” They both laughed again, and then he became suddenly -serious. “All the same, there’s justice in what she says. We’ll have to -be doing something to get a little money. Suppose we had to cut and run -all of a sudden, as may happen any day, where should we get the needful, -eh?” - -“There’s my mother,” said Robert; “she’ll give me whatever I want.” - -“She’s a brick of an old woman; but I don’t suppose, eh, Bob? she’s what -you would call a millionaire.” Lew gave his friend a keen glance under -his eyelids. His eyes were keen and bright, always alive and watchful -like the eyes of a wild animal; whereas Robbie’s were a little heavy and -veiled, rather furtive than watchful, perhaps afraid of approaching -danger, but not keeping a keen look-out for it, like the other’s, on -every side. - -“No,” said Robert, with a curious brag and pride, “not a -millionaire--just what you see--no splendour, but everything -comfortable. She must have saved a lot of money while I was away. A -woman has no expenses. And I’m all she has; she’ll give me whatever I -want.” - -“You are all she has, and she’ll give you--whatever you want.” - -“Yes; is there anything wonderful in that? You say it in a tone----” - -“We’re not on such terms as to question each other’s tones, are we?” -said Lew. “Though I’m idle, as Janet says, I have always an eye to -business, Bob. Never mind your mother; isn’t there some old buffer in -the country that could spare us some of his gold? The nights are pretty -dark now, though they don’t last long--eh, Bob?” - -There was more a great deal than was open to a listening ear in the tone -of the question. And Robert Ogilvy grew red to his hair. “For God’s -sake,” he cried, “not a word of that here--in my own place, Lew! If -there’s anything in the world you care for----” - -“Is there anything in the world I care for?” said the other. “Not very -much, except myself. I’ve always had a robust regard for that person. -Well--I’m not fond of doing nothing, though your folks think me a lazy -dog. Janet’s eyes are well open, but she’s not so clever as she thinks. -I’m beginning to get very tired, I can tell you, of this do-nothing -life. I’d like to put a little money in my pocket, Rob. I’d like to feel -a little excitement again. We’ll take root like potatoes if we go on -like this.” - -Mr Lewis’s talk was sprinkled with words of a more energetic -description, but they waste a good deal of type and a great many marks -of admiration. The instructed can fill them in for themselves. - -“I don’t think we could be much better off,” said Robbie, with a certain -offence; “plenty of grub, and good of its kind--you said that -yourself--and a safe place to lie low in. I thought that was what you -wanted most.” - -“So it was, if a man happened always to be in the same mind. I want a -little excitement, Bob. I want a good beast under me, and the wind in my -face. I want a little fun--which perhaps wouldn’t be just fun, don’t -you know, for the men we might have the pleasure of meeting----” - -“If those detective fellows get on the trail you’ll have fun enough,” -Robert said. - -“I--both of us, if you please, old fellow: we’re in the same box. The -captain--and one of the chief members of the gang. That’s how they’ve -got us down, recollect. You never knew you were a chief member -before--eh, Rob? But I don’t like that sort of fun. I like to hunt, not -to be hunted, my boy. And I’m very tired of lying low. Let’s make a run -somewhere--eh? I like the feeling of the money that should be in another -man’s pocket tumbling into my own.” - -“It’ll not do--it’ll not do, Lew, here; I won’t have it,” cried Robbie, -getting up from his supper and pacing about the room. “I never could -bear that part of it, you know. It seems something different in a wild -country, where you never know whose the money may be--got by gambling, -and cheating, and all that, and kind of lawful to take it back again. -No, not here. I’ll give myself up, and you too, before I consent to -that.” - -“I’ve got a bit of a toy here that will have something to say to it if -any fellow turns out a sneak,” said Lew, with that movement towards his -pocket which Mrs Ogilvy did not understand. - -“Does this look like turning out a sneak?” said Robbie, looking round -with a wave of his hand. “You’ve been here nearly a month: has any one -ever said you were not welcome? Keep your toys to yourself, Lew. Two can -play at that game; but toys or no toys, I’m not with you, and I won’t -follow you here. Oh, d---- it, _here!_ where there’s such a thing as -honesty, and a man’s money is his own!” - -“My good fellow,” said the other, “but for information which you haven’t -to give, and which I could get at any little tavern I turned into, what -good are you? You never were any that I know of. You were always shaking -your head. You didn’t mind, so far as I can remember, taking a share of -the profits; but as for doing anything to secure them! I can work -without you, thank you, if I take it into my head.” - -“I hope you won’t take it into your head,” said Robbie, coming back to -the table and resuming his chair. “Why should you, when I tell you I can -get anything out of my mother? And with right too,” he continued, “for I -should have been sure to spend it all had I been at home; and she only -saved it because I was not here. Therefore the money’s justly mine by -all rules. It isn’t that I should like to see you start without me, Lew, -or that I wouldn’t take my share, whatever--whatever you might wish to -do. But what’s the good, when you can get it, and begged to accept it, -all straight and square close at hand?” - -“For a squeamish fellow you’ve got a good stiff conscience, Bob,” said -Lew, with a laugh. “I like that idea,--that though it’s bad with an old -fogey trotting home from market, it ain’t the same with your mother. In -that way it would be less of a privilege than folks would think to be -near relations to you and me, eh? I’ve got none, heaven be praised! so I -can’t practise upon ’em. But you, my chicken! that the good lady waits -up for at nights, that she would like to tie to her apron-strings----” - -“It’s my own money,” said Rob; “I should have spent it twice over if I -had been at home.” - -And presently they fell into their usual topics of conversation, and -this case of conscience was forgotten. - -Meanwhile Mrs Ogilvy fought and struggled with her thoughts up-stairs. -She had all but divined that there had been a quarrel, and had many -thoughts of going down, for she was still dressed, to clear it up. For -if they quarrelled, what could be done? She could not turn Lewis out of -her house--and indeed her heart inclined towards that soft-spoken -ruffian with a most foolish softness. He might perhaps scoff a little -now and then, but he was not unkind. He was always ready to receive her -with a smile when she appeared, which was more than her son was, and had -a way of seeming grateful and deferential whether he was really so or -not, and sometimes said a word to soothe feelings which Robbie had -ruffled, without appearing to see, which would have spoiled all, that -Robbie had wounded them. Of the two, I am afraid that Mrs Ogilvy in her -secret heart, so far down that she was herself unconscious of it, was -most indulgent to Lew. Who could tell how he had been brought up, how he -had been led astray? He might have been an orphan without any one to -look after him, whereas Robbie---- Her heart bled to think how few -excuses Robbie had, and yet excused him with innumerable eager pleas. -But the chief thing was, that life was intolerable under these -conditions: and what could she do, what could she propose, to mend -them?--life turned upside down, a constant panic hanging over it, a -terror of she knew not what, a sensation as of very existence in danger. -What could be done, what could any one do? Nothing, for she dared not -trust any one with the secret. It was heavy upon her own being, but she -dared not share it with any other. She dared not even reveal to Janet -anything of the special misery that overwhelmed her: that it was -possible the police might come--the police!--and watch the innocent -house, and bring a warrant, as if it were a nest of criminals. It made -Mrs Ogilvy jump up from her seat, spring from her bed, whenever this -thought came back to her. And in the meantime she could do nothing, but -only sit still and bear it until some dreadful climax came. - -She had a long struggle with herself before she permitted herself the -indulgence of going in to Edinburgh to see Mr Somerville, who was the -only other person who knew anything about it. After many questions with -herself, and much determined endurance of her burden, it came upon her -like an inspiration that this was the thing to do. It would be a comfort -to be able to speak to some one, to have the support of somebody else’s -judgment. It is true that she was afraid of leaving her own house even -for the little time that was necessary; but she decided that by doing -this early in the morning before the young men were up, she might do it -without risk. She gave Janet great charges to admit no one while she was -away. “Nobody--I would like nobody to come in. Mr Robert is up so late -at night that we cannot expect him to get up early _too_; but I would -not like strange folk who do not know how late he has to sit up with his -friend, to come in and find him still in his bed at twelve o’clock in -the day. There’s no harm in it; but we have all our prejudices, and I -cannot bide it to be known. You will just make the best excuse you -can----” - -“You may make your mind easy, mem,” said Janet; “I will no be wanting -for an excuse.” - -“So long as you just let nobody in,” said her mistress. Mrs Ogilvy had -never in her life availed herself even of the common and well-understood -fiction, “Not at home,” to turn away an unwelcome visitor; but she did -not inquire now what it was that Janet meant to say. She went away with -a little lightening of her heavy heart. To be able to speak to somebody -who was beyond all doubt, and incapable of betraying her, of perhaps -having something suggested to her, some plan that would afford succour, -was for the moment almost as if she had attained a certain relief. It -was July now, the very heat and climax of the year. The favoured fields -of Mid-Lothian were beginning to whiten to the harvest; the people about -were in light dresses, in their summer moods and ways, saying to each -other, “What a beautiful day--was there ever such fine weather?”--for -indeed it was a happy year without rain, without clouds. To see -everybody as usual going about their honest work was at once a pang and -a relief to Mrs Ogilvy. The world, then, was just as before--it was not -turned upside down; most people were busy doing something; there was no -suspension of the usual laws. And yet all the more for this universal -reign of law and order, which it was a refreshment to see--all the more -was it terrible to think of Robbie, lawless, careless of all rules, -wasting his life--of the two young men whom she had left behind her, -both in the strength of their manhood, doing nothing, good for nothing. -These two sensations, which were so different, tore Mrs Ogilvy’s heart -in two. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Mr Somerville was engaged with another client, and it was a long time -before Mrs Ogilvy could see him. She had to wait, trembling with -impatience, and dismayed by the passage of time, following the hands of -the clock with her eyes, wondering what perhaps might be happening at -home. She was not, perhaps, on the face of things, a very strong -defensive force, but she had got by degrees into the habit of feeling -that safety depended more or less upon her presence. She might have -perhaps a little tendency that way by nature, to think that her little -world depended upon her, and that nothing went quite right when she was -away; but this feeling was doubly strong now. She felt that the little -house was quite undefended in her absence, that all the doors and -windows which she could not bear to have shut were now standing wide -open to let misfortune come in. - -When she did at last succeed in seeing Mr Somerville, however, he was -very comforting to her. It was not that he did not see the gravity of -the situation. He was very grave indeed upon the whole matter. He did -not conceal from her his conviction that Robert stood a much worse -chance if he were found in the company of the other man. “Which is no -doubt unjust,” he said, “for I understood you to say that your son had a -great repugnance to this scoundrel who had led him astray.” Mrs Ogilvy -responded to this by a very faltering and doubtful “Yes.” Yes -indeed--Robbie had said he hated the man; but there was very little -appearance on his part of hating him now--and Mrs Ogilvy herself did not -hate Lew. She hated nobody, so that this perhaps was not wonderful, but -her feeling towards the scoundrel, as Mr Somerville called him, was more -than that abstract one. She felt herself his defender, too, as well as -her son’s. She was eager to save him as well as her son. To ransom -Robbie by giving up his companion was not what she thought of. - -I do not know whether she succeeded in conveying this impression to Mr -Somerville’s mind. But yet it was a relief to her to pour out her heart, -to tell all her trouble; and the old lawyer had a sympathetic ear. They -sat long together, going over the case, and he insisted that she should -share his lunch with him, and not go back to the Hewan fasting after the -long agitating morning. Even that was a relief to Mrs Ogilvy, though she -was scarcely aware of it, and in her heart believed that she was very -impatient to get away. But the quiet meal was grateful to her, with her -kind old friend taking an interest in her, persuading her to eat, -pouring out a modest glass of wine, paying all the attention possible in -his old-fashioned old-world way. She was very anxious to get back, and -yet the tranquil reflection gave her a sense of peace and comfort to -which she had been long a stranger. There were still people in the world -who were kind, who were willing to help her, who would listen and -understand what she had to bear, who believed everything that was good -about Robbie,--that he had been “led away,” but was now anxious, very -anxious, to return to righteous ways. Mrs Ogilvy’s heart grew lighter in -spite of herself, even though the news was not good--though she -ascertained that there was certainly an American officer in Edinburgh -whose mission was to track out the fugitives. “He must not stay at the -Hewan--it would be most dangerous for Robert: you must get him to go -away,” the old gentleman said. - -“If I could but get him to do that! but, oh, you know by yourself how -hard it is for the like of me, that never shut my doors in my life to a -stranger, to say to a man, Go!--a man that is a well-spoken man, and has -a great deal of good in him, and has no parents of his own, and never -has had instruction nor even kindness to keep him right.” - -“Mrs Ogilvy, he is a murderer,” said Mr Somerville, severely. - -“Oh, but are you sure of that? If I were sure! But a man that sits at -your table, that you see every day of his life, that does no harm, nor -is unkind to any one--how is it possible to think he has done anything -like that?” - -“But, my dear lady,” said Mr Somerville, “it is true.” - -“Oh,” cried Mrs Ogilvy, “how little do we know, when it comes to that, -what’s true and what’s not true! He’s not what you would call a hardened -criminal,” she said, with a pleading look. - -“It’s not a small matter,” said the lawyer, “to kill a man.” - -“Oh, it is terrible! I am not excusing him,” said Mrs Ogilvy, humbly. - -These young men had disturbed all the quiet order of her life. They had -turned her house into something like the taverns which, without knowing -them, were Mrs Ogilvy’s horror. Nobody could tell what a depth of shame -and misery there was to her in the noisy nights, the long summer -mornings wasted in sleep; nor how much she suffered from the careless -contempt of the one, the angry criticism of the other. It was her own -boy who was angrily critical, treating her as if she knew nothing, and -made the other laugh. One of these scenes sprang up in her mind as she -spoke, with all its accessories of despair. But yet she could not but -excuse the stranger, who had some good in him, who was not a hardened -criminal, and make her fancy picture of Robert, who had been “led -astray.” The sudden realisation of that scene, and the terror lest -something might have happened in the meantime, something from which she -might have protected them, seized upon her once more after her moment of -repose. She accepted with trembling Mr Somerville’s proposal to come out -to the Hewan to see Robbie, and to endeavour to persuade him that his -friend must be got away. “It is just some romantic notion of being -faithful to a friend,” said the old gentleman, “and the prejudice which -is in your mind too, my dear mem, in favour of one that has taken refuge -in your house--but you must get over that, in this case, both him and -you. It is too serious a matter for any sentiment,” said Mr Somerville, -very gravely. - -In the meantime things had been following their usual routine at the -Hewan. The late breakfast had been served; the three o’clock dinner, -arranged at that amazing hour in order to divide the day more or less -satisfactorily for the two young men, had followed. That the mistress -should not have come home was a great trouble and anxiety to Janet, but -not to them, who were perhaps relieved in their turn not to have her -anxious face, trying so hard to approve of them, to laugh at their -jests and mix in their conversation, superintending their meal. “Where’s -your mother having her little spree?” said the stranger. “In Edinburgh, -I suppose,” said Robbie. “Eh! Edinburgh? that’s not very good for our -health, Bob. She might drop a word----” “She will never drop any word -that would involve me,” said Robert. “Well, she’s a brick of an old -girl, and pluck for anything,” said the other. And then the conversation -came to a stop. Their talk was almost unintelligible to Janet, who was -of opinion that Mr Lewis’s speech was too “high English” for any honest -sober faculties to understand. Mrs Ogilvy’s presence, though all that -she felt was their general contempt for her, had in fact a subduing -influence upon them, and the mid-day meal was generally a comparatively -quiet one. But when that little restraint was withdrawn, the afternoon -stillness became as noisy as the night, and their voices and laughter -rose high. - -It was while they were in full enjoyment of their meal that certain -visitors arrived at the Hewan--not unusual or unfamiliar visitors, for -one of them was Susan Logan, whose visits had lately been very few. -Susie had been more wounded than words could say by Robbie’s -indifference. He had been now more than a month at home, but he had -never once found his way to the manse, or showed the slightest -inclination to renew his “friendship,” as she called it, with his old -playfellow. Susie, whose fortunes and spirits were very low, who was now -aware of what was in store for her, and whose mind was painfully -occupied with the consideration of what her own life was to be when her -father’s second marriage took place, was more than usually susceptible -to such an unkindness and affront, and she had deserted the Hewan and -her dearest friend his mother, though it was the moment in her life when -she wanted support and sympathy most. “He shall never think I am coming -after him, if he does not choose to come after me,” poor Susie had said -proudly to herself. And Mrs Ogilvy, without at all inquiring into it, -was glad and thankful beyond measure that Susan, whom next to her son -she loved best in the world, did not come. She, too, wanted sympathy and -support more than she had ever done in her life, but in her present -fever of existence she was afraid lest the secrets of her house should -be betrayed even to the kindest eye. - -Susie was accompanied on this occasion by Mrs Ainslie, her future -stepmother, a very uncongenial companion. It was not with her own will, -indeed, that she made the visit. It had been forced upon her by this -lady, who thought it “most unnatural” that Susie should see so little of -her friends, and who was anxious in her own person to secure Mrs -Ogilvy’s countenance. They did not approach the house in the usual way, -but went up the brae through the garden behind, which was a familiarity -granted to Susie all her life, and which Mrs Ainslie eagerly desired to -share. The way was steep, though it was shorter than the other, and the -elder lady paused when they reached the level of the house to take -breath. “Dear! the old lady must have company to-day. Listen! there must -be half-a-dozen people to make so much noise as that. I never knew she -entertained in this way.” - -“She does not at all entertain, as you call it, Mrs Ainslie: though it -may be some of Robbie’s friends.” Susie spoke with a deeper offence than -ever in her voice; for if Robbie was amusing himself with friends, it -was more marked than ever that he did not come to the manse. - -“Entertain is a very good word, Miss Susie, let me tell you, and I shall -entertain and show you what it means as soon as your dear father brings -me home.” - -“I shall not be there to see, Mrs Ainslie,” said Susie, glad to have -something which justified the irritation and discomfort in her mind. - -“Oh yes, you will,” said the lady. “You shan’t make a stolen match to -get rid of me. I have set my heart on marrying you, my dear, like a -daughter of my own.” - -To this Susie made no reply; and Mrs Ainslie having recovered her -breath, they walked together round the corner, which was the dining-room -corner, with one window opening upon the shrubbery that sheltered that -side of the house. Susie’s rapid glance distinguished only that there -were two figures at table, one of which she knew to be Robbie; but her -companion, who was not shy or proud like Susie, took a more deliberate -view, and received a much stronger sensation. Immediately opposite that -side window, receiving its light full on his face, sat the mysterious -inmate of Mrs Ogilvy’s house, the visitor of whom the gossips in the -village had heard, but who never was seen anywhere nor introduced to any -visitor. Mrs Ainslie uttered a suppressed exclamation and clutched -Susie’s arm; but at the same time hurried her along to the front of the -house, where she dropped upon one of the garden benches with a face -deeply flushed, and panting for breath. The dining-room had another -window on this side, but the blinds were drawn down to keep out the -sunshine. This did not, however, keep out the sound of the voices, to -which she listened with the profoundest attention, still clutching -Susie’s arm. “My goodness gracious! my merciful goodness gracious!” Mrs -Ainslie said. - -Susie was not, it is to be feared, sympathetic or interested. She pulled -her arm away. “Have you lost your breath again?” she said. - -Mrs Ainslie remained on the bench for some time, panting and listening. -The voices were quite loud and unrestrained. One of them was telling -stories with names freely mentioned, at which the other laughed, and at -which this lady sitting outside clenched her fist in her light glove. -After a minute Susie left her, saying, “I will go and find Mrs Ogilvy,” -and she remained there alone, with the most extraordinary expressions -going over her face. Her usual little affectations and fine-ladyism were -gone. It must have been an expressive face by nature; for the power with -which it expressed deadly panic, then hatred, then a rising fierceness -of anger, was extraordinary. There came upon her countenance, which was -that of a well-looking, not unamiable, but affected, middle-aged woman -in ordinary life, something of that snarl of mingled terror and ferocity -which one sees in an outraged dog not yet wound up to a spring upon his -offender. She sat and panted, and by some curious gift which belongs to -highly-strained feeling heard every word. - -This would not have happened had Mrs Ogilvy been at home--the voices -would not have been loud enough to be audible so clearly out of doors; -for the respect of things out of doors and of possible listeners, and -all the safeguards of decorum, were always involved in her presence. -Also, that story would not have been told; there was a woman in it who -was not a good woman, nor well treated by Lew’s strong speech: -therefore everything that happened afterwards no doubt sprang from that -visit of Mrs Ogilvy’s to Edinburgh; and, indeed, she herself had -foreseen, if not this harm, which she could not have divined, at least -harm of some kind proceeding from the self-indulgence to which for one -afternoon she gave way. - -“No, Miss Susie, the mistress is no in, and I canna understand it. She -went to Edinburgh to see her man of business, but was to be back long -before the dinner. The gentlemen--that is, Mr Robert and his friend--are -just at the end o’t, as ye may hear them talking. I’ll just run ben and -tell Mr Robert you are here.” - -“Don’t do that on any account, Janet. Mrs Ainslie is with me, sitting on -the bench outside, and she has lost her breath coming up the hill. -Probably she would like a glass of water or something. Don’t disturb Mr -Robert. It is of no consequence. I’ll come and see Mrs Ogilvy another -day.” - -“You are a sight for sore een as it is. The mistress misses ye awfu’, -Miss Susie: you’re no kind to her, and her in trouble.” - -“In trouble, Janet! now that Robbie has come home!” - -“Oh, Miss Susie, wherever there are men folk there is trouble; but I’ll -get a glass of wine for the lady.” - -Janet’s passage into the dining-room to get the wine was signalised by -an immediate lowering of the tone of the conversation going on within. -She came out carrying a glass of sherry, and was reluctantly followed by -Robert, who came into the drawing-room, somewhat down-looked and -shamefaced, to see his old companion and playmate. Janet, for her part, -took the sherry to Mrs Ainslie, who had drawn her veil, a white one, -over her face, concealing a little her agitated and excited countenance. -The lady was profuse in her thanks, swallowed the wine hastily, and gave -back the glass to Janet, almost pushing her away. “Thanks, thanks very -much; that will do. Now leave me quiet a little to recover myself.” - -“Maybe you would like to lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room out of -the sun. The mistress is no in, but Mr Robert is there with Miss Susie.” - -“No, thanks; I am very well where I am,” said Mrs Ainslie, with a wave -of her hand. The conversation inside had ceased, and from the other side -of the house there came a small murmur of voices. Mrs Ainslie waited -until Janet had disappeared, and then she moved cautiously, making no -sound with her feet upon the gravel, round the corner once more to the -end window. Cautiously she stooped down to the window ledge and looked -in. He was still seated opposite to the window, stretching out his long -legs, and laying back his head as if after his dinner he was inclined -for a nap. His eyes were closed. He was most perfectly at the mercy of -the spy, who gazed in upon him with a fierce eagerness, noting his -dress, his thickly grown beard, all the peculiarities of his appearance. -She even noticed with an experienced eye the heaviness of his pocket, -betraying something within that pocket to which he had moved his hand -without conveying any knowledge to Mrs Ogilvy. All of these things this -woman knew. She devoured his face with her keen eyes, and there came -from her a little unconscious sound of excitement which, though it was -not loud, conveyed itself to his watchful ear. He opened his eyes -drowsily, said something, and then closed them again, taking no more -notice. Lew had dined well and drank well; he was very nearly asleep. - -She crept round again to the front and took her seat on the bench, again -pulling down and arranging the white veil, which was almost like a mask -over her face. Susie and Robert came out to her a few minutes after, she -leading, he following. “If you will come in and rest,” said Robert, “my -mother will probably be back very soon.” - -“Oh no, it is best for us to get home,” said Mrs Ainslie. “Tell your -dear mother we were so sorry to miss her. You were very merry with your -friend, Mr Robert, when we came up to the house.” - -“My friend?” said Robbie, startled. “Yes--I have a friend in the house.” - -“All the village knows that,” said the lady, “but not who he is. Now I -have the advantage of the rest, for I saw him through the window.” - -Robert was still more startled and disturbed. “We’re--not fond of -society--neither he nor I. I was trying to explain to Susie; but it -sounds disagreeable. I--can’t leave him, and he knows nobody, so he -won’t come with me.” - -“Tell him he has an acquaintance now. You will come to see me, won’t -you? I’ve been a great deal about the world, and I’ve met almost -everybody--perhaps you, Mr Robert, I thought so the other day, and -certainly--most other people: you can come to see me when you go out for -your night walks that people talk of so. Oh, I like night walks. I might -perhaps go out a bit with you. Dark is very long of coming these Scotch -nights, ain’t it? But one of these evenings I’ll look out for you.” She -paused here, and gave him a malicious look through her veil. “I’ll look -for you, Mr Robert--and Lew.” - -Robert stood thunderstruck as the ladies went away. Susie’s eyes had -sought his with a wistful look, a sort of appeal for a word to herself, -a something to be said which should not be merely formal. But Robbie was -far too much concerned to have a thought to spare for Susie. She had not -heard Mrs Ainslie’s last words: if she had heard them, she would have -cared nothing, nor thought anything of them. What could this woman be to -Robbie? was she trying to charm him as she had charmed the innocent -unconscious minister? Susie turned away indignantly, and with a sore -heart. She saw that she was nothing to her old comrade, her early lover; -but yet she did not know how entirely she was nothing to him, and how -full his mind was of another interest. He hurried back into the -dining-room with panic in his soul. Lew lay stretched out on his chair -as Mrs Ainslie had seen him; the warm afternoon and the heavy meal had -overcome him; his long legs stretched half across the room; his head was -thrown back on the high back of his chair. His eyes were shut, his mouth -a little open. More complete rest never enveloped and soothed any fat -and greasy citizen after dinner. Robert looked at him with mingled -irritation and admiration. It is true that there was no thought of peril -in the outlaw’s mind--this long interval of quiet had put all his alarms -to sleep--but he would have been equally reckless, equally ready to take -his rest and his pleasure, had he been consciously in the midst of his -foes. - -“Lew,” said Robert, shaking him by the shoulder, and speaking in a -subdued voice very different from the noisy tones which had betrayed -them,--“Lew, wake up--there’s spies about--there’s danger at hand.” - -“Eh!” cried the other. He regarded his friend for an instant with the -half-conscious smile of an abruptly awakened sleeper. The next moment he -had shaken himself, and sat up in his chair awake and intelligent to -his very finger-points. “Spies--danger--what did you say?” - -His hand stole to his pocket instinctively once more. - -“Oh, there’s no occasion for that,” said Robert. “All that has happened -is this,--there is a woman here--that knows you, Lew----” - -“A woman--that knows me!” Perhaps it was genuine relief, perhaps only -bravado to reassure his comrade--“Well, Bob, the question is, is she a -pretty one?” - -“For heaven’s sake,” cried Robert, “be done with nonsense--this is -serious. She’s--not a young woman. I’ve heard of her: she’s a stranger, -but has got some influence in the place. She saw you as she passed that -window.” - -“I thought I saw some one pass that window--it’s a devil of a window, a -complete spy-hole.” - -“And she must have recognised you. She invited me to come to see her -when we were out on one of our night walks,--and to bring Lew.” - -Lew gave a long whistle: the colour rose slightly on his cheek. “We’ll -take her challenge, Bob, my fine fellow, and see what she knows. Jove! -I’ve been getting bored with all this quiet. A start’s a fine thing. -We’ll go and look after her to-night.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -If Mrs Ogilvy had been at home, it is almost certain that none of these -things could have happened--if she had not been kept so long, if Mr -Somerville’s other client had not detained him, and, worst of all, if -she had not been beguiled by the unaccustomed relief of a sympathetic -listener, a friendly hand held out to help her, to waste that precious -hour in taking her luncheon with her old friend. That was pure waste--to -please him, and in a foolish yielding to those claims of nature which -Mrs Ogilvy, like so many women, thought she could defy. To-day, in the -temporary relief of her mind after pouring out all her troubles--a -process which for the moment felt almost like the removal of them--she -had become aware of her own exhaustion and need of refreshment and rest. -And thus she had thrown away voluntarily a precious hour. - -She met Susie and Mrs Ainslie at her own gate, and though tired with -her walk from the station, stopped to speak to them. “We found the -gentlemen at their dinner,” Mrs Ainslie said, her usual jaunty air -increased by a sort of triumphant excitement, “and therefore of course -we did not go in; but I rested a little outside, and the sound of their -jolly voices quite did me good. They don’t speak between their teeth, -like all you people here.” - -“My son--has a friend with him,--for a very short time,” Mrs Ogilvy -said. - -“Oh yes, I know--the friend with whom he takes long walks late in the -evening. I have often heard of them in the village,” Mrs Ainslie said. - -“His visit is almost over--he is just going away,” said Mrs Ogilvy, -faintly. “I am just a little tired with my walk. Susie, you would -perhaps see--my son?” - -“I saw Robbie--for a minute. We had no time to say anything. I--could -not keep him from his dinner--and his friend,” Susie said, with a flush. -It hurt her to speak of Robbie, who had not cared to see her, who had -nothing to say to her. “We are keeping you, and you are tired: and me, I -have much to do--and perhaps soon going away altogether,” said Susie, -not able to keep a complaint which was almost an appeal out of her -voice. - -“She will go to her own house, I hope,” cried Mrs Ainslie; “and I hope -you who are a friend of the family will advise her for her good, Mrs -Ogilvy. A good husband waiting for her--and she threatens to go away -altogether, as if we were driving her out. Was there ever anything so -silly--and cruel to her father--not to speak of me----” - -“Oh, my dear Susie! if I were not so faint--and tired,” Mrs Ogilvy said. - -And Susie, full of tender compunction and interest, but daring to ask -nothing except with her eyes, hurried her companion away. - -Mrs Ogilvy went up with a slow step to her own house. She was in haste -to get there--yet would have liked to linger, to leave herself a little -more time before she confronted again those two who were so strong -against her in their combination, so careless of what she said or felt. -She thought, with a sickness at her heart, of those “jolly voices” which -that woman had heard. She knew exactly what they were--the noise, the -laughter, which at first she had been so glad to hear as a sign that -Robbie’s heart had recovered the cheerfulness of youth, but which -sometimes made her sick with misery and the sense of helplessness. She -would find them so now, rattling away with their disjointed talk, and in -her fatigue and trouble it would “turn her heart.” She went up slowly, -saying to herself, as a sort of excuse, that she could not walk as she -once could, that her breath was short and her foot uncertain and -tremulous, so that she could not be sure of not stumbling even in the -approach to her own house. - -It was a great surprise to her to see that Robbie was looking out for -her at the door. Her alarm jumped at once to the other side. Something -had happened. She was wanted. The fact that she was being looked for, -instead of pleasing her, as it might have done in other circumstances, -alarmed her now. She hurried on, not lingering any more, and reached the -door out of breath. “Is anything wrong? has anything happened?” she -cried. - -“What should have happened?” he answered, fretfully; “only that you have -been so long away. What have you been doing in Edinburgh? We thought, of -course, you would be back for dinner.” - -“I could not help it, Robbie. I had to wait till I saw--the person I -went to see.” - -“And who was the person you went to see?” he said, in that tone -half-contemptuous, as if no one she wished to see could be of the -slightest importance, and yet with an excited curiosity lest she might -have been doing something prejudicial and was not to be trusted. These -inferences of voice jarred on Mrs Ogilvy’s nerves in the weariness and -over-strain. - -“It is of no consequence,” she said. “Let me in, Robbie--let me come in -at my own door: I am so wearied that I must rest.” - -“Who was keeping you out of your own door?” he cried, making way for -her resentfully. “You tell me one moment that everything is mine--and -then you remind me for ever that it’s yours and not mine, with this talk -about your own door.” - -Mrs Ogilvy looked up at him for a moment in dismay, feeling as if there -was justice, something she had not thought of, in his remark; and then, -being overwhelmed with fatigue and the conflict of so many feelings, -went into her parlour, and sat down to recover herself in her chair. -There were no “jolly voices” about, no sound of the other whose -movements were always noisier than those of Robbie; and Robbie himself, -as he hung about, had less colour and energy than usual--or perhaps it -was only because she was tired, and everything around took colour from -her own mood. - -“Is he not with you to-day?” she said faintly. - -“Is he not with me?--you mean Lew, I suppose: where else should he be? -He’s up-stairs, I think, in his room.” - -“You say where else should he be, Robbie? Is he always to be here? I’m -wishing him no harm--far, far from that; but it would be better for -himself as well as for you if he were not here. Where you are, oh -Robbie, my dear, there’s always a clue to him: and they will come -looking for him--and they will find him--and you too--and you too!” - -“What’s the meaning of all this fuss, mother--me too, as you say?” - -“Well,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “it is perhaps not extraordinary--my only son; -but I’ve no wish that harm should come to him--oh, not in this house, -not in this house! If he would but take warning and go away where he -would be safer than here! I’ve been in Edinburgh to ask my old friend, -and your father’s friend, and your friend too, Robbie, what could be -done--if there was anything that could be done.” - -“You have gone and betrayed us, mother!” - -“I have done no such thing!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, raising herself up with a -flush of indignation--“no such thing! It was Mr Somerville who brought -me the news first, before you appeared at all. He was to hurry out to -that weary America to defend you--or send a better than himself: that -was before you came back, when we thought you were there still, and to -be tried for your life. I was going--myself,” she said, suddenly -faltering and breaking down. - -“You would not have gone, mother,” said Robbie, with a certain flash of -self-appreciation and bitter consciousness. - -“Ay, that I would to the ends of the earth! You are my Robbie, my son, -whatever you are--and oh, laddie, you might be yet--everything that you -might have been.” - -“Not very likely,” he said, with a half groan and half sneer. “And what -might I have been? A respectable clod, tramping to kirk and market--not -a thought in my head nor a feeling in my heart--all just habit and -jog-trot. I’m better as I am.” - -“You are not better as you are. You are just good for nothing in this -bonnie world that God has made--except to put good meat into you that -other folk have laboured to get ready, and to kill the blessed days He -has given you to serve Him in, with your old books, and your cards, and -any silly things that come into your head. I have seen you throwing -sticks at a bit of wood for hours together, and been thankful sometimes -that you were diverting yourselves like two bairns, and no just lying -and lounging about like two dogs in the warmth of the fire. Oh, Robbie, -what it is to me to say that to my son! and all the time the sword -hanging over your heads that any day, any day may come down!” - -“By Jove, the old girl’s right, Bob!” said a voice behind. Lew had -become curious as to the soft murmur of Mrs Ogilvy’s voice, which he -could hear running on faintly, not much interrupted by Robbie’s deeper -tones. It was not often she “preached,” as they said--indeed she had -seldom been allowed to go further than the mildest beginning; but Rob -had been this time caught unprepared, and his mother had taken the -advantage. Lew came in softly, with his lips framed to whistle, and his -hands in his pockets. He had already picked his comrade out of a sudden -Slough of Despond, caused by alarm at the declaration of the visitor, -which, to tell the truth, had made himself very uneasy. It would not do -to let the mother complete the discouragement: but this adventurer from -the wilds had a candid soul; and while Robert stood sullen, beat down by -what his mother said, yet resisting it, the other came in with a look -and word of acquiescence. “Yes, by Jove, she was right!” It did not cost -him much to acknowledge this theoretical justice of reproof. - -“The difficulty is,” he added calmly, “to know what to do in strange -diggings like these. They’re out of our line, don’t you know. I was -talking seriously to him there the other day about doing a stroke of -work: but he wouldn’t hear of it--not here, he said, not in his own -country. Ask him; he’ll tell you. I don’t understand the reason why.” - -Mrs Ogilvy, startled, looked from one to another: she did not know what -to think. What was the stroke of work which the leader had proposed, -which the follower would not consent to? Was it something for which to -applaud Robbie, or to blame him? Her heart longed to believe that it was -the first--that he had done well to refuse: but she could only look -blankly from one to another, uninformed by the malicious gleam in Lew’s -eyes, or by the spark of indignant alarm in those of Robbie. Their -meaning was quite beyond her ken. - -“If you will sit down,” she said, “both of you, and have a moment’s -patience while I speak. Mr Lew, I am in no way your unfriend.” - -“I never thought so,” he said: “on the contrary, mother. You have always -been very good to me.” - -He called her mother, as another man might have called her madam, as a -simple title of courtesy; and sometimes it made her angry, and sometimes -touched her heart. - -“But I have something to say that maybe I have said before, and -something else that is new that you must both hear. This is not a safe -place for you, Mr Lew--it is not safe for you both. For Robbie, I am -told nobody would meddle with him--alone; but his home here gives a -clue, and is a danger to you--and to have you here is a danger for him, -who would not be meddled with by himself, but who would be taken (alack, -that I should have to say it!) with you.” - -“I think, Bob,” said Lew, “that we have heard something like this, -though perhaps not so clearly stated, before.” - -He had seated himself quite comfortably in the great chair which had -been brought to the parlour for Robbie on his first arrival,--and was, -as he always was, perfectly calm, unruffled, and smiling. Robbie stood -opposite in no such amiable mood. His shaggy eyebrows were drawn down -over his eyes: his whole attitude, down-looking, shifting from one foot -to the other, with his shoulders up to his ears, betrayed his -perturbation and disquiet. Robbie had been brought to a sudden stop in -the fascination of careless and reckless life which swept his slower -nature along in its strong current. Such a thing had happened to him -before in his intercourse with Lew, and always came uppermost the moment -they were parted. It was the sudden shock of Mrs Ainslie’s announcement, -and his friend’s apparently careless reception of it, which had jarred -him first: and then there was something in the name of mother, addressed -to his own mother by a stranger--which he had heard often with quite -different feelings, sometimes half flattered by it--which added to his -troubled sense of awakening resistance and disgust. Was he to endure -this man for ever, to give up everything for him, even his closest -relationship? All rebellious, all unquiet and miserable in the sudden -strain against his bonds, he stood listening sullenly, shuffling now and -then as he changed from one foot to another, otherwise quite silent, -meeting no one’s eye. - -“Well,” said Mrs Ogilvy, her voice trembling a little, “I am perhaps not -so very clear; but this other thing I have to say is something that is -clear enough and new too, and you will know the meaning of it better -than me. I have been to-day to the gentleman who was the first to tell -me about all this--and who was to have sent out--to defend my son, and -clear him, if it was possible he should be cleared. Listen to me, -Robbie! That gentleman has told me to-day--that there is an American -officer come over express to inquire---- It will not be about -Robbie--they will leave him quiet--think, Mr Lew!--it will be for----” - -“For me, of course,” he said, lightly. “Well! if there’s danger we’ll -meet it. I like it, on the whole--it stirs a fellow’s blood. We were -getting too comfortable, Bob, settling down, making ourselves too much -at home. The next step would have been to be bored--eh? won’t say that -process hadn’t begun.” - -“Sir,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “you will not say I have been inhospitable, or -grudged you whatever I could give----” - -“Never, mother,” he said. “You’ve been as good as gold.” He had risen -from his seat, and begun to walk about with an alert light step. The -news had roused him; it had stirred his blood, as he said. “We must see -about this exit of yours--subterraneous is it?--out of the Castle of -Giant Despair--no, no, out of the good fairy’s castle, down into the -wilds. You must show me this at once, Bob. If there’s a Yank on the -trail there’s no time to be lost.” - -“There is perhaps no time to be lost--but not for him, only for you. My -words are not kind, but my meaning is,” cried Mrs Ogilvy. “It is safest -for you not to be with him, and for him not to be with you. Oh, do not -wait here till you’re traced to the house, till ye have to run and break -your neck down that terrible road, but go while everything is peaceable! -Mr Lew, you shall have whatever money you want, and what clothes we can -furnish, and--and my blessing--God’s blessing.” - -“Don’t you think,” he said, turning upon her, “you are undertaking a -little too much? God’s blessing upon a fellow like me--that has -committed every sin and repented of none, that have sent other sinners -to their account, and wronged the orphan, and all that. God’s -blessing----!” - -He was standing in the middle of the room, in which he was so -inappropriate a figure, with his back to the end window, which was -towards the west. It was now late in the afternoon, and the level rays -pouring in made a broad bar across the carpet, and fell upon one side of -his form, which partially intercepted its light and cut it with his tall -outline. Mrs Ogilvy put her hands together with a cry. - -“What is that? What is it? Is it not just the blessed sun that He sends -upon the just and the unjust--never stopping, whatever you have -done--His sign held out to you that He has all His blessings in His -hand, ready to give, more ready than me, that am a poor creature, no fit -to judge? Oh, laddie--for you’re little more--see to Him holding out -His hand!” - -He had turned round, with a vague disturbed motion, not knowing what he -did, and stood for a moment looking at the sunshine on the carpet, and -his own figure which intercepted it and received the glory instead. For -a moment his lip quivered; the lines of his face moved as if a wind had -blown over them; his eyes fixed on the light, as if he expected to see -some miraculous sight. And then he gave a harsh laugh, and turned round -with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s pretty,” he said, “mother, as you -put it: but there’s no time to enter into all that. I’ve perhaps got too -much to clear up with God, don’t you know, to do it at a sitting; but -I’ll remember, for your sake, when I’ve time. Eh? where were we before -this little picturesque incident? You were saying I should have -money--to pay my fare, &c. Well, that’s fair enough. Make it enough for -two, and we’ll be off, eh, Bob? and trouble her no more.” - -But Robbie did not say a word. It was not any wise resolution taken; it -was rather a fit of temper, which the other, used to his moods, knew -would pass away. Lew gave another shrug of his shoulders, and even a -glance of confidential criticism to the mother, as if she were in the -secret too. “One of his moods,” he said, nodding at her. “But, bless -you! when one knows how to take him, they don’t last.” He touched her -shoulder with a half caress. “You go and lie down a bit and rest. You’re -too tired for any more. We’ll have it all out to-night, or at another -time.” - -“I am quite ready now--I am quite ready,” she cried, terrified to let -the opportunity slip. He nodded at her again, and waved his hand with a -smile. “Come along, Bob, come along; let us leave her in quiet. To-night -will be soon enough to settle all that--to-night or--another time.” He -took Rob by the arm, and pushed his reluctant and half-resisting figure -out of the room. Robert was sullen and indisposed to his usual -submission. - -“Let me go,” he said, shaking off the hand on his arm; “do you think I’m -going to be pushed about like a go-cart?” - -“If you’re a go-cart, I wish you’d let me slip into you,” said the -other. It was not a very great joke, but Robert at another moment would -have hailed it with a shout of laughter. He received it only with a -shrug of his shoulders now. - -“I wish you’d make up your mind and do something,” he said. - -“I have: the first thing is to see who that woman is----” - -“A woman! when you’ve got to run for your life.” - -“Do you think I mean any nonsense, you fool? She’s not a woman, she’s a -danger. Man alive, can’t you see? She’ll have to be squared somehow. -And look here, Bob,” he said suddenly, putting his arm through that of -his friend’s, who retained his reluctant attitude--“don’t sulk, you ass: -ain’t we in the same boat--get all you can out of the old girl. We’ll -have to make tracks, I suppose--and a lot of money runs away in that. -Get everything you can out of her. She may cool down and repent, don’t -you see? Strike, Bob, while the iron’s hot. The old girl----” - -“Look here, I’ll not have her called names; neither mother, as if you -had any right to her--nor--nor any other. We’ve had enough of that. I’ll -not take any more of it from you, Lew!” - -“Oh, that’s how it is!” said the other coolly, with a sneer. “Then I beg -to suggest to you, my friend Bob, that the respectable lady we’re -talking of may repent; and that if you’re not a fool, and won’t take -more energetic measures, you’ll strike, don’t you see, while the iron is -hot.” - -Rob gave his friend a look of sullen wrath, and then disengaged his arm -and turned away. - -“You’ll find me in Andrew’s bower, among the flower-pots,” Lew called -after him, and whistling a tune, went off behind the house to the -garden, where in the shade Andrew kept his tools and all the accessories -of his calling. He had no good of his ain tool-house, since thae two -were about, Andrew complained every day. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -The Hewan was very quiet and silent that afternoon. Mrs Ogilvy perhaps -would not have recognised the crisis of exhaustion at which she had -arrived, had it not been for the remarks of the stranger within her -doors, the unwelcome guest whom she was so anxious to send away, and who -yet had an eye for the changes of her countenance which her son had not. -He took more interest in her fatigue than Robbie, who did not remark it -even now, and to whom it had not at all occurred that his mother should -want care or tenderness. She had always given it, in his experience; it -did not come into his mind. But, tutored by Lew, Mrs Ogilvy felt that -she could do no more. She went to her room, and even, for a wonder, lay -down on her bed, half apologising to herself that it was just for once, -and only for half an hour. But the house was very quiet. There was no -noise below to keep her watchful. If there were any voices at all, they -came in a subdued murmur from the garden behind, where perhaps Robbie -was showing to his friend the breakneck path down the brae to the Esk, -which nobody had remembered during the many years of his absence. It had -been his little mystery which he had delighted in as a boy. There was no -gate opening on it, nor visible mode of getting at it. The little gap in -the hedge through which as a boy he had squeezed himself so often was -all concealed by subsequent growth, but Robert’s eyes could still -distinguish it. Mrs Ogilvy said to herself, “He will be showing him that -awful road--and how to push himself through.” She felt herself repeat -vaguely “to push himself through, to push himself through,” and then she -ceased to go on with her thoughts. She had fallen asleep; so many times -she had not got her rest at night--and she was very tired. She fell -asleep. She would never have permitted herself to do so but for these -words of Lew. He was not at all bad. They said he had taken away a man’s -life--God forgive him!--but he saw when a woman was tired--an old -woman--that was not his mother: may be--if he had ever had a mother---- -And here even these broken half-words, that floated through her brain, -failed. She fell asleep--more soundly than she had slept perhaps for -years. - -The thoughts that passed through the mind of the adventurer in his -retreat in Andrew’s tool-house could not have been agreeable ones, but -they are out of my power to trace or follow. Women are perhaps more -ready to see their disabilities in this way than men. A man will -sometimes set forth in much detail, as if he knew, the fancies, -evanescent and changeful as a dream, of a girl’s dawning mind, putting -them all into rigid lines of black and white. Perhaps he thinks the -greater comprehends the less: but how to tell you what was the course of -reflections and endless breaks and takings up of thought in the mind of -a man who had a career to look back upon, such as that of Lew, is not in -my power. I might represent them as caused by sudden pangs of remorse, -by dreadful questions whether, if he had not done this or that----! by -haunting recollections of the look of a victim, or of the circumstances -of the scenes in which a crime had been committed: by a horrible -crushing sense that nothing could recall those moments in which haste -and passion had overcome all that was better in him. I do not believe -that Lew thought of any of these things: he had said he repented of -nothing--he thought of nothing, I well believe, but of the present, -which was hard enough for any man, and how he was to get through it. It -was a situation much worse than that of yesterday. Then he had still -continued to wonder at his absolute safety, at the extraordinary, -almost absurd fact, that he was in a place where nobody had ever heard -of him, where his name did not convey the smallest thrill of terror to -the feeblest. He had laughed at this, even when he was alone, not -without a sense of injury, and conviction that the people around must be -“born fools”: but yet a comfortable assurance of safety all the -same--safety which had half begun to bore him, as he said. But now that -situation had altogether changed. There was a woman in this place, even -in this place, who knew him, to whose mind it had conveyed a thrill that -he should be here. And there was a man in Scotland who had arrived to -hunt him down. His being had roused up to these two keen points of -stimulation. They seemed to a certain degree to set him right with -himself, a man not accustomed to feel himself nobody: and in the second -place, they roused him to fight, to that prodigious excitement, superior -perhaps to any other kind, which flames up when you have to fight for -your life. I suggest with diffidence that these were probably the -thoughts that went through him, broken with many admixtures which I -cannot divine. I believe that at that moment less than at any other was -he sorry for the crimes that he had committed. He had no time for -anything in (what he would have called) the way of sentiment. He had -quite enough to do thinking how to get out of this strait, to get again -into safety, and safety of a kind in which he should be less hampered -than here. There was the old woman, for instance, who had been kind to -him, whom he did not want to shock above measure or to get into trouble. -He resolved he would not take refuge in any place where there was an old -woman again, unless she were an old woman of a very different kind. Mrs -Ogilvy was quite right in her conviction that there was good in him. He -did not want to hurt her, even to hurt her feelings. In short, he would -not have anything done to vex her, unless there was no other way. - -But though I cannot throw much light on his thoughts, I can tell you how -he spent the afternoon, to outward sight and consciousness. Robert -Ogilvy, before the arrival of this companion, had discovered that he -could arrange himself a rude sort of a lounging-place by means of an old -chair with a broken seat, and some of the rough wooden boxes, once -filled with groceries, &c., which had been placed in the tool-house to -be out of the way, and in which Andrew sometimes placed his seedlings, -and sometimes his strips of cloth and nails and sticks for tying up his -flowers. Lew had naturally edged his friend out of this comfortable -place. The seat of the chair was of cane-work, and still afforded -support to the sitter, though it was not in good repair; and the boxes -were of various heights, so that a variety of levels could be procured -when he tired of one. His meditations were promoted by smoke, and also -by a great deal of whisky-and-water, for which he took the trouble to -disarrange himself periodically to obtain a fresh supply from the bottle -which it disturbed Mrs Ogilvy to see so continually on the table in the -dining-room. It would have been more convenient to have it here--and it -was seldom that Lew subjected himself to an inconvenience; but he did in -this case, I am unable to tell why. It must be added that this constant -refreshing had no more effect upon him than as much water would have had -on many other people. And those little pilgrimages into the dining-room -were the only sound he made in the quiet of the house. - -Robbie had gone out, to chew his cud of very bitter fancy. His thoughts -were not so uncomplicated, so distinguishable, as those of his -stronger-minded friend. He had been seized quite suddenly, as he had -been at intervals ever since he fell under Lew’s influence, with a -revulsion of feeling against this man, to whom he had been for this -month past, as for years, with broken intervals, before, the chose, the -chattel, the shadow and echo. It was perhaps the nature of poor Robbie -to be the chose of somebody, of any one who would take possession of him -except his natural guides: but there was a strain of the fantastic in -his spirit, as well as an instinct for what was lawful and right, which -had made him insufferable among the strange comrades to whom he had -drifted, yet never was strong enough to sever him from their lawless -company. He had never himself done any violent or dishonest act, though -he was one of the band who did, and had doubtless indirectly profited by -their ill-gotten gains. Perhaps refraining himself from every practical -breach of law, it gave him a pleasure, an excitement, to see the others -breaking it constantly, and to study the strange phenomena of it? I -suggest this possible explanation to minds more philosophical than mine. -Certainly Robbie was not philosophical, and if he was moved by so subtle -a principle, was quite unaware of it. He was in a tumult of disgust on -this occasion with Lew, and everything connected with him--with all the -trouble of hiding him, of securing his escape, of keeping watch and ward -for his sake, and of getting money for him out of the little store which -his mother had saved for him, Robbie, and not for any stranger. This -piquant touch of personal loss perhaps did more than anything else to -intensify his sudden ill-humour, offence, and rebellion. He strayed out -to see if the gap could be passed, if the deep precipitous gully down -the side of the hill gave shelter enough for a hurried escape. As he -wandered down towards the little stream, his eyes suddenly became -suspicious, and he saw a pursuer behind every tree and bush. He thought -he saw a man’s hat in the distance always disappearing as he followed -it: he thought even that the little girls playing beyond in the open -looked at him with significant glances, pointing him out to each -other--and this indeed was not a fancy; but there was nothing dangerous -in the indication--“Eh, see yon man! that’s the lady’s son at the -Hewan”--which these young persons, not at all conspirators, gave. - -In the evening, as it began to grown dark, the two men as usual went out -together. It means almost more than a deadly quarrel, and the -substitution of hate for love or liking, to break a habit even of recent -date; and Robert had hated Lew, and longed to be delivered from him, a -dozen times at least, “without anything following. They went out very -silent at first, very watchful, not missing a single living creature -that went past them, though these were not many. They had both the -highly educated eyes of men who knew what it was to be hunted, and were -quick to discover every trace of a pursuer or an enemy. But the innocent -country road was innocent as ever, with very few passengers, and not one -of them likely to awaken alarm in the most nervous bosom. The silence -between them, however, continued so long, and it was so difficult to -make Robbie say anything, that his companion began at last to ask -questions, already half answered in previous conversations, about the -visitor who had recognised him. ‘Somebody who has not been very long -here--a stranger (like myself), but likely to form permanent relations -in the place (_not_ like me there, alas!),” said Lew. “Not to put too -fine a point upon it, she’s going to marry the minister. That’s so, -ain’t it?” Lew said. - -“That’s what it is, so far as I know.” - -“Look here,” he went on, “there’s several things in that to take away -its importance. In the first place, it could not be in the first society -of Colorado--the _crême de la crême_, you know--that she’d meet me.” - -To this Robert assented merely with a sort of groan. - -“From which it follows, that if she is setting up here in the odour of -sanctity, it’s not for her interests to make a fuss about my -acquaintance.” - -“She might give you up, to get rid of you,” Robert said, curtly. - -“Come now,” said his companion; “human nature’s bad enough, but hanged -if it’s so bad as that.” - -“Oh, I thought you were of opinion that nothing was too bad----” - -“Hold hard!” said Lew. “If you mean to carry on any longer like a bear -with a sore head, I propose we go home.” - -“It’s as you like,” Robert said. - -“Bob,” said the other, “mutual danger draws fellows together: it’s drawn -you and me together scores of times. We’re lost, or at all events I’m -lost, if it turns out different now.” - -“Do you think I’m going to give you up?” said Rob, almost with a sneer. - -“No, I don’t,” said Lew, calmly. “You haven’t the spirit. Your mammy -would do it like a shot, if it wasn’t for--other things.” - -“What other things?” cried Rob, fiercely. - -“Well, because she’s got a heart--rather bigger than her spirit, and -that’s saying a great deal: and because she believes like an Arab--and -that’s saying a great deal too--in her bread and salt.” - -“Look here!” cried Rob, looking about him for a reason, “I don’t mean to -stand any longer the way you speak of my mother. Whatever she is, she is -my mother, and I’ll not listen to any gibes on that subject--least of -all from you.” - -“What gibes? I say her heart is greater even than her spirit. I might -say that”--and here Lew made something like the sign of the Cross, for -he had queer fragments of religion in him, and sometimes thought he was -a Roman Catholic--“of the Queen of heaven.” - -“You call her mother,” cried Bob, angrily. - -“I should like to know,” said his companion, whose temper was -invulnerable, “where I could find a better name.” - -“And old girl,” cried Rob, working himself into a sort of fury, -“and--other names.” - -“I beg your pardon, old fellow; there I was wrong. It don’t mean -anything, you know. It means dear old lady; but I know it’s an ugly -style, and comes from bad breeding, and I’ll never do it again.” - -A sort of grunt, half satisfied, half sullen, came from Rob, and his -companion knew the worst was over. “Let’s think a little,” he -said--“you’re grand at describing--tell me a bit what that woman is -like.” - -Rob hesitated for some minutes, and then his pride gave way. - -“She’s what you might call all in the air,” he said. - -“Yes?” - -“But looks at you to see if you think her so.” - -“That’s capital, Bob.” - -“She has a lot of fair hair--dull-looking, it might be false, but I -don’t think somehow it is--and no colour to speak of, but might put on -some, I should say. She looks like that.” - -Lew put his arm within Rob’s as if accidentally, and gave forth a low -whistle. “If that’s _her_,” he said, “and she’s going to marry a -minister--I should just think she would like to get me out of the way.” - -“But why, then, should she ask you to come and see her?--for she had -seen you on the sly, and that was enough.” - -“There’s where the mystery comes in: but you never know that kind of -woman. There’s always a screw loose in them somewhere. She repents it, -perhaps, by now. Let’s make a round by her house, wherever it is, and -perhaps we’ll see her through a window, as she saw me.” - -“It’s close to the village--it’s dangerous--don’t think of it,” said -Rob. - -“Dangerous!” cried the other: “what’s a man for but to face danger--when -it comes? I’m twice the man I was last night. I smell the smell of -gunpowder in the air. I feel as if I could face the worst road, ten -minutes’ start, and fifty mile an hour.” - -If this trumpet-note was intended to rouse Rob, it was successful. His -duller spirit caught the spark of excitement, which moved it only to the -point of exhilaration and drove the last mist away. They went on, always -with caution, always watchful, through a corner of the little town where -the houses were almost all closed, and the good people in bed. No two -innocent persons, however observant, were they the finest naturalists or -scientific observers in the world, ever saw so much in a dark road as -these two broken men. They saw the very footsteps of the few people who -came towards them in the darkness, darker here with the shadow of the -houses than in the open country, but not important enough to have -lights: and could tell what manner of people they were--honest, meaning -no harm, or stealthy and prepared for mischief--though they never saw -the faces that belonged to them. “There’s one that means no good,” Lew -said. There was no man in the world who had a greater contempt for a -petty thief. “I’ve half a mind to warn some one of him.” - -“For goodness’ sake, make no disturbance,” said the (for once) more -prudent Rob. - -Presently they came to Mrs Ainslie’s house, a little square house, with -its door close to the road, but a considerable garden behind. There was -light in the windows still, but no chance of seeing into the interior -behind the closed blinds. “Let’s risk it, Bob; let’s go and pay our call -like gentlemen,” said Lew. - -“You don’t think of such a thing!” cried Robert, holding him back. This -was perhaps one of the things that bound Lew’s followers to him most. -Sometimes the excitement of risk and daring got into his veins like -wine, and then the youngest and least guarded of them had to change -_rôles_ with the captain and restrain him. But whether Rob could have -succeeded in doing so can never be known, for at the moment there were -sounds in the house, and the door was opened, and a conversation, begun -inside, was carried on for a minute or two there. The pair who appeared -were the minister and Mrs Ainslie. He all dark, his face shaded by his -hat: she in a light dress, and with a candle in her hand, which threw -its light upon her face. She was saying good-night, and bidding her -visitor take care of the corner where it was so dark. “There is what -your people call a dub there,” she said, with one of those shrill -laughs which cut the air--and she held the candle high to guide her -visitor’s parting steps. He answered, in a voice very dull and -low-pitched after hers, that he was bound to know every dub in the -place; and so went off, bidding her, if she went to Edinburgh in the -morning, be sure to be back in good time. - -She stood there for a moment after he was gone, and held up her candle -again, as if that could pierce instead of increasing the darkness around -her, and looked first in one direction, then in the other. Then she -stood for a second minute as if listening, and then slightly shaking her -head, turned and went in again. If she could have seen the two set faces -watching her out of the darkness, within the deep shadow of the opposite -wall! Lew grasped Rob’s arm as in a vice, and with the other hand sought -that pocket to which he turned so naturally: while Rob followed the -movement in a panic, and got his hand upon that which already had half -seized the revolver. “You wouldn’t be such an idiot, Lew!” - -“If I gave her a bullet,” said the other in the darkness, “it would be -the least of her deserts, and the cheapest for the world.” Their voices -could not have been audible to Mrs Ainslie, turning to shut her door, -but something must have thrilled the air, for she came out and looked up -and down again. Was she as fearless as the others, and fired with -excitement too? And then the closing of the door echoed out into the -stillness,--not the report of the revolver, thank heaven! She had shown -no signs of alarm: but the two men, as they went away, trembled in every -limb--Rob with alarm and excitement, and the sense that murder had been -in the air; his companion with other feelings still. - -It was very late when Mrs Ogilvy woke, and then not of herself, but by -Robbie’s call, whom she suddenly roused herself to see standing in the -dark by her bedside. It was quite dark, not any lingering of light in -the sky, which showed how far on in the night it was. She sprang up from -her bed, crying out, “What has happened--what have I been doing?” with -something like shame. “Have I been sleeping all this time?” she cried -with dismay. - -“Don’t hurry, mother--you were tired out. I’m very glad you have slept. -Nothing’s wrong. Don’t get up in a hurry. I should like to speak to you -here. I’ve--got something to say.” - -“What is it, Robbie?--whatever it is, my dear, would you not like a -light?” - -“No; I like this best. I used to creep into your room in the dark, if -you remember, when I had something to confess. I had always plenty to -confess, mother.” - -“Oh, my Robbie, my dear, my dear!” - -She stretched out her hands to him to touch his, to draw him near: but -he still hung at a little distance, a tall shadow in the dark. - -“It is not for myself this time. It is Lew: he was very much touched -with what you said to-day. He’ll go, I believe--whether with me or not. -I might see him away, and then come back. But the chief thing after all, -you know, is the money. You said you would give him----” - -“Oh, Robbie, God be praised!--whatever he required for his passage, and -to give him a new beginning; but you’ll not leave me again, not you, not -you!” - -“I did not say I would,” he said, with a querulous tone in his voice. -“His passage! He wouldn’t go back to America, you know.” - -“No, my dear, I did not suppose he would. I thought--one of the -islands,” said Mrs Ogilvy, in subdued tones. - -“One of the islands! I don’t know what you mean” (and, indeed, neither -did she), “unless it were New Zealand, perhaps--that’s an island: but -you would not banish him there, mother. Lew thinks he might go to India. -He might begin again, and do better there.” - -“India--that is far, far away--and a dear passage, and all the luxuries -you want there. Robbie, I would not grudge it for myself--it is for you, -my dear.” - -“If he had plenty of money, it would be his best chance.” - -Mrs Ogilvy slid softly off the bed, where she had been listening. She -was as generous as a princess--as princesses used to be in the time of -the fairy tales; but it startled her that this stranger should expect -“plenty of money” from her hands. “How could we give him that?” she -said: “and whatever went to him, it would be taken from you, Robbie. If -you will fix on a sum, I will do everything I can. I do not grudge -him--no, no. My heart is wae for him. But to despoil my only son, my one -bairn, for a stranger. It is not just, it is not what I should do----” - -“Would you give him a thousand pounds, mother?” - -“A thousand pounds!” she cried with a shriek. “Laddie, are ye wild?--the -greatest part of what you will have--the half, or near the half, of all. -I think one of us is out of our senses, either you or me!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Mrs Ainslie, who is a person with whom this history is little concerned, -and whose character and antecedents I have no desire to set forth, had -been moved, by the suddenness and unexpectedness of her vision through -the dining-room window of the Hewan, to commit what she afterwards felt -to be a great mistake. Hitherto, after the experience gained in a -hundred adventures, she had found the _rôle_ which she had chosen to -play in the rustic innocence of Eskholm not a difficult one. No one -suspected her of anything but a little affectation, a little absurdity, -and a desire to be believed a fine lady, which, if it did not deceive -the better instructed, yet harmed nobody. Society, even in its most -obscure developments--and especially village society--is suspicious, -people say. If so--of which I am doubtful--then it is generally -suspicious in the wrong way; and there was nobody in Eskholm who had the -least suspicion of Mrs Ainslie’s antecedents, or imagined that she -could be anything but what she professed to be, an officer’s widow. -Military ladies are allowed to be like their profession, a little -pushing and forward, not meek and mild like the model woman. She knew -herself, of course, how much cause for suspicion there was; and she saw -discovery in people’s eyes who had never even supposed any inquiry into -the truth of her statements to be called for: and thus she was usually -very much on her guard, notwithstanding the apparent freedom of her -manners and lightness of her heart. But the sudden sight of an old -comrade in the very midst of this changed and wonderful life of -respectability which she was living, had startled her quite out of -herself. Lew! in the midst of respectability even greater than her own, -in the Hewan, the abode of all that was most looked up to and esteemed! -The surprise took away her breath; and with the surprise there came a -flood of recollections, of remembered scenes--oh! very much more piquant -than anything known on Eskside; of gay revelry, movement, and adventure, -fun and freedom. That life which is called “wild” and “gay” and “fast,” -and so many other misnomers, and which looks in general so miserable to -the lookers-on, has no doubt its charms like another, and the -excitements of the past look all pure dash and delight to the people who -have forgotten what deadliest of all ennui lay behind them. There -flashed upon this woman a sudden thought of a gay meeting like those of -old, full of reminiscence, and mutual inquiry, what has become of Jack -and what has happened to Jill, and of laughter over many a sport and -feat that were past. It did not occur to her at the moment that to hear -what had happened to Jack and Jill would probably be dismal enough. She -thought only, amid the restraints of the present life in which no fun -was, what fun to see one of the old set again, and to ask after -everybody, and hear all that had been going on, all at her ease, and -without fear of discovery in the middle of the night. She divined -without difficulty that Lew was here in hiding for no innocent cause, -and that Mrs Ogilvy’s long-vanished son, who was mysteriously known to -have returned, but who had never showed himself openly, was in some -compromising way involved with him, and keeping him out of sight. She -understood now the stories about the long night-walks of the two -gentlemen at the Hewan of which she had heard: and her well-worn heart -gave a jump to think of a jovial meeting so unexpected, so refreshing, -in which she could renew her spirit a little more than with all the -preparations necessary for her future part of the minister’s wife. It -would be a farewell to the past which she could never have dared to -anticipate, and the thought gave an extraordinary exhilaration, as well -as half-panic which was part of the exhilaration, to her mind. It was as -if a stream of life had been poured into her veins--life, which was not -always enjoyable, but yet was living, according to the formula of those -to whom life has probably more moments of complete dulness and -self-disgust than to the dullest of those half-lives which they despise. - -But when Mrs Ainslie got home, and began to reflect on the matter, she -saw how great a mistake she had made. If she knew him, so did he also -know her and all her antecedents. It had given her a thrill of pleasure -to think of meeting him, and talking over the past; but it was equally -possible to her to betray him, in her new rôle as a respectable member -of society: and she knew that she would not hesitate to do so, should it -prove necessary. But it was equally possible that he might betray her. -It did not take her more than five minutes’ serious thinking, when the -first excitement of the discovery was over, to show her that to disclose -herself to Lew, and put in his hands a means of ruining her, or of -holding her in terror at least, was the last thing that was to be -desired. Lew in Colorado, or as a chance exile from that paradise, ready -to disappear again into the unknown, was little dangerous, and a chance -meeting with him the most amusing accident that was likely to befall -her. But Lew in England, or, still worse, Scotland, at her very door, -ready on any occasion to inform her new friends who she was or had been, -was a very different matter. She owned to herself that she had never -done anything so mad or foolish in her life. On the eve of becoming Mr -Logan’s wife, of being provided for for the rest of her life, of being -looked up to and respected, and an authority in the place--and by one -foolish word to throw all this, which was almost certainty, into the -chaos of risk and daily danger, at the mercy of a man who could spoil -everything if he pleased, or could at least hold the sword over her head -and make her existence a burden to her! What a thing was this which she -had done! When she saw Mr Logan to the door on that evening, her aspect -was more animated and bright than ever, but her heart in reality was -quaking. It was foolish of her to take the candle; but it was her habit, -and it would have been remarked, she thought in her terror, if she had -not done it: and then she stood and looked up and down, still with that -light in her hand--thankful that at least the minister was gone, that he -would not meet these visitors if they came: then with relief making up -her mind that they would not come--that Lew, if he were in hiding, would -be as much afraid of her as she of him. - -She had a disturbed night, full of alarm and much planning and thinking, -sitting up till it was almost daylight, in terror that the visit which -she had been so foolish as to invite might be paid at any unlawful hour. -And when the next morning came, it was apparent to her that she must do -something at once to provide against such a danger, to save herself -from the consequences of her foolishness. How it had been that an -adventuress like this had managed to secure for her daughter the most -respectable of marriages in respectable Edinburgh, is a question into -which I cannot enter. It had not been, indeed, Mrs Ainslie’s doing at -all. The girl, who knew none of her mother’s disreputable secrets, had -made acquaintance in a foreign hotel with some girls of her own age, who -had afterwards invited her to visit them in Edinburgh. Such things are -done every day, and come to harm so seldom that it is scarcely worth -taking the adverse chances into consideration. And there, in the shelter -of a most respectable family, the most respectable of men had fallen in -love with Sophie. It was all so rapid that examination into the position -of the Ainslies was impossible. Sophie had no money: her father had been -killed in some campaign in India which happened to coincide with the -date of her birth. She was pretty, and not anything but good so far as -her up-bringing had permitted. I give this brief sketch in hot haste, as -indeed the matter was done--for Mrs Ainslie had announced that she had -only come to Eskholm for a few weeks, and was going “abroad” again -immediately. Perhaps it was the acquisition of a son-in-law so -absolutely correct as Mr Thomas Blair--dear Tom, as his mother-in-law -always called him--that put into her head the possibility of becoming -herself an exceptionable member of society, furnished with all possible -certificates by marrying Mr Logan. At all events, it was her son-in-law -to whom she now betook herself after many thoughts, with that skill of -the long-experienced schemer which is capable of using truth as an -instrument often more effectual than falsehood. She went to him (he was -a lawyer) with all the candour of a woman who has made, with grief for -her neighbour, a dreadful discovery, and who in the interests of her -neighbour, not in her own--for what could she have to do with anything -so wicked and terrible?--thinks it necessary to reveal what she has -seen. In this way she made Mr Blair aware of the circumstances of her -visit at the Hewan, and the man she had seen there. She told him that -she had been present at the trial of this man in America--it was one of -her frank and simple statements, which were so perfectly candid and -above board, that she had lived in various parts of America after her -husband’s death--for various terrible crimes. She had seen him in court -for days together, and could not be mistaken in him: and the idea that -so excellent a person as Mrs Ogilvy had such a man in her house was too -dreadful to think of. What should she do? Should she warn Mrs Ogilvy? -But then no doubt he was in some way mixed up with Mrs Ogilvy’s son, who -had lately returned home in a mysterious and unexpected way. Mr Blair -was much interested by the story. He sympathised fully in the dreadful -dilemma in which the poor lady found herself. He, too, knew Mrs Ogilvy, -and remembered Robbie in his youth perfectly well. He was always a weak -fellow, ready to be led away by any one. No doubt her idea was quite -right. And then he smote his hand upon his leg, and gave vent to a -whistle. “What if it should turn out to be this Lew Smith or Lew Wallace -or something, for whom there was a warrant out, and a detective from -America on the search!” - -“Lew--that is exactly the name--I had forgotten--his other name I don’t -remember. He was spoken of as Lew----” - -“And you could swear to this fellow? You are sure you could swear to -him?” - -“Swear! oh, with a clear conscience! But don’t ask me to, dear Tom. -Think what it is for a delicate woman--the publicity, the notoriety! Oh, -don’t make me appear in a court: I should never, never survive it!” she -cried. - -“Oh, nonsense, mamma!” The respectable son-in-law was so completely -innocent of all suspicion that he had adopted his wife’s name for her -mother. “But I allow it’s not pleasant for a lady,” he said: “perhaps -you won’t be wanted--but you could on an emergency swear to him.” - -“If it was of the last necessity,” she said, trembling, and her -trembling was very real. She said to herself at the same moment, No! -never! appear in an open court with Lew opposite to me,--never! never! -She was one of the many people in the world who think, after they have -put the match to the gunpowder, that there is still time to do something -to make it miss fire. - -Tom Blair was very sympathetic with the woman’s tremors who could not -appear in a public court, and yet would do so if it was absolutely -necessary. He bade her go home to Sophie and have some lunch, and that -he would himself return as early as he could, and tell her if he heard -anything. And Mrs Ainslie went to the Royal Crescent, where the pair -were established, and admired the nice new furniture, and the man in -livery of whom Sophie was so proud. But she did not wait to hear what -news dear Tom would bring home. She left all sorts of messages for him, -telling of engagements she had, and things to be done for Mr Logan. She -could not face him again: and it began to appear a danger for her, -though she had great confidence in her powers of invention, to be -questioned too closely by any one accustomed to evidence, who might turn -her inside out before she knew. And, indeed, her mind was very busy -working, now that she had put that match to the gunpowder, to prevent it -going off. She went into a stationer’s shop on the way to the station, -and got paper and an envelope, and wrote, disguising her hand, an -anonymous letter to Mrs Ogilvy, bidding her get her guest off at once, -for the police were after him. This was a work of art with which Mrs -Ainslie was not at all unacquainted, and she flattered herself that the -post-mark “Edinburgh” would quench all suggestions of herself as its -author. If he only could get away safe without compromising any one, -that would be so much better. She did not want to be hard upon him. Oh, -not at all. She had been silly, very silly, to think of a meeting: but -she bore him no malice. If he had the sense to steal away before any one -went after him, that would be far the best and the safest of all. - -She went home to her house, and there proceeded with her preparations -for her marriage, which had been going on merrily. She spent the -afternoon with her dressmaker, an occupation which pleased her very -much. She was not a needlewoman, she could not make anything that was -wanted for herself--but she could stand for hours like a lay figure to -be “tried on.” That did not weary her at all; and this process made the -time pass as perhaps nothing else could have done. Mr Logan once more -spent the evening with her, and she had again a time of dreadful -anxiety, in the fear that still Lew might appear, might meet the -minister at the door, and rouse a thousand questions. For the first time -it began to appear possible to her that her marriage might not come off -after all. She might never wear these new dresses--all dove-colour and -the softest semi-religious tints--as Mr Logan’s wife. She might have to -set out on the world again, and get her living somehow, instead of being -safe for the rest of her days. Instinctively she began to scheme for -that, as well as for the direct contrary of that, and in the same breath -arranged, in her mind, for the packing of the new dresses and their -transfer to the capacious cupboards in the manse, and for sending them -back to the dressmaker if she should have to turn her back on the manse -and fly. She did not feel sure now which thing would come to pass. - -But once more the evening passed and nobody came. She stood for some -time at her door after the minister left: but this time in the darkness, -without any candle, listening earnestly for any step or movement in the -night; but no one came. Had he taken fright and gone away at once? That -was the thing most to be desired, but from that very fact the most -unlikely to have happened. It was too good to be true; and Lew was not -the man to be challenged and not to accept the challenge--unless he were -arrested already! That was always possible, but that too was almost too -good to be true. And then there was the chance that he might say -something about her, that he might spoil her fortune without doing any -good to his own. If she harmed him, it was for good reasons, to save -herself; and also, a plea not to be despised, to save poor good old Mrs -Ogilvy: but he, if he did so, would do it only out of revenge, and -without knowing even that it was she who had betrayed him. All that -night and the next day she was in a great state of nervous excitement, -not able to keep quiet. She went to the manse, and she came back again, -and could not rest anywhere. Apparently nothing had happened; for if -there had been a raid of the police, however private, and an arrest -effected at the Hewan--and she knew Lew would not tamely allow himself -to be taken--some news of it must have oozed out. It would be strange if -it passed off without bloodshed, she said to herself. She would have -understood very well that movement of his hand to his pocket which Mrs -Ogilvy beheld so quietly without knowing at all what it meant. However -carefully he might be entrapped, however sudden the rush might be upon -him, Lew, who always had his wits perfectly about him, would have time -to get at his revolver. She knew so much better than any one what must -happen, and yet here she was a mile off and knowing nothing. She -fluttered out and in of the manse in the afternoon in her excitement, -very gay to all appearance, and talking a great deal. - -“You are in excellent spirits to-day, my dear,” said the minister, who -was delighted with her gaiety. “But I hope the leddy be-na fey,” was -what his old experienced cook, who, not able to tolerate a new -mistress, was leaving, said. - -“You used to pay visits in the evening before I came on the scene,” she -said to her elderly lover. “You used to go and see your ladies: now -confess--I know you did.” - -“I don’t know what you mean by my ladies,” said the minister, who was, -however, flattered by the imputation. “I have never had any lady, my -dear, till I met you.” - -“That is all very well,” she replied, “but we know what pastoral visits -mean. You don’t go and see the men like that. Now there is Mrs Ogilvy, -who was, you told me, your oldest friend. You never go near her now. You -used to go there at all times--in the afternoons, and in the evenings, -and sometimes to supper----” - -“My dear, I have wanted to see nobody but you for a couple of months -past,” the minister said. - -“Let us go back to the old customs,” she said. “I want a bit of change -to-night. I have got the fidgets or something. I can’t sit still. I -want, if you understand what that is, or if you won’t be shocked, a bit -of a spree.” - -“Oh, I understand what it is,” said Mr Logan, with a laugh; “but I am -much shocked, and when you come to the manse you must not speak any more -of a bit of a spree.” - -“I shan’t want it then perhaps,” she said, with a look that flattered -the foolish man. “But, for the present moment, what do you say to -walking up to the Hewan after supper?--and then perhaps we shall see -something of Mrs Ogilvy’s two mysterious men.” - -“You’ll not do that, surely you’ll not do that, papa!” cried Susie. “Mrs -Ogilvy’s men are just her son Robbie, whom we all know, and some friend -of his. They are not mysterious--there is nothing at all to find -out--and it would vex her if we tried to find out,” she cried in a -troubled tone. - -“You shall just come too, to punish you for your objections, Susie. -Come, come! I have taken one of my turns to-night. I can’t keep still. -Let us go. The walk will be delightful, and then it will amuse me to -find out the mysterious men. I shouldn’t wonder if I knew one of them. I -always know somebody wherever I go. Now, are you going to humour me, -James, or are you not? I shall take the last train to Edinburgh, and go -to a theatre or somewhere to blow away my fidgets, if you won’t come.” - -“We must just humour her, Susie,” said the minister. - -“Do so if you like, papa,” said Susie; “but not me. I have plenty to do -at home.” - -“She thinks Mr Maitland may perhaps look in, to ask for the hundredth -time if she will fix the day. That’s always amusing--a man after you -like that; but make her come, James, make her come. I want her to come -with us to-night.” - -“I tell you we will just have to humour her, Susie,” Mr Logan said. He -was charmed, and yet he was a little troubled too by the vivacity of his -betrothed. When she was “at the manse,” as he said, she must be made to -understand that nocturnal expeditions like this were not in an elderly -bridegroom’s way. But at all events, for once she must be humoured -to-night. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Mrs Ogilvy rose from her bed after the little conversation which had -roused her more effectually than anything else could have done, more -than half ashamed of having slept, and a little feverish with her sudden -awakening and Robbie’s strange demand: and though it was late--more -like, indeed, the proper and lawful moment for going to bed than for -getting up and making an unnecessary toilet in the middle of the -night--put on her cap again, and her pretty white shawl, and went -down-stairs. She had put on one of the fine embroidered China -crape-shawls which were for the evening, and, to correspond with that, a -clean cap with perfectly fresh ribbons, which gave her the air of being -in her best, more carefully dressed than usual. And her long sleep had -refreshed her. When she went into the dining-room, where Janet was -removing the remains of the supper from the table, she was like an image -of peace and whiteness and brightness coming into the room, to which, -however, carefully Janet might arrange it, the two men always gave a -certain aspect of disorder. Mrs Ogilvy had tried to dismiss from her -face every semblance of agitation. She would not remember the request -Robbie had made to her, nor think of it at all save as a sudden impulse -of reckless generosity on his part to his friend. The two young men, -however, were not equally successful in composing their faces. Robbie -had his pipe in his hand, which he had crammed with tobacco, pushing it -down with his thumb, as if to try how much it would contain; but he did -not light it: and even Lew, usually so careless and smiling, looked -grave. He it was who jumped up to place a chair for her. Janet had so -far improved matters that the remains of the meal were all cleared away, -and only the white tablecloth left on the table. - -“I think shame of myself,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “to have been overtaken by -sleep in this way: but it is very seldom I go in to Edinburgh, and the -hot streets and the glaring sun are not what I am used to. However, -perhaps I am all the better of it, and my head clearer. I doubt if, when -it’s at its clearest, it would be of much service to you--men that both -know the world better than I do, though you are but laddies to me.” - -“Yes; I think we know the world better than you do,” said Lew. “We’ve -been a bit more about. This is a sweet little place, but you don’t see -much of life; and then you’re too good, mother, to understand it if you -saw it,” he said. - -“You are mistaken, Mr Lew, in thinking there is little life to be seen -here: everywhere there is life, in every place where God’s creatures -are. Many a story have I seen working out, many a thing that might have -been acted on the stage, many a tragedy, too, though you mightn’t think -it. The heart and the mind are the same wherever you find them--and -love, that is the grandest and most terrible thing on this earth, and -death, and trouble. Oh, I could not tell you in a long summer day the -things I have seen!” - -“Very different from our kind of things, mother,” said Lew, with a -laugh. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything like the fix we’re in at -present, for instance: the police on our heels, and not a penny to get -out of the way with--and in this blessed old country, where you’ve to go -by the railway and pay for all your meals. These ain’t the things that -suit us, are they, Bob?” - -Robert was standing up, leaning against the securely closed and -curtained window. The night was very warm, and the windows being closed, -it was hot inside. His face was completely in shade, and he made no -reply, but stood like a shadow, moving only his hand occasionally, -pressing down the tobacco in the over-charged pipe. - -“I have told you, Mr Lew,” Mrs Ogilvy said, with a slight quiver in her -voice, “that whatever money you may want for your journey, and -something to give you a new start wherever you go, you should have, and -most welcome--oh, most welcome! I say, not for my Robbie’s sake, but out -of my own heart. Oh, laddie, you are but young yet! I have said it -before, and I will say it again--whatever you may have done in the past, -life is always your own to change it now.” - -“We will consider all that as said,” said Lew, with the movement of -concealing a slight yawn. “You’ve been very kind in that as in -everything else, putting my duty before me; but there’s something more -urgent just at present. This money--we must go far, Bob and I, if we’re -to be safe----” - -“Not Robbie, not Robbie!” she cried. - -“We must go far if we’re to be safe, not back where we were. It’s a pity -when a place becomes too hot to hold you, especially when it’s the place -that suits you best. We’ll have to go far. I have my ideas on that -point; but it’s better not to tell them to you: for then when you are -questioned you can’t answer, don’t you see.” - -“But Robbie--is not pursued. Robbie, Robbie! you will never leave me! -Oh, you will not leave me again, and break my heart!” - -Robbie did not say a word: his face was completely in the shadow, and -nothing could be read there any more than from his silent lips. - -“Going far means a deal of money; setting up again means a deal of -money. If we were to open a bank, for instance,” said Lew, with a short -laugh--“a respectable profession, and just in our way. That’s probably -what we shall do--we shall open a bank; but it wants money, a deal of -money--a great deal of money. You would like to see your son a -respectable banker, eh? Then, old lady, you must draw your -purse-strings.” - -“I do not think,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “that Robbie would do much as a -banker--nor you either, Mr Lew. You would have to be at office-desks -every day and all the day. To me it would seem natural, but to you that -have used yourselves, alack! to such different things---- And then it is -not what you call just money that is wanted. It is capital; and where -are you to find it? Oh, my dear laddies, in this you know less, not -more, than me. You must get folk to trust in you by degrees when you -have showed yourselves trustworthy. But a bank at once, without either -character--alack, that I should say it!--or capital. Oh no, my dears, -oh, not a bank, not a bank, whatever you do!” - -“You must trust us, mother--we know what we’re talking about: a -bank--which is perhaps not just exactly the kind of thing you are -thinking of--is the only thing for Bob and me; but we must have money, -money, money,” he said, tapping with his hand upon the table. - -“Capital,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a confident air of having suggested -something quite different. - -“It’s the same thing, only more of it; and as that lies with you to -furnish, we shall not quarrel about the word.” - -“There is some mistake,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with dignity. “I have never -said, I have never promised. Mr Lew, I found out to-day what was the -passage-money of the farthest place you could go to, and I have got the -siller here in the house.” - -The dark figure at the window stirred a little, raising a hand as if in -warning: the other listened with a sudden, eager gleam in his eyes, -leaning forward. It made his face shine to hear of the money in the -house. - -“Yes,” he said, joyfully, “that’s something like speaking. I love a -practical mind. You have got it here in the house?” There came a certain -tigerish keenness into his look, as if he might have snatched at her, -torn it from her. The shadow against the window stirred a little, but -whether in sympathy with the keen desire of the one, or touched by the -aspect of the other, it was impossible to tell. Meanwhile Mrs Ogilvy, -suspecting nothing, saw nothing to fear. - -“It is in the house. I got it even in English notes, that you might have -no trouble. There will be a hundred pounds,” said Mrs Ogilvy. She spoke -with a little pride, as of one announcing a great thing, a donation -almost unparalleled, but which yet she gave like a princess, not -grudging. “And thirty besides,” she added, with a little sigh, “that -when you get there you may not be without a pound in your pocket. I give -it you with all my heart, Mr Lew. Oh, if the money, the poor miserable -siller, might maybe be the means of calling you back to a steady and to -an honest life!” - -Lew said nothing in reply: his hungry eyes, lighted up by such a gleam -of covetousness, gave one fiery glance at Robbie standing, as it seemed, -imperturbable, immovable, in the shade. Then he began to beat out a tune -on the table with his fingers: but he made no other answer, to Mrs -Ogilvy’s great surprise. - -“I believe,” she said, with hesitation, “that will pay a passage even to -India; but if you should find that it will need more----” - -He went on with his tune, beating on the table, half whistling to -accompany the beats of his fingers. Something of the aspect of a fierce -animal, lashing its tail, working itself up into fury, had come into his -usually smiling pleasant looks, though the smile was still on his face. - -“I fear,” he said, with the gleam in his eyes which she began to -perceive with wonder, “that it is not enough. They will be of no use to -us, these few shillings. I thought you would have done anything for your -son; but I find, mother, that you’re like all the mothers, good for -everything in words, but for a little less in money. You will have to -give us more than that----” - -Mrs Ogilvy was much surprised, but would not believe her ears. She said -mildly, “I have told you, Mr Lew: it is not for my son, but chiefly out -of a great feeling I have for yourself, poor laddie, that have nobody to -advise you or lead you in a better way.” - -“You may preach if you like,” he said, with a laugh, “if you’re ready to -pay; but no preaching without paying, old lady. Come, let’s look at it a -little closer. Here are you rolling in money, and he there, your only -son, sent out into the world----” - -“Not Robbie,” she cried, with a gasp, “not Robbie! I said it was for -you----” - -“We do not mean to be parted, however,” he said. “You must double your -allowance, mother, and then see how much you can add to that.” - -She looked at her son, clasping her hands together, her face, amid the -whiteness of her dress, whiter still, its only colour the eyes, so -bright and trustful by nature, looking at him with a supreme but -voiceless appeal. Whether it touched him or not, could not be seen: he -stirred a little, but probably only as a relief from his attitude of -stillness--and his face was too deep in the shade to betray any -expression for good or for evil. - -Then Mrs Ogilvy rose up trembling to her feet. She said, clasping her -hands again as if to strengthen herself, “I have been very wishful to do -all to please you--to treat you, Mr Lew, as if you were--what can I -say?--not my own son, for he is but one--but like the son of my friend. -But I have a duty--I am not my own woman, to do just what I please. I -have a charge of my son before the Lord. I will give you this money to -take you away, for this is not your place or your home, and you have -nothing ado here. But my son: Robbie, all I have is yours--you can have -it all when you like and how you like, my own boy. But not to go away -with this man. If you will forsake your home, let it be well considered -and at another time. To take you away with this man, fleeing before the -pursuer, taking upon you a shame and a sin that is not yours---- No! I -will not give you a penny of your father’s money and my savings for -that. No, no!--all, when you will, in sobriety and judgment, but nothing -now.” - -Her smallness, her weakness, her trembling, were emphasised by the fact -that she seemed to tower over Lew where he sat, and to stand like a rock -between the two strong men. - -“You’re a plucky old girl,” said her antagonist, with a laugh--“I always -said so--game to the last: but we can’t stand jabbering all night, don’t -you know. Business is business. You must fork out if you were the -Queen, my fine old lady. Sit down, for there’s a good deal to say.” - -“I can hear what you have to say as I am, if it is anything reasonable,” -Mrs Ogilvy said. She felt, though she could scarcely keep that upright -position by reason of agitation and fear, that she had an advantage over -him as she stood. - -He sprang to his feet before she knew what was going to happen, and with -two heavy hands upon her shoulders replaced her in her chair. I will not -say forced her back into it, though indeed that was how it was. She -leaned back panting and astonished, and looked at him, but did not rise -or subject herself to that violence again. - -“I hope I did not hurt you--I didn’t intend to hurt you,” he said: “but -you must remember, mother, though you treat us as boys, that we’re a -pair of not too amiable men--and could crush you with a touch, with a -little finger,” he added, looking half fiercely, half with a jest, into -her eyes. - -“No,” she said very softly, “you could not crush me--not with all your -power.” - -“Give that paper here, Bob,” said his chief. - -Robert scarcely moved, did not reveal himself in any way to the light, -but with a faint stir of his large shadow produced a folded paper which -had been within the breast of his coat. Lew took it and played with it -somewhat nervously, the line of white like a wand of light in his hands. - -“You are rolling in wealth,” he said. - -She made as if she had said “No!” shaking her head, but took no other -notice of the question. - -“We have reason to suppose you are well off, at least. You have got your -income, which can’t be touched, and you have got a lot of money well -invested.” - -She did not make any reply, but looked at him steadily, marking every -gesture. - -“It is this,” he said, “to which Bob has a natural right. I think we are -very reasonable. We don’t want to rob you, notwithstanding our great -need of money: you can see that we wish to use no violence, only to set -before you what you ought to do.” - -“I will not do it,” said Mrs Ogilvy. - -“We’ll see about that. I have been thinking about this for some time, -and I have taken my measures. Here is a list which we got from your -man--the old fogey you threatened us with--or at least from _his_ man. -And here is a letter directing everything to be realised, and the money -paid over to your son. You will sign this----” - -“From my man--you are meaning Mr Somerville?” Mrs Ogilvy looked at the -paper which had been thrust into her hand, bewildered. “And he never -said a word of it to me!” - -“Don’t let us lay the blame where it isn’t due,” said the other, -lightly: “from his man. Probably the respectable old fogey never -knew----” - -“Ah!” she cried, “the clerk that was Robbie’s friend! Then it was Robbie -himself----” - -“Robbie himself,” said Lew, in the easiest tone, “as it was he who had -the best, the only, right to find out. Now, mother, come! execute -yourself as bravely as you have done the other things. Sign, and we’ll -have a glass all round, and part the best friends in the world. When you -wake in the morning you’ll find we’ve cleared out.” - -“It was Robbie,” she said to herself, murmuring, scarcely audible to the -others, “it was Robbie--Robbie himself.” She took no notice of the paper -which was placed before her. All her mind seemed occupied by this. -“Robbie--it was Robbie, my son.” - -“Who should it be but Bob? Do you think that information would have been -furnished to me? What did I know about it? It was Bob, of course; and -don’t you think he was quite right? Come! here’s pen and ink ready. -Sign, and then it will be all over. It goes against me, mother, to ask -anything you don’t like--it does, though you mayn’t believe me. Now, one -moment, and the thing will be done.” - -He spoke to her, coaxing her, as to a child, but there was a kindling -devil in his eye. Robbie never raised his head or opened his mouth, but -he made to his comrade an imperative gesture with his hand. The tension -was becoming too much to bear. - -“Come, mother,” said Lew, “sign--sign!” - -This time she did not rise up as before. She had a faint physical dread -of provoking his touch upon her person again; but she lifted her head, -and looking at him, said steadily, “No.” - -“No?--you say this to us who could--kill you with a touch?” - -“I will not do it,” she said. - -“Do you know what you are saying, old woman?--tempting me, tempting him, -to murder? You needn’t look to the door: there is not a soul that could -hear you--Andrew’s fast asleep, and you wouldn’t call him, to bear -witness against your son.” - -“No,” she said, “I would not call him to bear witness--against--my son.” - -“Sign! sign! sign!” cried Lew; “do you think we’ll wait for you all -night?” - -“I will not sign.” - -“Old woman! you wretched old fool, trusting, I suppose, to that fellow -there! Better trust me than him. Look here, no more of this. You shall -sign whether you will or not.” He seized her hand as he spoke, thrust -the pen into it, and forced it upon the paper. Her little wrist seemed -to crush together in his big hand. She gave a faint cry, but no more. -Her fingers remained motionless in his hold. He was growing red with -impatience and fury, his eyes fierce, his mouth set. She looked up at -him for a moment, but said not a word. - -“Will you do it? will you do it?--at once!--when I tell you.” - -“No.” - -He let her hand go and seized her by the shoulders. He had by this time -forgotten everything except that he was crossed and resisted by a feeble -creature in his power. And in this state he was appalling, murder in his -eye, and an ungovernable impulse in his mind. He seized her by her -shoulders, the white shawl crumpling in soft folds not much less strong -to resist than the flesh beneath in his hands, and shook her, violently, -furiously, like a dog rather than a man. - -“Do what I tell you, woman! Sign!” - -“No.” - -She thought that she was dead. She thought it was death, her breath -going from her, her eyes turning in their sockets. Next moment a roar of -rage seemed to pass over her head, she was pushed aside like a straw -flung out of the fiery centre of the commotion, the grip gone from her -shoulders, and she herself suddenly turned as it were into nothing, like -the chair at which she clutched to support herself, not knowing what it -was. She had a vision for a moment of Robbie, her son, standing where -she had stood, tearing and tearing again in a hundred pieces a paper in -his hands, while Lew against the opposite wall, as if he too had been -dashed out of the way like herself, stood breathing hard, his eyes -glaring, his arm up. Next moment she was pushed suddenly, not without -violence, thrust out of the room, and the door closed upon her. All was -dark outside, and she helpless, broken, bleeding she thought, a wounded, -lacerated creature, not able to stand, far more unable in the tumult and -trouble of body and soul to go away, to seek any help or shelter. She -dropped down trembling upon her knees, with her head against that closed -door. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -How this night passed over, this dreadful night, under the once peaceful -roof of the Hewan, was never known. It must have been dawn, though it -seemed to her so dark, when Mrs Ogilvy dropped on her knees by the -dining-room door--and how she got to her own room she did not know. She -came to herself with the brilliant summer morning pervading all things, -her room full of light, her body full of pain, her mind, as soon as she -was conscious, coming back with a dull spring to the knowledge of -catastrophe and disaster, though for the first moment she could not tell -what it was. She was lying upon her bed fully dressed, her white shawl, -which she had been wearing last night, flung, all crumpled, upon the -floor, but nothing else changed. A thicker shawl had been thrown over -her. Who was it that had carried her up-stairs? This became an awful -question as her mind grew clearer. Who was it? who was it?--the -victor--perhaps the survivor---- She was aching from head to foot, -feeling as if her bones were broken, and she could never stand on her -feet again; but when this thought entered her mind she sprang up from -her bed like a young girl. The survivor!--perhaps Robbie, Robbie, her -once innocent boy, with the stain of blood on his hands: perhaps---- Mrs -Ogilvy snatched at the shawl on the floor, which looked almost as if -something dead might lie hidden under it, and wrapped herself in it, not -knowing why, and stole down-stairs in the brightness of that early -morning before even Janet was stirring. She hurried into the -dining-room, from which she had been shut out only a few hours ago, with -her heart leaping in her throat, not knowing what awful scene she might -see. But there was nothing there. A chair had been knocked down, and lay -in the middle of the floor in a sort of grotesque helplessness, as if in -mockery of the mother’s fears. Nothing else. She stood for a moment, -rendered weak again by sudden relief, asking herself if that awful -vision of the night had been merely a dream, until suddenly a little -heap of torn paper flung upon the ornaments in the grate brought it back -again so vividly that all her fears awoke once more. Then she stole away -again to the bedrooms, in which, if all was well, they should be lying -asleep. There was no sound from Robbie’s, or she could hear none from -the beating of her heart. She stole in very softly, as she had not -ventured to do since the first morning after his return. There he lay, -one arm over his head like a child, breathing that soft breath of -absolute rest which is almost inaudible, so deep and so quiet. What -fountains of love and tenderness burst forth in the old mother’s breast, -softening it, healing it, filling its dryness with heavenly dew. Oh, -Robbie, God bless him! God bless him! who at the last had stood for his -mother--who would not let her be hurt--who would rather lose everything. -And she had perhaps been hard upon him! There was no blood on the hand -of one who slept like _that_. She went to the other door and listened -there with her heart lightened; and the breathing there was not -inaudible. She retired to her own room almost with a smile on her face. - -When Mrs Ogilvy came into the room in which the two young men awaited -her for the only meal they shared, the early dinner, she was startled to -see a person who seemed a stranger to her in Lew’s place. He wore Lew’s -clothes, and spoke with Lew’s voice, but seemed another man. He turned -to Robert as she drew back bewildered, and burst into a laugh. “There’s -a triumph for me; she doesn’t know me,” he said. Then he approached her -with a deprecating look. “I am the man that was so rude to you last -night. Forget there was ever such a person. You see I have thrown off -all semblance of him.” He spoke gravely and with a sort of dignity, -standing in the same place in which Mrs Ogilvy remembered in a flash of -sudden vision he had almost shaken the life out of her last night, -glaring at her with murderous eyes. There was a gleam in them still -which was not reassuring; but his aspect was everything that was -penitent and respectful. The change in his appearance was made by the -removal of the beard which had covered his face. He had suddenly grown -many degrees lighter in colour, it seemed, by the removal of that forest -of dark hair; and the man had beautiful features, a fine mouth, that -rare beauty either in man or woman. His expression had always been -good-humoured and agreeable. It was more so, a look in which there -seemed no guile, but for that newly awakened tigerish expression in his -eyes. Mrs Ogilvy felt a thrill of terror such as had not moved her -through all the horrors of the previous night, when Robbie for a moment -left the room. She felt that the handsome smiling man before her would -have strangled her without a moment’s hesitation had there been any -possibility of getting the money for which he had struggled in another -way, in what was for her fortunately the only possible way. She felt his -grip upon her shoulders, and a shiver ran through her in spite of -herself. She could not help a glance towards the door, where, indeed, -Janet was at the moment about to come in, pushing it open before her. -There was no danger to-day, with everybody about--but another night--who -could tell? - -When the dinner was over, Lew addressed her again. “This,” he said, -putting up his hand to his chin, “is my _toilette de voyage_. You are -going to be free of us soon. We shall make no flourish of trumpets, but -go suddenly as we came.” - -“If it doesn’t prove too late,” said Robert, gruffly. - -“Listen to the croaker! It isn’t, and it shan’t be, too late. I don’t -admit the possibility--so long as your mother, to whom we behaved so -badly last night----” - -“You,” Mrs Ogilvy breathed forth in spite of herself. - -“Oh, he was in it just as much as I was,” said the other, lightly; “but -he’s a canny Scot, Bob; he knows when to stop. I, when I am in a good -way, don’t.” - -There was a savage meaning in the lightness of this speech and the smile -that accompanied it. Mrs Ogilvy, terrified, felt herself again shaking -like a leaf, like a rag in these tremendous hands. And Robbie, who only -knew when to stop--oh, no, no--oh, no, no--she would not believe that: -though he had stood still long and looked on. - -“You shall see that I will keep my word,” she said, and hurried out of -the room to fetch the money which she had brought from Edinburgh with so -many precautions. She who had been above all fear felt it now -penetrating to her very soul. She locked her door when she went into -her room, a precaution she had probably never taken in her life before. -She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she passed, and saw -that her countenance was blanched, and her eyes wide with fright. Two -men, perhaps--at least one in the fulness of his strength--and she such -a little old feeble woman. Had the money she possessed been more easily -got at, she knew that she would have had short shrift. And, indeed, if -he killed her, there would have been no need of making her sign anything -first. It would all go to Robbie naturally--provided she could be sure -that Robbie would be free of any share of the guilt. Oh, he would be -free! he would not stand by and see her ill-used--he had not been able -to bear it last night. Robbie would stand by her whatever happened. But -her bosom panted and her heart beat in her very throat. She had to go -down again into the room where red murder was in the thoughts of one, -and perhaps--God forbid it! God forbid it! Oh, no, no, no!--it was not -in nature: not on his mother, not on any one to kill or hurt would -Robbie ever lay a hand. - -She went down-stairs after a very short interval, and as she reached the -dining-room door heard the voice of Lew talking to Janet in the most -genial tones. He was so cheerful, so friendly, that it was a pleasure to -hear so pleasant a voice; and Robbie, very silent behind backs, was -altogether eclipsed by his friend, although to Janet too that often -sullen Robbie was “my ain laddie,” dear in spite of all. But there was -no drawback in her opinion of Mr Lewis, as she called him, “Aye canty -and pleasant, aye with a good word in his head; no pride about him; just -as pleasant with me as if I were the Duchess hersel’.” She held up her -hands in expressive horror as she met her mistress at the door. “He -carries it off wi’ his pleasant ways; but oh, he has just made an objeck -of himself,” Janet said. - -Mrs Ogilvy went in, feeling as if she were going to her doom. She took -her little packet to the table, and put it down before him. The room was -filled with clouds of smoke; and that bottle, which was so great a trial -to her, stood on the table; but these details had sunk into absolute -insignificance. She had taken the trouble to get the money in English -notes and gold--the latter an unusual sight in the Hewan, where -one-pound notes were the circulating medium. In the tremor of her nerves -and commotion of her feelings she had added twenty pounds which were in -the house, of what she called “her own money,” the money for the -housekeeping, to the sum which she had told him was to be for him. It -was thus a hundred and fifty pounds which she put before him--hastily -laying it down as if it burned her, and yet with a certain reluctance -too. - -“Ah!” he said, and threw a look across the table to Robbie; “another -twenty pounds--and more where that came from, mother, eh?” - -“I have no more--not a farthing,” she said, hastily; “this was my money -for my house. I thought I would add it to the other: since you were not -pleased--last night.” - -It was evidently an unfortunate movement on her part. “You will perhaps -find some more still,” he said, with a laugh, “before this night. It’s -not very much for two, and one your only son; but there will be plenty -of time to settle that to-night.” - -“Robbie,” she said, breathlessly, “is not going--he is not going: it is -for you.” - -“Are you not going, Bob?” - -Robert said not a word in reply--he sat with his head supported on his -hands, his elbows on the table: and his countenance was invisible--he -made no movement or indication of what he meant to do. - -“I have no more,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a trembling voice; for she was -afraid of the look, half fierce, half mocking, with which he met her -eyes. “It would perhaps have been better if I had--money in the bank, -and could draw a cheque like most people now; but I have always followed -the old-fashioned way, and all I have is in the hands of----” - -She broke off with a quavering, broken sound--seeing over again the -scene of last night, and the paper with Mr Somerville’s name upon -it,--she remembered now, suddenly, that Mr Somerville’s name was upon -the paper which they had wanted her to sign. What had become of Mr -Somerville that he had not come, as he promised, to speak to Robbie, to -persuade the other one to go away? It was difficult to recall to herself -the fact that it was only two days since she had gone to Edinburgh and -poured her trouble into his sympathetic ears. Perhaps it would have been -better if she had not done this, or opened her heart to any one. Mr -Somerville would never betray them, he would not betray Robbie; but -still it seemed that something had happened between that time and this, -a greater sense of insecurity, the feeling that something was going to -happen. Things had been better before, when that strange life which she -had felt to be insupportable was going on: now it was more than -insupportable, it was almost over, and after----? A great chasm seemed -to have opened at her feet, and she felt herself hurrying towards it, -but could not tell what was below. After? what was to happen after, if -Robbie drifted away again, and she saw his face no more? - -He avoided her all day, while she watched for him at every corner, eager -only to get a word, to ask a question, to put forth a single prayer. The -afternoon was terribly long: it went over, one sunny hour after another, -hot, breathless, terrible. It was clear by all those signs that a -thunderstorm was coming, and the most appalling roll of thunder would -have been a relief; but even that delayed its coming, and a dead -stillness hung over heaven and earth. There was not a breath of air, the -flowers languished in the borders, the leaves hung their heads, and all -was still indoors. She did not know what the young men were doing, but -they made no sound. Perhaps the weather affected them too--perhaps, -another storm coming, which they had been long looking for, had overcome -their spirits. Perhaps they were making preparations for their -departure. But what preparations could they make, unless it were a -bundle on the end of a stick like the tramps? She said to herself -_they_, and then with anguish changed it in her mind to _he_, but did -not believe it even while she did so. No! she had a conviction in her -heart that Robbie would go. What was there to keep him back? Nothing but -dulness and the society of an old woman. What was that to keep a man at -home? She was not angry with him, nor intolerant, but simply miserable. -What was there in her to make a young man happy at home? to keep him -contented without society or any amusement? No, no, she could not blame -Robbie. He wanted movement, he wanted life at his age. He was not even -like a young lad who sometimes has a great feeling for his mother. She -could not expect it of him that he should stay here for his mother. Even -the flight, the excitement of being pursued, the difficulty of getting -away--Mrs Ogilvy had heard that such things were more attractive than -quietness and safety at home. It was natural--and, what was the chief -thing above all other, Robbie was not so much, not so very much, to -blame. - -She was still wandering about when the day began to wane into evening, -like an unquiet soul. Where were they? what were they doing? The quiet -of the house became dreadful to her. She who had loved her quiet so, who -had felt it so insupportable to have her calm solitude so spoiled and -broken!--but now she would have given much only to hear the scuffle of -their feet, the roar of their loud laughter. She went about the house -from one room to another, avoiding only the bedrooms where she supposed -they were. She would not drive them out of that last refuge. She would -not interfere there, be importunate, disturb them, if, perhaps, it was -the last day. - -And then she went outside and gazed right and left for she knew not -what. She was looking for no one--or was it the storm she was looking -for? Everything was grey, the sky, like some deep solid lid for the -panting breathless world, stealing down upon the earth, closely hiding -the heavens: it seemed to come closer and closer down, as if to smother -the universe and all the terrified creatures on it. The birds flew low, -making little agitated flights, as if they thought the end of the world -was at hand. So did she, to whom, as far as she knew, everything was -hastening to a conclusion--her son about to disappear again into the -unknown, if he had not already done so, and her life about to be wound -up for ever. For she knew well there would be no second coming back. Oh! -never, never again would she sit at her door, and listen and hope for -his step on the path. If he left her now, it would be for ever. It might -be that for the sake of the money he would have seen some violence done -to his mother; but no money, if it were ten times as much, would bring -him back again--none! none! not if it were ten times as much. If he went -now, he would never come back; and how could she keep him from going -now? - -About seven o’clock the windows of heaven were opened, and torrents of -rain fell--not the storm for which everybody had been looking, but only -the tail of the storm, which sounded all round the horizon in distant -dull reports, like a battle going on a dozen miles away, and the -tremendous downpour of rain. She said to herself, “In such a night they -can never go,” with a mingled happiness and despair--happiness to put -off the inevitable, to gain perhaps a propitious moment, and supplicate -her son not to go; and despair in the prospect of another twenty-four -hours of misery like this, the dreadful suspense, the terror of she knew -not what. When the first darkening of the twilight began, Mrs Ogilvy -began to think of another night to go through, and Lew’s laughing -threats, and the devil in his eyes. He had said there would be time to -talk of that to-night. Perhaps he would murder her to-night; and all the -country-side would believe it was her son, and curse him, though it -would not be Robbie--not Robbie, who had saved her once, but perhaps -might not again. She asked herself whether it would not be better to go -away somewhere, to save herself and, above all, them, from such a -dreadful temptation. But where could she go, exposing the misery of her -house? and how did she know that something might not happen which would -make her presence a protection to them? She gazed out from the window -through the rain, and it occurred to her that she could always run out -there and hide herself among the trees. They would not think of looking -for her there. She would be safe there, or at least---- This idea gave -her a little comfort. How could he find her in the dark, in the heavy -rain, among her own trees? - -The rain had driven her indoors, and in the parlour where she was, she -heard them overhead. They seemed to be moving about softly, and -sometimes crossed the passage, as if going from one room to another. -They had shared the clothes with which Robbie had liberally provided -himself on his return--and the thought that they were busied only with -so homely an occupation as packing brought back a little comfort to her. -A man does not fash about his clothes, she thought, who has murder in -his head. She shook off her terror with a heat of shame flaming over -her. Shame to have done injustice to her neighbour, how much more to her -son! They were thinking of no such dreadful things: it was only the -panic of her own imagination which was in fault. She said to herself -that if it must be so, if Robbie left her, she would get from him a sure -address, and there she would send him the money he wanted, or whatever -he wanted--for was it not all his? This was what she would do: she had -nothing to give him now. Perhaps, perhaps he might be deterred by that -and wait till she could get it for him, while his friend went on. What a -thing this would be, to get him alone, to talk to him, to represent to -him how much better to take a little time, to think, to give himself a -chance. She thought over all this, and shook her head while she thought; -for, alas! this was what Robbie would never do. - -Suddenly, it seemed in a moment, the rain stopped, the distant thunder -came to an end, the battle in the skies was over. And after all the -tumult and commotion of the elements, the clouds, which had poured -themselves out, dispersed in rags and fragments of vapour, and let the -sky look through--the most serene evening sky, with the stars faintly -visible through the wistful lingering daylight--the sweetest evening, -with that clearness as of weeping, and radiance as of hope returned, -which is in the skies after the relief of the rain, and in a human -countenance sometimes when all its tears have been shed, and there are -no more to come. Was it a good omen, or was it only the resignation of -despair which shone upon her out of that evening sky? - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Mrs Ogilvy went wearily up-stairs after the suspense and alarm of this -long, long day. It was all that she could do to drag one foot after -another, to keep upright; her brain was in a confusion of misery, out of -which she now could distinguish no distinct sentiment--terror and grief -and suspense, and the vague wild apprehension of some unintelligible -catastrophe, all mingling together. When she reached the head of the -stairs she met Robbie, who told her, not looking at her, that he had -bidden Janet prepare the supper earlier than usual, “for we’ll have to -make a start to-night,” he said. - -She seized his hand in her frail ones, which could scarcely hold it. -“Robbie, will you go?--will you go, and break my heart?” - -“It’s of no use speaking, mother; let me be free of you at least, for -God’s sake! You will drive me mad----” - -“Robbie! Robbie! my only son--my only child! I’ll be dead and gone -before ever you could come back.” - -“You’ll live the longest of the two of us, mother.” - -“God forbid!” she said; “God forbid! But why will ye go out into the -jaws of death and the mouth of hell? If the pursuers of blood are after -him, they are not after you. Oh, Robbie, stay with your mother. Dinna -forsake me for a strange man.” - -“Mother,” he said, with a hoarse voice, “when your friend is in deadly -danger, is that the time, think you, to forsake him?” - -And Mrs Ogilvy was silent. She looked at him with a gasp in her throat. -All her old teachings, the tenets of her life, came back upon her and -choked her. When your friend is in deadly danger! Was it not she who had -taught her son that of all the moments of life that was the last to -choose to abandon a friend. She could make him no answer; she only -stared at him with troubled failing eyes. - -“But once he is in safety,” Robbie said, with a stammer of hesitation -and confusion, “once I can feel sure that---- Mother, I promise you, if -I can help it, I will not go--where he is going. I--promise you.” He -cast a look behind him. There was no one there, but Lew’s door was open, -and it was possible he might hear. Robbie bent forward hastily to his -mother’s ear. “I cannot stand against him,” he said; “I cannot: I told -you--he is my master,--didn’t I tell you? But I will come back--I will -come back--as soon as I am free.” - -He trembled, too, throughout his big bulk, with agitation and -excitement--more than she ever did in her weakness. If this was so, was -it not now her business to be strong to support her boy? She went on to -her room to put on her other cap, to prepare for the evening, and the -last meal they were to eat together. The habits of life are so strong; -her heart was breaking, and yet she knew that it was time to put on her -evening cap. She went into her room, too, with the feeling that there no -new agitation could come near her, that she might kneel down a moment by -her bedside, and get a little calm and strength. But not to-night. To -her astonishment and horror, the tall figure of Lew raised itself from -the old-fashioned escritoire in which she kept her papers and did her -writing. He turned round, and faced her with a laugh. “Oh, it is you!” -he said. “I thought it was your good son Bob. You surprised us when we -were making a little examination by ourselves. It is always better to -examine for yourself, don’t you know----” - -“To examine--what?” - -“Where the money is, mother,” he said, with another laugh. - -She had herself closed the door before she had seen him. She was at his -mercy. - -“You think, then,” she said, “that I’ve told you a lie--about money?” - -“Everybody tells lies about money, mother. I never knew one yet who did -not declare he had none--until it was taken out of his pockets, or out -of his boxes, or out of a nice little piece of furniture like this, -which an old lady can keep in her bedroom--locked.” - -She took her keys out of her pocket, a neat little bunch, shining like -silver, and handed them to him without a word. He received them with a -somewhat startled look. It was something like the sensation of having -the other cheek turned to you, after having struck the first. He had -been examining the lock with a view to opening by other methods. The -keys put into his hand startled him; but again he carried it off with a -laugh. “Plucky old girl!” he said. And then he turned round and -proceeded to open the well-worn old secretary which had enclosed all Mrs -Ogilvy’s little valuables, and the records of her thoughts since she was -a girl. It opened as easily as any door, and gave up its little -treasures, her letters, her little memorials, the records of an innocent -woman’s evanescent joys and lasting sorrows. The rough adventurer, whose -very presence here was a kind of sacrilege, stooped over the little -writing-board, the dainty little drawers, like a bear examining a -beehive. He pulled out a drawer or two, in which there were bundles of -old letters, all neatly tied up, touching them as if his hands were too -big for the little ivory knobs; and then he suddenly turned round upon -her, shutting the drawers again hurriedly, and flung the keys into her -lap. - -“Hang it all! I cannot do it. I’ve not come to that. Rob a rogue by day -or night; that’s fair enough: but turn to picking and stealing. No! take -back your keys--you may have millions for me. I can’t look up your -little drawers, d--n you!” he cried. - -“No, laddie!” said Mrs Ogilvy, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, -“you’re fit for better things.” - -He looked at her strangely. She sat quite still beside him, not moving, -not even taking up her keys, which lay in her lap. - -“You think so, do you?” he said. “And yet I would have killed you last -night.” - -“Thank the Lord,” said the old lady, “that delivered you from that -temptation.” - -“That saved your life, you mean. But it wasn’t the Lord. It was Bob, -your son, who couldn’t stand and see it after all.” - -“Thank the Lord still more,” she said, “that wakened the old heart, his -own natural heart, in my boy.” - -“Well that is one view to take of it,” said Lew. “I should have thought -it more sensible, however, to thank the Lord, as you say, for your own -life.” - -Mrs Ogilvy rose up. The keys of her treasures fell to the ground. What -were they to her at this moment? “And what is my life to me,” she said, -“that I should think of it instead of better things? Do you think it -matters much to me, left here alone an auld wreck on the shore, without -a son, without a companion, without a hope for this world, whether I -live or die? Man!” she cried, laying a hand on his arm, “it’s not that I -would give it for my Robbie, my own son, over and over and over! but I -would give it for you. Oh, dinna think that I am making a false -pretence! For you, laddie, that are none of mine, that would have killed -me last night, that would kill me now for ever so little that I stood in -your way.” - -“No!” he said in a hoarse murmur, “no!”--but she saw still the gleam of -the devil in his eye, that murderous sense of power--that he had but to -put forth a hand. - -“If it would not be for the sin on your soul--you that are taking my son -from me--you might take my life too, and welcome,” she said. - -She could not stand. She was restless, too, and could not bear one -position. She sank upon her chair again, and, lifting up the keys, laid -them down upon the open escritoire, where they lay shining between the -two, neither of use nor consequence to either. Lew began to pace up and -down the room, half abashed at his own weakness, half furious at his -failure. She might have millions--but he could not fish them out of her -drawers, not he. That was no man’s work. He could have killed her last -night, and he could, she divined, kill her now, with a sort of -satisfaction, but not rob her escritoire. - -“Mr Lew, will you leave me my son?” she said. - -“No: I have nothing to do with it; he comes of his own will,” cried the -other. “You make yourself a fine idea of your son. Do you know he has -been in with me in everything? Ah! he has his own scruples; he has not -mine. He interfered last night; but he’d turn out your drawers as soon -as look at you. It’s a pity he’s not here to do it.” - -“Will you leave me my son?” she repeated again; “he is all I have in the -world.” - -“I’ve got less,” cried Lew; “I haven’t even a son, and don’t want one. -You are a deal better without him. Whatever he might be when he was a -boy, Bob’s a rover now. He never would settle down. He would do you a -great deal more harm than good.” - -“Will you leave me my son?” she said again. - -“No! I can say No as well as you, mother; but I’ve nothing to do with -it. Ask himself, not me. Do you think this is a place for a man? What -can he do? Who would he see? Nobody. It is not living--it is making -believe to live. No; he won’t stay here if he will be guided by me.” - -The door opened suddenly, and Robbie looked in. “Are you going to stay -all night?” he said, gruffly. “There’s supper waiting, and no time to -be lost, if----” - -“If--we take that long run we were thinking of to-night. Well, let’s go. -Mrs Ogilvy, you’re going to keep us company to-night.” - -“It’s the last time,” said her son. - -“Oh, Robbie, Robbie!” she cried. - -“Stop that, mother. I’ve said all I’m going to say.” - -To sit down round the table with the dishes served as usual, the lamp -shining, the men eating largely, even it seemed with enjoyment, a little -conversation going on--was to go from one dreadful dream to another with -scarcely a pause between. Was it real that they were sitting there -to-day and would be far away to-morrow? That this was her son, whom she -could touch, and to-morrow he would have disappeared again into the -unseen? Love is the most obdurate, the most unreasoning thing in the -world. Mrs Ogilvy knew now very well what her Robbie was. There were few -revelations which could have been made to her on the subject. -Perhaps--oh, horrible thing to think or say!--it was better for her -before he came back, when she had thought that his absence was the great -sorrow of her life: she had learnt many other things since then. Perhaps -in his heart the father of the prodigal learned this lesson too, and -knew that, even with the best robe upon him, and the ring on his finger -and the shoes on his feet, he was still hankering after the husks which -the swine eat, and their company. How much easier would life be, and how -many problems would disappear or be solved, if we could love only those -whom we approved! But how little, how very little difference does this -make. Mrs Ogilvy knew everything, divined everything, and yet the -thought that he was going away made heaven and earth blank to her. She -could not reconcile herself to the dreadful thought. And he, for his -part, said very little. He showed no regret, but neither did he show -that eagerness to take the next step which began to appear in Lew. He -sat very silent, chiefly in the shade, saying nothing. Perhaps after all -he was sorry; but his mother, watching him in her anguish, could not -make sure even of that. Janet was, next to Lew himself, the most -cheerful person in the room. She pulled her mistress’s sleeve, and -showed her two shining pieces of gold in her hand, with a little nod of -her head towards Lew. “And Andrew has one,” she whispered. “I aye said -he was a real gentleman! Three golden sovereigns between us--and what -have we ever done? I’ll just put them by for curiosities. It’s no often -you see the like o’ them here.” The mistress looked at them with a -rueful smile. Gold is not very common in rural Scotland. She had taken -so much trouble to get those golden sovereigns for her departing guest! -but it did not displease her that he had been generous to her old -servants. There was good in him--oh, there was good in him!--he had been -made for better things. - -Janet had been in this radiant mood when she cleared the table; but a -few minutes after she came in again with a scared face, and beckoned to -her mistress at the door. Mrs Ogilvy hurried out, afraid she knew not of -what, fearing some catastrophe. Andrew stood behind Janet in the hall. -“What is it, what is it?” the mistress cried. - -“Have you siller in the house, mem? is it known that you have siller in -the house?” - -“Me--siller? are you out of your senses? I have no siller in the -house--nothing beyond the ordinary,” Mrs Ogilvy cried. - -“It’s just this,” said Janet, “there’s a heap of waiff characters -creeping up about the house. I canna think it’s just for the spoons and -the tea-service and that, that are aye here; but I thought if you had -been sending for money, and thae burglars had got wit of it----” - -“What kind of waiff characters?” said Mrs Ogilvy, trembling. - -“They are both back and front. Andrew he was going to supper Sandy, and -a man started up at his lug. The doors and the windows are all weel -fastened, but Andrew he said I should let you ken.” - -“The gentlemen,” said Andrew, “will maybe know--they will maybe -know----” - -“How should the gentlemen know, poor laddies, mair than any one of us?” -cried Janet. - -It was a great thing for Andrew all his life after that the mistress -approved his suggestion. “I will go and tell them,” she said; “and you -two go ben to your kitchen and keep very quiet, but if ye hear anything -more let me know.” - -She went back into the lighted room, trembling, but ready for -everything. The two men were seated at the table. They were not talking -as usual, but sat like men full of thought, saying nothing to each -other. They looked up both--Lew with much attention, Rob with a sort of -sulky indifference. “It appears,” said Mrs Ogilvy, speaking in a broken -voice, “that there are men--all round the house.” - -“Men! all round the house.” There was a moment of consternation, and -then Lew sprang to his feet. “It has come, Bob; the hour has come, -sooner than we thought.” - -Rob rose too, slowly; an oath, which in this terrible moment affected -his mother more than all the rest, came from his lips. “I told you--you -would let them take you by surprise.” - -“Fool again! I don’t deny it,” the other said, with a sort of gaiety. -“Now for your gulley and Eskside, and a run for it. We’ll beat them -yet.” - -“If they’ve not stopped us up like blind moles,” cried Robbie. “Mother, -keep them in parley as long as you can; every moment’s worth an hour. -You’ll have to open the door, but not till the very last.” - -She answered only with a little movement of her head, and stood looking -without a word, while they caught up without another glance at -her--Robbie the cloak which he had brought with him, and Lew a loose -coat, in which he enveloped himself. Their movements were very quiet, -very still, as of men absorbed in what they were doing, thinking of -nothing else. They hurried out of the room, Robbie first, leading the -way, and his mother’s eyes following him as if they would have burst out -of the sockets. He was far too much preoccupied to think of her, to give -her even a look. And this was their farewell, and she might never see -him more. She stood there motionless, conscious of nothing but that -acute and poignant anguish that she had taken her last look of her son, -when suddenly the air, which was trembling and quivering with excitement -and expectation, like the air that thrills and shimmers over a blazing -furnace, was penetrated by the sound for which the whole world seemed to -have been waiting--a heavy ominous loud knock at the outer door. Mrs -Ogilvy recovered all her faculties in a moment. She went to the open -door of the dining-room, where Andrew and Janet, one on the heels of the -other, were arriving in commotion, Andrew about to stride with a heavy -step to the door. She silenced them, and kept them back with a movement -of her hands, stamping her impatient foot at Andrew and his unnecessary -haste. She thought it would look like expectation if she responded too -soon--and had they not told her to parley, to gain time? She stood at -the dining-room door and waited till the summons should be repeated. And -after an interval it came again, with a sound of several voices. She put -herself in motion now, coming out into the hall, pretending to call upon -Andrew, as she would have done in former days if so disturbed. “Bless -me!” she cried; “who will that be making such a noise at the door?” - -“Will I open it, mem?” Andrew said. - -“No, no; let me speak to them first. Who is it?” Mrs Ogilvy said, -raising her calm voice; “who is making such a disturbance at my door at -this hour of the night?” - -“Open in the Queen’s name,” cried somebody outside. - -“Ay, that would I willingly,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “but who are ye that are -taking her sacred Majesty’s name? None of her servants, I’m sure, or you -would not disturb an honest family at this hour of the night.” - -“Open to the police, at your peril,” said another voice. - -“The police--in this house? No, no,” she cried, standing white and -trembling, but holding out like a lion. “You will not deceive me with -that--in this house.” - -“Open the door, or we’ll break it in. Here, you speak to her!”--“Mem,” -said a new voice, very tremulous but familiar, “it is me, Peter Young, -with the men from Edinburgh. It’s maybe some awfu’ mistake; but you must -let us in--you maun open the door.” - -“You, Peter Young!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, “you are not the man to disturb my -house in the middle of the night. It ill becomes you after all you’ve -got from the Hewan. Just tell these idle folk there is nothing to be -gotten here, and bid them go away.” - -“This is folly,” said a more imperative voice. “Break in the door if she -will not open it. We can’t stand all the night parleying here.” - -Then Mrs Ogilvy heard, her ears preternaturally sharp in the crisis, a -sound as of women’s voices, which gave her a momentary hope. Was it a -trick that was being played upon her after all? for if it was for life -or death why should there be women’s voices there? - -And then another voice arose which was even more reassuring. It was the -minister who spoke. The minister dragged hither against his will, but -beginning to feel piously that it was the hand of providence, and that -he had been directed not by Mrs Ainslie, but by some special messenger -from heaven--if indeed she was not one. “Mrs Ogilvy,” the minister -said, “it must be, as Peter says, some dreadful mistake--but it -certainly is the police from Edinburgh, and you must let them in.” - -“Who is that that is speaking? is it the minister that is speaking? are -ye all in a plot to disturb the rest of a quiet family? No,” with a -sudden exclamation, “ye will not break in my door. I will open it, since -ye force me to open it. I am coming, I am coming.” - -Andrew rushed forward, to pull back with all expedition the bolts and -bars. But his mistress stamped her foot at him once more, and dismissed -him behind backs with a look--from which he did not recover for many a -long day--and coming forward herself, began to draw back with difficulty -and very slowly the innocent bolts and bars. They might have been the -fastenings of a fortress from the manner in which she laboured at them, -with her unaccustomed hands. “And me ready to do it in a moment,” Andrew -said, aggrieved, while she kept asking herself, the words buzzing in her -ears, like flies coming and going, “Have I kept them long enough? have I -given my lads their time? Oh, if they got out that quiet they should be -safe by now.” There was the bolt at the bottom and the top, and there -was the chain, and then the key to turn. The door was driven in upon her -at last by the sudden entrance of a number of impatient men, a great -gust of fresh air, a ray of moonlight straight from the skies: and Mr -Logan and his companions, Susie pale and crying, and Mrs Ainslie pale -too--but with eyes sparkling and all the keen enjoyment of an exciting -catastrophe in her face. - -“We have a warrant for the arrest of Lew or Lewis Winterman, _alias_, -&c., &c., accused of murder,” said the leader of the party, “who we have -reason to believe has been for some weeks harboured here.” - -Mrs Ogilvy disengaged herself from the man whose sudden push inwards had -almost carried her away. She came forward into the midst in her white -cap and shawl, a wonderful centre to all these dark figures. “There is -no such person in my house,” she said. - -And then there came a cry and tumult from behind, and through the door -of the dining-room, which stood wide open, making it a part of the -scene, there suddenly appeared another group of whirling struggling -figures, steadily pushing back before them the two fugitives, who had -crept their way out, only to be met and overpowered, and brought back to -answer as they could for themselves. Then, and only then, Mrs Ogilvy’s -strength failed her. The light for a moment went out of her eyes. All -that she had done had been in vain, in vain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -The two men stood with the background of dark figures behind, while the -inspector who was at the head of the party advanced towards them. -Robbie, with his long beard and his cloak over his shoulder, was the one -upon whom all eyes were fixed. One of the policemen held him firm by the -arm. His countenance was dark, his air sullen, like a wild beast taken -in the toils. The other by his side, almost spruce in his loose coat, -his clean-shaven face seeking no shadow, facing the enemy with a -half-smile upon it, easy, careless, fearing no evil--produced an effect -quite contrary to that which the dark and bearded brigand made upon the -officers of the law. Who could doubt that it was he who was the son of -the house, “led away” by the truculent ruffian by his side? There was no -mention of Robbie’s name in the warrant. And the sight of Robbie’s -mother, and her defence of her threshold, had touched the hearts even -of the police. To take away this ruffian, to leave her her son in peace, -poor old lady, relieving her poor little quiet house of the horror that -had stolen into it--the inspector certainly felt that he would be doing -a good service to his neighbour as well as obeying the orders of the -law. - -“The one with the beard,” he said, looking at a paper which he held in -his hand--“that is him. Secure him, Green. Stand by, men; be on your -guard; he knows what he’s about---- ah!” The inspector breathed more -freely when the handcuffs clicked on Robert Ogilvy’s wrists, who for his -part neither resisted nor answered, but stood looking almost stupidly at -the scene, and then down upon his hands when they were secured. The -other by his side put up a hand to his face, as if overwhelmed by the -catastrophe, and fell a little backward, overcome it seemed with -distress--as Robbie ought to have done, had this and not the ruffian in -the beard been he. - -Mrs Ogilvy had been leaning on Susie’s shoulder, incapable of more, her -heart almost ceasing to beat, all her strength gone; but when the words, -“the one with the beard,” reached dully and slowly to her comprehension, -she made but one bound, pushing with both arms every one away from her, -and with a shriek appeared in the midst of the group. “It is my son,” -she cried, “my son, my son! It is Robbie Ogilvy and no one else. It is -my son, my son, my son!” She flung herself upon him, raving as if she -had suddenly gone mad in her misery, and tried to pluck off with her -weak hands the iron bands from his wrists. Her cries rang out, silencing -every other sound. “It is my son, my son, my son!----” - -“I am very sorry, madam; it may be your son, and still it may be the man -we want,” the inspector said. - -And then another shrill woman’s voice burst forth from behind. “You -fools, he’s escaping! Don’t you see?”--the speaker clapped her hands -with a sound that rang over their heads. “Don’t you see! It’s easy to -take off a beard. If you waste another moment, he’ll be gone!” - -He had almost got beyond the last of the men, retreating very softly -backwards, while all the attention was concentrated upon Robbie and his -mother. But he allowed himself to be pushed forward again at the sound -of this voice, as if he had had no such intention. A snarl like that of -a furious dog curled up his lip at the side for a moment; but he did not -change his aspect--the game was not yet lost. - -“There are folk here,” cried Mrs Ogilvy, still plucking at the -handcuffs, while Robbie stood silent, saying nothing--“there are folk -here who have known him from his cradle, that will tell you he’s Robert -Ogilvy: there are my servants--there is the minister, here present God -knows why or wherefore: they know--he’s been absent from his home many a -day; but he’s Robert Ogilvy: no the other. If he’s Robert Ogilvy he is -not the other: if he’s my son he’s not that man. And he is my son, my -son, my son! I swear it to you--and the minister. Mr Logan, tell -them----” - -Mr Logan’s mind was much disturbed. He felt that providence itself had -sent him here; but he was slow to make up his mind what to say. He -wanted time to speak and to explain. “I have every reason to think that -is Robert Ogilvy,” he said; “but I never saw him with a beard; and what -he may have been doing all these years----” - -“Mr Inspector,” cried Mrs Ainslie, panting with excitement, close to the -officer’s side. “Listen to me: as it chances, I know the man. There is -no one here but I who knows the man. It shows how little you know if you -think that idiot is Lew. I’m a respectable lady of this place, but I’ve -been in America, and I know the man. I’ve seen him--I’ve seen him tried -for his life and get off; and if you drivel on like that, he’ll get off -again. _That_ Lew!” she cried, with a hysterical laugh,--“Lew the devil, -Lew the road-agent! That man’s like a sheep. Do you hear me, do you hear -me? You’ll let him escape again.” - -Now was the time for Robbie to speak, for his mother to speak, and say, -“That is the man!” But Mrs Ogilvy was absorbed tearing in vain at the -handcuffs, repeating unconsciously her exclamation, “My son, my son!” -And he stood looking down upon her and her vain struggle, and upon his -own imprisoned hands. I doubt whether she knew what was passing, or was -conscious of anything but of one thing--which was Robbie in those -disgraceful bonds. But he in his dull soul, forced into enlightenment by -the catastrophe, was very conscious of everything, and especially that -he was betrayed--that he himself was being left to bear the brunt, and -that his friend in his character was stealing away. - -Janet had been kept back, partly by fright and astonishment, partly by -the police and Andrew, the last of whom had a fast hold upon her gown, -and bade her under his breath to “Keep out o’t--keep out o’t; we can do -nothing:” but this restraint she could no longer bear. Her desire to be -in the midst of everything, to be by her mistress’s side, to have her -share of what was going on, would have been enough for her, even if she -felt, as Andrew did, that she could do no good. But Janet was of no such -opinion. Was she not appealed to, as one whose testimony would put all -right? She pushed her way from among the men, pulling her cotton gown, -which tore audibly, out of Andrew’s hand. “Sir, here am I: let me -speak,” she said. “This is Mr Robert Ogilvy, that I’ve known since ever -he was born. He came home the 15th of June, the same day many weary -years before as he ran away. The other gentleman is Mr Lewis, his -friend, that followed him here about a month ago at the most, a real -fine good-hearted gentleman, too, if maybe he has been a little wild. -Our gentleman is just as he was when he came out of the deserts and -wildernesses. We’re not a family that cares a great deal for -appearances. But Mr Lewis, he’s of another way of thinking, and we’ve -had a great laughing all day at his shaving off of his beard.” - -“That’s what I told you!” said Mrs Ainslie, in her excitement pulling -the inspector’s arm. “I told you so! What’s a beard? it is as easy to -take off as a bonnet. And he would have got clean off--look at him, look -at him!--if it hadn’t been for me.” - -“Look after that man, you fellows there,” said the inspector’s deep -voice. “Don’t let him get away. Secure them both.” - -No one had put handcuffs on Lew’s wrists; no policeman had touched him; -he had been free, with all his wits about him, noting everything, alert, -all conscious, self-possessed. Twice he had almost got away: the first -time before Mrs Ainslie had interfered; the second when Janet with her -evidence had come forward, directing all attention once more to -Robbie--during which moment he had made his way backward again in the -most cautious way, endeavouring to get behind the backs of the men and -make a dash for the door. Almost! but what a difference was that! The -policemen, roused and startled, hustled him forward to his “mate’s” -side, but still without laying a hand upon him. All their suspicions and -observation were for the handcuffed criminal standing silent and gloomy -on the other side. Lew maintained his careless attitude well, nodding at -the inspector, with a “Well, well, officer,” as if he yielded easily but -half-contemptuously to punctilio. But when he saw another constable draw -from his pocket another pair of handcuffs, he changed colour; his eyes -lighted up with a wild fire. Mrs Ainslie, who had got beyond her own -control, followed his movements with the closest inspection. She burst -into a laugh as he grew pale. Her nerves were excited far beyond her -control. She cried out, without knowing, without intending, “Ah, Lew! -You have had more than you meant. You’ve found more than you wanted. -Caught! caught at last. And you will not get off this time,” she cried, -with the wild laugh which she was quite unable to quench, or even to -restrain. - -Whether he saw what no doubt was true, that every hope was over, and -that, once conveyed to Edinburgh, no further mistake was possible, and -his fate sealed; or whether he was moved by a swift wave of passion, as -happened to him from time to time--and the exasperation of the woman’s -voice, which worked him to madness--can never be known. He was still -quite free, untouched by any one; but the handcuffs approaching which -would make an end of every independent act. His tall figure, and -clean-shaven, unveiled face seemed suddenly to rise and tower over every -other in the heat and pale glow of passion. “You viper, Liz!” he -thundered out. “Music-hall Liz!” with a fierce laugh, “here’s for -you--the traitor’s pay!” And before any one could breathe or speak, -before a hand could be lifted, there was a sudden flash and report, and -in a moment he had flung himself forward upon the two or three startled -men in front of him, with a rush for the open door, and the pistol still -smoking in his hand. Two steps more, and he would have been out in the -open, in the fresh air that breathed like heaven upon him, among the -dark trees that give hiding and shelter, and make a man, with his wits -about him, a match for any dozen. Two steps more! But rapid as he was, -there were too many of them to make such an escape possible. Before he -had reached that open way, half-a-dozen men were upon him. The struggle -was but for a moment--a wild sudden tumult of stamping feet and loud -voices; then there was again a sudden flash and report and fall. The -whole band seemed to fall together--the men who had grappled with him -being dragged with him to the ground. They gathered themselves up one by -one--everybody who could move: and left the one on the ground who would -never move again. - -He had so far succeeded in his rush that his head fell outside the open -door of the Hewan, where his face caught the calm line of the moonlight -streaming in. The strange white radiance enveloped him, separating him -from everything round--from the men who, struggling up to their feet, -suddenly hushed and awe-stricken, stood hastily aside in the shadow, -looking down upon the prisoner who had thus escaped from their hands. He -lay right across the threshold in all his length and strength of -limb,--motionless now, no struggle in him, quenched every resistance and -alarm. It was so instantaneous, that the terrible event--that sudden, -incalculable change of death, which is of all things in the world the -most interesting and tremendous to all lookers-on--became doubly awful, -falling, with a solemn chill and horror which paralysed them, upon the -astonished men around. Dead! Yet a moment since flinging off the -strongest, struggling against half-a-dozen, almost escaping from their -hands. He had escaped now. None of them would willingly have laid a -finger on him. They stood trembling round, who had been grappling him a -minute before, keen for his subjugation. The curious moon, too still and -cold for any ironical meaning, streamed on him from head to foot in the -opening of the doorway, displaying him as if to the regard of men and -angels, with a white blaze upon his upturned face, and here and there a -strong silver line where an edge of his clothing caught the whiteness in -relief. Everything else was in shadow, or in the trembling uncertainty -of the indoor light. The pistol, still with a little smoke from it, -which curled for a moment into the shining light and disappeared, was -still in his hand. - -This was the end of that strange visit to the little tranquil house, -where he had introduced so much disturbance, so strange an overturning -of every habit. He had taken it for his rest and refuge, like a master -in a place where every custom of the tranquil life, and every principle -and sentiment, cried out against him. He had made the son his slave, but -yet had not made the mother his enemy. And yet a more wonderful thing -had happened to Lew. He, whom nobody had loved in his life, save those -whose vile affections can be bought for pay, and who dishonour the -name--and for whom nobody would have wept had he not strayed into this -peaceful abode and all but ruined and destroyed it--had tears shed for -him here. Had he never come to the Hewan--to shed misery and terror -around him, to kill and ruin, to rob and slay, as for some time at least -he had intended--there would have been no lament made for the -adventurer. But kind nature gained him this much in his end, though he -no way deserved it. And the moonlight made him look like a hero slain in -its defence upon the threshold of the outraged house,--the only house in -the world where prayer had ever been said for this abandoned soul. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -It was only when that extraordinary momentary tragedy was over, and the -hush of silence, overawed and thunder-stricken, had taken the place of -the tumult, that it became apparent to most of the spectators that all -was not over, that there was yet something to be done. “Let some one go -for the nearest doctor,” the inspector said quickly. - -“No need for any doctors here, sir,” said the men in concert. - -“Go at once; you, Young, that know where to find one: and some of you go -with him, to lose no time. There’s a woman shot beside,” said the -officer in his curt tones of command. - -But the woman shot was not Mrs Ainslie, at whom the pistol was levelled. -These three visitors, so strangely mixed up in the _mêlée_ and in the -confusion of events, had been hustled about among the policemen, to the -consternation of the father and daughter, who could not explain to -themselves at first what was going on, nor what their companion had to -do with it. As the course of the affair advanced, Mr Logan began to -perceive, as has been said, that it was a special providence which had -brought him here; but Susie, troubled and full of anguish, her whole -heart absorbed in Robbie and his mother, and the mysterious trouble -which she did not understand, which was hanging over them, stood alone, -pressed back against the wall, following every movement of her friends, -suffering with them. A sharp cry had come out of her very heart when the -handcuffs--those dreadful signs of shame--were put upon his hands. She -saw nothing, thought of nothing, but these two figures--what was any -other to her?--and all that she understood or divined was that some -dreadful trouble had happened to Robbie, and that she could not help -him. She took no notice of her future step-mother’s strange proceedings, -nor of the extraordinary fact that she had forced herself into the midst -of it--she, a stranger--and was adding her foolish shrill opinion to the -discussion. If Susie thought of Mrs Ainslie at all, it was with a -passing reflection that she loved to be in the midst of everything, -which was far too trifling a thought to occupy Susie in the deep -distress of sympathy in which she was. Her father moved about helplessly -among the men. He thought he had been brought there by a special -providence, but he did not know what to do. Mrs Ogilvy had turned upon -him almost fiercely, when he had hesitated in giving his testimony for -Robbie--which was not from any lack of kindness, but solely because he -wanted to say a great deal on the subject. Mrs Ogilvy by this time had -come a little to herself, she had given up the foolish struggle with the -handcuffs; and when Janet’s over-frankness had drawn attention again to -Lew, the mistress withdrew for a moment her own anxious looks from her -son, and turned to the other, of whom she had said nothing, protecting -him instinctively, even in the face of Robbie’s danger. But when she -looked at Lew’s face, she trembled. The horror of last night came over -her once more. Was that murder that was in it, the fire of hell? She had -learned now what it meant when he put his hand to his pocket, and hers, -perhaps, was the only eye that saw that gesture. He was looking at some -one: was it at her, was it at some one behind her? Mrs Ogilvy -instinctively made a step back, whether to escape in her own person, or -to protect that other, she knew not, her eyes fixed on him with a -fascination of terror. She stretched out her arms, with her shawl -covering them like wings, facing him always, stretching forth what was -like a white shield between him in his fury and all the unarmed -defenceless people. She seemed to feel nothing but the sharp sound of -the report, which rang through and through her. She did not know why she -fell. There came a shriek from the woman behind her, at whom that -bullet was aimed; but the real victim fell softly without a cry, with a -murmur of bewilderment, and the sharp sound still ringing, ringing in -her ears. The man seemed to spring over her where she lay; but she knew -no more of what had happened, except that soft arms came suddenly round -her, and her head was raised on some one’s breast, and Susie’s voice -began to sound over her, calling her name, asking where was she hurt. -She did not know she was hurt. It all seemed to become natural again -with the sound of Susie’s voice. She did not lose consciousness, though -she fell, and though it was evident now that the white shawl was all -dabbled with red. It was hard to tell what it all meant, but yet there -seemed some apology wanted. “He did not mean it,” she said; “he did not -mean it. There is--good in him.” She laid her head back on Susie’s bosom -with a soft look of content. “It is maybe--not so bad as you think,” she -said. - -The shot was in the shoulder, and the wound bled a great deal. No -ambulance classes nor amateur doctoring had reached so far as Eskholm; -but Susie by the light of nature did all that was possible to stop the -bleeding until the doctor came. She sent Janet off for cushions and -pillows, to make so far as she could an impromptu bed, that the sufferer -might rest more easily. Most of the police party had been ordered -outside, though two of them still stood, a living screen, between the -group round the wounded woman and that figure lying in the doorway, -which was not to be disturbed till the doctor came, some one having -found or fancied a faint flutter in the heart. Mrs Ainslie, to do her -justice, had been totally overwhelmed for the moment. She had flung -herself down on her knees by Mrs Ogilvy’s side, weeping violently, her -face hidden in her hands. She was of no help in the dreadful strait; but -at least she was in a condition of excitement and shattered nerves from -which no help could be expected. Mr Logan had not taken any notice of -her, though he was not yet aroused to any questions as to her behaviour -and position here. He was moving about with soft suppressed steps from -one side to another, in an agony of desire to do his duty, and -consciousness of having been brought by a special providence. But the -minister was appalled by the dead face in the moonlight, the great -figure fallen like a tower. When it was said there was still life in -him, he knelt down heroically by Lew’s side, and tried to whisper into -his ear an entreaty that still at the eleventh hour he should prepare to -meet his God. And then he came round and looked over his daughter’s head -at Mrs Ogilvy. Ought he to recall to her mind the things that concerned -her peace as long as she was able to hear? But the words died on the -minister’s lips. He was a good man, though he was not quick to -understand, or able to divine. His lips moved with the conventional -phrases which belonged to his profession, which it was his duty to say; -but he could not utter any of them. He felt with a curious stupefied -sense of reality that most likely after all God was here, and knew more -perfectly all about it than he. - -Meanwhile, the chief person in this scene lay quite still, not suffering -as appeared, very quiet and tranquil in her mind, Susie’s arm supporting -her, and her head on Susie’s breast. The bleeding had almost stopped, -partly because of the complete peace, partly from Susie’s expedients. -Mrs Ogilvy, no doubt, thought she was dying; but it did not disturb her. -The loss of blood had reduced her to that state of weakness in which -there is no struggle. Impressions passed lightly over her brain in its -confusion. Sometimes she asked a question, and then forgot what it was, -and the answer to it together. She was aware of a coming and going in -the place, a sense of movement, the strange voices and steps of the men -about; but they were all part of the turmoil, and she paid no attention -to them. Only she roused a little when Robbie stood near: he looked so -large, when one looked up at him lying stretched out on the floor. He -was talking to some one gravely, standing up, a free man, talking and -moving like the master of the house. She smiled and held out a feeble -hand to him, and he came immediately and knelt down by her side. “He did -not mean it,” she said. And then, “It is maybe not so bad as you -think.” These were the little phrases which she had got by heart. - -He patted her on the sound shoulder with a large trembling hand, and -bade her be quiet, very quiet, till the doctor came. - -“You have not left me, Robbie?” - -“No, mother.” His voice trembled very much, and he stooped and kissed -her. “Never, never any more!” - -She smiled at him, lying there contented, with her head on Susie’s -breast--joyful, but not surprised by this news, for nothing could -surprise her now--and then she motioned to him to come closer, and -whispered, “Has he got away?” - -The appearance of the doctor, notwithstanding his pause and exclamation -of horror at the door, was an unspeakable relief. That cry conveyed no -information to the patient within, who did not seem even to require an -answer to her question. There was no question any longer of any -fluttering of Lew’s heart. The slight shake of the doctor’s head, the -look on his face, his rapid, low-spoken directions for the removal of -the dead man, renewed the dreadful commotion of the night for a moment. -And then he had Mrs Ogilvy removed on the mattress which his skilled -hands helped to place her on, into her own parlour, where he examined -her wound. She was still quite conscious, and told him over again her -old phrases. “He did not mean it,”--and “Maybe it will not be so ill as -you think,”--with a smile which wavered between consciousness and -unconsciousness. Her troubled brain had got those words as it were by -heart. She said them many times over during the course of the long and -feverish night, during which she saw many visions, glimpses of her son -bending over her, smoothing her pillow, touching her with ignorant -tender hands, glimpses of Susie sitting beside her, coming and going. -They were all dreams, she knew--but sometimes dreams are sweet. She was -ill somehow--but oh, how immeasurably content! - -This catastrophe made Robert Ogilvy a man--at least it gave him the -courage and sense which since his arrival at home he seemed to have -lost. He gave the police inspector an account of the man who was dead, -who could no longer be extradited or tried, in Scotland or elsewhere. He -did not conceal that he himself had been more or else connected with the -troop which Lew had led. The inspector nodded. “We know all about that,” -he said; “we know you didn’t count,” which pricked Robbie all the more, -half with the sense of injured pride, to prove that now at least he did -count. His story filled up all that the authorities had wanted to know. -What Lew’s antecedents were, what his history had been, mattered -nothing in this country. They mattered very little even in that from -which he came; and where already his adventures had dropped into the -legends of the road which we still hear from America with wonder, as if -the days of Turpin were not over. No one doubted Robert Ogilvy’s word. -He felt for the first time, on this night, when for a brief and terrible -moment he had worn handcuffs, and borne the brand of shame--and when he -had felt that he was about to be left to stand in another man’s name for -his life--that he was now a known person, the master, at least in a -secondary sense, of a house which “counted,” though it was not a great -house: and that he had, what he had never been conscious before of -having, a local habitation and a name. Robbie was very much overpowered -by this discovery, as well as by the other incidents of the night. He -was not perhaps deeply moved by grief for his friend. The man had not -been his friend; he had been his master, capable of fascinating and -holding him, with an influence which he could not resist. But whenever -he was removed from that influence, his mind and spirit had rebelled -against it. Now it seemed impossible, too wonderful to believe, that he -was free, that Lew’s voice would never call him back, nor Lew’s will -rule him again. But neither was he glad. Lew had led him very far in -these few days--almost to the robbing, almost to the killing, of his -mother--his mother, who had fought for them both like a lion, who had -done everything and dared everything for their sakes. But the slave, the -bondsman, though he felt the thrill of his freedom in his veins, did not -rejoice in the death of his taskmaster. It was too recent, too terrible, -too tragical for that. The sight of that familiar face lying in the -moonlight was always before him--he could not get it out of his eyes. He -did not attempt to go to bed, but walked up and down, sometimes going -into the drawing-room where his mother lay, with a wonderful tenderness -towards her, altogether new to his consciousness, and understanding of -the part she had played. He had never thought of this before. It had -seemed to him merely the course of nature, what was to be expected, the -sort of thing women did, and were glad and proud to be permitted to do. -To have a son to do everything for was her delight. Why should not the -son take it as such?--she was pleasing herself. That was what he had -always thought,--he awakened to a different sense, another appreciation, -not perhaps very vivid, but yet genuine. She had almost been killed for -her love--surely there was something in it after all, more than the -course of nature. He was very sorry for her, to see her lying there with -little spots of blood upon her white night-dress, and the shawl all -covered with blood laid aside in the corner. Poor mother! She was old -and she was weak, and most likely she would die of it. And it was Lew’s -doing, and all for his own sake. - -The house had once more become still. The crowd of people who had so -suddenly taken possession of it had surged away. No one knew how it was -that Mr Logan and his daughter and the lady who was going to be his wife -had appeared in that strange scene, and no one noted how at least the -last-named person disappeared. One moment she was kneeling on the floor, -in wild fits of convulsive weeping, her hat pushed back from her head, -her light hair hanging loose, wholly lost in trouble and distress: the -next she was gone. She had indeed stolen away in the commotion caused by -the arrival of the doctor, when Mrs Ogilvy was taken away, and that -tragic obstruction removed from the doorway. It is to be supposed that -she had come to herself by that time. She managed to steal out unseen, -though with a shudder crossing the threshold where Lew had lain. It was -she doubly, both in her betrayal of him, and in her exasperation of him, -who was the cause of all; but probably she did not realise that. She -found her way somehow through the moonlight and the black shadows, along -the road all slippery with the recent rain, to her own house, and there -spent the night as best she might, packing up many things which she -prized, clothes and trinkets, and the _bibelots_, which in their fashion -and hers, she loved like her betters. And early in the morning, by the -first train, she went away--to Edinburgh, in the first place, and -Eskholm saw her no more. - -When the doctor’s ministrations were over, for which Mr Logan waited to -hear the result, the minister went into all the rooms looking for her. -He had thought she was helping Susie at first; then, that she had -retired somewhere in the excess of her feelings, which were more -exquisite and delicate than those of common folk. He had in the -excitement of the time never thought of as yet, or even begun to wonder -at, the position she had assumed here, and the part she had taken. He -knew that if his Elizabeth had a fault, it was that she liked to be -always in the front, taking a foremost place in everything. He waited as -long as he could, looking about everywhere; and then, when he was quite -sure she was not to be found, and saw the doctor starting on his walk -home, took his hat and went also. “You think it will not be fatal, -doctor?” - -“It may not be--I cannot answer for anything. She’s very quiet, which is -much in her favour. But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, did I -find a dead man, whom I never saw in life, lying across the doorsteps of -the Hewan, and a quiet old lady like Mrs Ogilvy struck almost to death -with a pistol-shot?” - -“It is a wonder indeed,” said the minister. “I, if ye will believe me, -was led there, I cannot tell ye how, with the idea of a common call--and -found the police all about the house. It is just the most extraordinary -special providence,” said Mr Logan with solemnity, “that I ever -encountered in the course of my life.” He began by this time to feel -that he had been of great use. But he was a little troubled, poor man, -by the thought of his Elizabeth running home by herself, as she must -have done in the night. He passed her house on his way to the manse, and -was relieved to find that there was a light in her bedroom window; but -though he knocked and knocked again, and even went so far as to throw up -gravel at the window, he could obtain no response. He went home full of -thought. There began to rise into his mind recollections of things which -he was not conscious of having noticed at the time--of the energy with -which she had rushed to the front (but that was her way, he reflected, -with a faint smile) and insisted with the inspector: and then some one -had called her Liz--Liz!--who was it that had called her Liz? - -Mr Logan’s thoughts grew, through a night that was not very comfortable -to him more than to the other persons involved. The absence of Susie -made things worse. He would not have spoken to Susie on such a delicate -subject, especially as she was already hostile; but still, if Susie had -been there--in her absence there was an usual tumult in the house, and -he had no one to save him from it. And his mind was sorely troubled. -She had taken a part last night that would not have been becoming in a -minister’s wife. He would speak to her about it: and was it--could it -be--surely it was that robber villain, the suicide, the murderer, who -had called her Liz? It added to all his troubles, that when he had -finally made up his mind to go to her--she not coming to him, as was her -habit in the morning--he found her gone. Away to Edinburgh with the -first train, leaving her boxes packed, and a message that they would be -sent for, her bewildered maid said. Mr Logan returned home, a sorely -disturbed man. But he never saw more the woman who had so nearly been -his wife. There was truth in the story she told her daughter and -son-in-law in Edinburgh, that the scene she had witnessed had completely -shattered her nerves, and that she did not think she could ever face the -associations of that dreadful place again. She did not cheat anybody or -rob anybody, but left her little affairs at Eskholm in Tom Blair’s -hands, who paid everything scrupulously. I don’t know that he ever was -repaid; but he saw very little of his mother-in-law after this -extraordinary overturn of her fate. - -Mrs Ogilvy’s wound took a long time to heal, but it did heal in the end. -She was very weak, but had for a long time that wonderful exemption from -care which is usually the privilege of the dying, though she did not -die. Perhaps there was no time of her life when she was happier than -during these weeks of illness. Susie was by her bedside night and day. -Robbie came in continually, a large shadow standing over her, staying -but a moment at first, then longer, sitting by her, talking to her, -answering her questions. I do not know that there was soon or -fundamentally a great moral improvement in Robbie; but he had been -startled into anxiety and kindness, and a little went a long way with -those two women, who loved him. For there was little doubt in any mind, -except perhaps in his own, that Susie loved him too, with something of -the same tolerant, all-explaining, all-pardoning love which was in his -mother’s heart. She had done so all her life, waiting for him all those -years, through which he never thought of her: that did not matter to -Susie,--nobody had ever touched her faithful simple heart but he. She -would not perhaps have been an unhappy woman had he never come back: she -would have gone on looking for him with a vague and visionary hope, -which would have lent a grace to her gentle being, maiden-mother as she -had been born. And even this wild episode, which she never quite -understood, which she never desired to understand, made no difference to -Susie. She forgave it all to the man who was dead, and shed tears over -the horror of his fate; but she put easily all the blame upon him. -Robbie had been faithful to the death for him, would have gone away -instead of him to save him. It covered Lew with a shining mantle of -charity that he called forth so much that was noble in his friend. - -The minister, who was shamed to the heart, and wounded in his _amour -propre_ beyond expression by the desertion of Mrs Ainslie, and by the -conviction, slowly forced upon him, that she had deceived him, and was -no exquisite English lady of high pretensions but an adventuress--felt -that the only amends he could make to himself and the world was to carry -out his intention of marrying, and that as quickly as possible. -Providence, as he piously said, directed his eyes to one of those kind -old maids who fill up the crevices of the world, and who are often so -humbly ready to take that position of nurse-housekeeper-wife, in which -perhaps they can be of more use to their generation than in their -solitude, and which satisfies, I suppose, the wish to belong to -somebody, and be the first in some life, as well as the mother-yearning -in their hearts. Such a blessed solution of the difficulty enchanted the -parish, and satisfied the boys and the little girls, who had now -unlimited petting to look forward to--and set Susie free. She married -Robert Ogilvy soon after his mother’s recovery. Fortunately Mrs Ogilvy -was never conscious of the details of the tragedy, and did not know ever -what had lain there in the moonlight across her threshold. I doubt if -she could have come and gone cheerfully as she did over that door-stone -had she ever known. And the young ones full of their own life -forgot--and the family of three continued in the Hewan in love and -content. Robbie never became a model man. He never did anything, -notwithstanding the fulness of his life and strength. He had no impulse -to work--rather the reverse: his impulses were all in the way of -idleness; he lounged about and occupied himself with trifles, and -gardened a little, and carpentered a little, and was never weary. It -fretted the two women often, sometimes the length of despair, especially -Susie, who would burst out into regrets of all his talents lost, and the -great things he might have done. But Mrs Ogilvy did not echo those -regrets: she was well enough aware what Robbie’s talents were, and the -great things which he would never have done. She represented to her -daughter-in-law that if he had been weary of the quiet, if he had grown -moody, tired of his idleness, tired of his life, as some men do, there -would then have been occasion to complain. “But he is just very happy, -God bless him!” his mother said. “And you and me, Susie, we are two -happy women; and the Lord be thanked for all He has done for us, and no -suffered me to go down famished and fasting to the grave.” - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. - - * * * * * - - Catalogue - of - Messrs Blackwood & Sons’ - Publications - - -PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS FOR ENGLISH READERS. - -EDITED BY WILLIAM KNIGHT, LL.D., - -Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of St Andrews. - -In crown 8vo Volumes, with Portraits, price 3s. 6d. - - -_Contents of the Series._ - -DESCARTES, by Professor Mahaffy, Dublin.--BUTLER, by Rev. W. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Who was Lost and is Found - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: October 27, 2017 [EBook #55827] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHO WAS LOST AND IS FOUND *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="351" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<h1>WHO WAS LOST AND IS FOUND</h1> - -<p class="c"><i>A NOVEL</i></p> - -<p class="c">BY</p> - -<p class="c">MRS OLIPHANT</p> - -<p class="c">WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS<br /> -EDINBURGH AND LONDON<br /> -MDCCCXCIV</p> - -<p class="c"><i>All Rights reserved</i></p> - -<p class="c"><i>ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN ‘BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE’</i> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:4px outset gray;padding:.5em; -margin:2em auto 1em auto;max-width:40%;"> - -<tr><td class="c"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER: I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">III., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">X., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a>{1}</span> -</p> - -<h1>WHO WAS LOST AND IS FOUND.</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> of the most respected inhabitants of the village, rather of the -parish, of Eskholm in Mid-Lothian was Mrs Ogilvy, still often called Mrs -James by the elder people who had known her predecessors, who had seen -her married, and knew everything about her, her antecedents and -belongings. This is a thing very satisfactory in one way, as giving you -an assurance that nothing can be suddenly found out about you, no -disreputable new member or incident foisted into your family life; -while, on the other hand, it has its inconveniences, since it becomes -more or less the right of your neighbours to have every new domestic -occurrence explained to them in all its bearings. Great peace, however, -had for a long time fallen over the house in which Mrs James Ogilvy was -spending the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span> end of her quiet days: no new incident had occurred there -for years: its daily routine to all appearance went on as cheerfully as -could be desired. It was one of the prettiest houses of the -neighbourhood. Built on the side of a little hill, as so many houses are -in Scotland, it was a tallish two-storeyed house behind, plunging its -foundations deep in the soil, with an ample garden lying east and south, -full of all the old-fashioned vegetables and most of the old-fashioned -flowers of its period. But in front it was the trimmest cottage, low but -broad, opening upon a little round platform encircled by a drive, and -that, in its turn, by closely clipped holly-hedges, as thick as a wall -and as smooth. Andrew, the gardener, thought it more genteel to fill the -little flower-border in front with bedding-out plants in the -summer,—red geraniums, blue lobelias, and so forth—never the pansies -and gillyflowers his mistress loved,—and it was only with great -difficulty that he had been prevented from shutting out the view by a -clump of rhododendrons in the middle of the grass plot. “The view!” -Andrew said in high contempt: but this time his mistress had her way. -The view, perhaps, was nothing very wonderful to eyes accustomed to fine -scenery. A bit of the road that led to Edinburgh and the world was -visible among the trees at the foot of the brae, where the private path -of the Hewan between its close holly-hedges sloped upward to the house: -and behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span> stretched the full expanse of country,—the towers of the -castle making a break among the clouds of trees on one hand, and some of -the roofs of the village and the little stumpy church-steeple showing on -the other side. Between these two points, and far on either side, the -Esk somehow threaded his way, running by village and castle impartially, -but indeed exerting himself very much for the Hewan, forming little -cascades and bits of broken water at the foot of the steep brae, -throwing up glints of sunshine as it were from the depths, and filling -the air always with a murmur of friendly companionship of which the -inhabitants were unconscious, but of which had it stopped they would -have instantly become aware and felt that all the world had gone wrong.</p> - -<p>There was a garden-chair placed out here under the window of the -drawing-room, where Mrs Ogilvy used to sit during a great part of the -summer evenings—those long summer evenings of Scotland, which are so -lingering and so sweet. To sit “at the doors” is so natural a thing for -the women. They do it everywhere, in all climates and regions. Ladies -who were critical said that this was a bad habit, and that there was -nothing so becoming for a woman as to sit in her own drawing-room, in -her own chair, where she could always be found when she was wanted. But -a seat that was just under the drawing-room window, was not that as -little different from being inside as could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span> be? I agree, however, with -the critics that the sentiment was quite different, and that to go -indoors at the right time and have your lamp lighted, and sit down in -your comfortable chair, denotes, perhaps, a more contented mind and a -spirit reconciled to fate.</p> - -<p>It would have been hard, however, to have looked upon the face of Mrs -James Ogilvy as she went about her little household duties in the -morning, or took her walks about the garden, or knitted her stocking in -the placid afternoon, and to have thought of her as discontented or -struggling with fate. She was about sixty, a little woman but trim in -figure, with a pleasant colour, and eyes still bright with animation and -interest. Perhaps you will think it ridiculous to be asked to interest -yourself in the character and proceedings of an old woman of sixty when -there are so many younger and prettier things in the world: which I -allow is quite true in the general: yet there may be advantages in it, -once in a way. She wore much the same dress all the year through, which -was a black silk gown of varying degrees of richness (her best could -“stand alone,” it was so good), or rather of newness—for the best gown -of one year was the everyday dress of another, not so fresh perhaps, but -wearing to the last thread, and always looking <i>good</i> to the last, as a -good black silk ought to do. Over this she wore a white shawl, which on -superior occasions<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span> was of China crape beautifully embroidered, a thing -to be remembered—but often of humbler material. I recollect one of fine -wool with a coloured border printed in what was called an Indian pine -pattern in those days. But whatever the kind was, she always wore a -white shawl. Her cap was also all white, lace for best, but net for -everydays, trimmed with white ribbons, and tied under the chin with the -same. This dress had been old-fashioned when she assumed it, and was -more than old-fashioned now; but it suited her very well, as unusual -dresses, it may be remarked, usually do.</p> - -<p>And she was kind as kind could be. She could not refuse either beggar or -borrower, unless the one was a sturdy beggar presuming on the supposed -loneliness of the house and unaware of Andrew in the background, upon -whom she would flash forth indignant, sending him off “with a flee in -his lug,” as Janet said: or the other a professional spendthrift of -other people’s money. Short of these two classes—and even to them her -heart had moments of melting—she refused nobody within her humble -means. But I will not deceive you by pretending that she was a woman who -went a great deal among the poor. That fashion of charity had not come -into use in her days. The Scotch poor are <i>farouche</i>, they are arrogant, -and stand tremendously on their dignity—which is thought by many people -a fine thing, though, I confess, I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span> think it so; but it was no -doubt cultivated more or less by good people like Mrs Ogilvy, who never -visited among them, yet was ready to give with a liberality which was -more like that of a Roman Catholic lady “making her soul” by such means, -than a Scotch Puritan looking upon all she herself said or did as -unworthy of regard. They came to her when they were in want; they came -for food, for clothes, for coals; for money to pay an urgent debt; for -all things that could affect family peace. And they very seldom were -sent empty away. It was for this, perhaps, that the other ladies thought -a woman should be found in her own chair in a corner of her own -drawing-room. But if so, it certainly did not matter much, for Mrs -Ogilvy’s seat outside answered quite as well.</p> - -<p>There was a dining-room and a drawing-room inside, one on each side of -the door. The latter was usually called the parlour. It was full of -curious things, not exactly of the kind that are considered curious -now,—Mrs Ogilvy was not acquainted with <i>bric-à-brac</i>,—but there had -been two or three sailors in the family, and they had brought -unsophisticated wonders, shells, pieces of coral, bowls, sometimes china -and precious, sometimes wood and of no value at all: but all esteemed -pretty much alike, and given an equal place among the treasures of the -house. There was some good china besides of her own, one good portrait, -vaguely believed or hoped by the minister and some other<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span> connoisseurs -of the village to be a Rubens (which meant, I suppose, even in their -sanguine imaginations, a copy); and a row of black silhouettes, -representing various members of the family, over the mantelpiece. -Therefore it will be seen there was great impartiality in respect to -artistic value. The carpet was partially covered with a grey linen cloth -to preserve it, which gave the room a somewhat chilly look. It was in -the dining-room that Mrs Ogilvy chiefly sat. She would have found it a -great trouble to change from one to another at every meal. The large -dining-table had been placed against the wall, which was a concession to -comfort for which many friends blamed her during these years when Mrs -Ogilvy had been alone. A smaller round table stood near the fire, her -chair, her little old-fashioned stand for book and her work and her -occasional newspaper, in the corner. It was all very comfortable, -especially on the wintry evenings when the fire sparkled and the lamp -burned softly, and everything felt warm and looked bright—as bright as -Mrs Ogilvy’s face with her white hair under her white cap, and her white -shawl upon her shoulders. It might have been a symphony in white, had -anybody heard of anything so grand and superior in these days.</p> - -<p>It seldom happened, however, that one of the long evenings passed -without the entrance of Janet, who at a certain hour in the placid night -began always to wonder audibly what the mistress was doing, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span> to -divine that she would be the better of a word with somebody, “if it was -only you or me.” Perhaps this meant that Janet herself by that time had -become bored by the society of Andrew, her husband and constant -companion, who was a taciturn person, and who, even if he could have -been persuaded to utter more than one word in half an hour, had no new -subject upon which he could discourse, but only themes which Janet knew -by heart. They were a most peaceable couple, never quarrelling, working -into each other’s hands as the neighbours said, keeping the Hewan -outside and inside as bright as a new pin; and I have no doubt that the -sincerest affection, as well as every tie of habit and long -companionship, bound them together: but still there were moments very -probably when Janet, without using the word or probably understanding -it, was bored. The “fore-night” was long, and the ticking of the clock, -so offensively distinct when nothing is being said, got on Janet’s -nerves; and then she bethought herself of the mistress sitting all alone -in the silence. “I’ll just go ben and see if she wants onything,” she -said. “Aweel: I’ll take a look at Sandy and see if he’s comfortable,” -replied Andrew. Sandy was a sleek old pony with which Mrs Ogilvy drove -in to Eskholm when she had occasion, and sometimes even to Edinburgh, -and he held a high place in Andrew’s affections. The one visit was as -invariable as the other; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span> Sandy, to whom perhaps also the fore-night -was long, probably expected it too.</p> - -<p>“Well, Janet,” Mrs Ogilvy would say, putting aside the newspaper. She -did not put aside her stocking, which went on by itself mechanically, -but she turned her countenance towards her old servant always with the -shining on it of a friendly smile.</p> - -<p>“Well, mem—I just came in to see if ye maybe were wanting onything. -Andrew he’s away taking a look at Sandy. You would think he is a -Christian to see the troke there is between that beast and my man.”</p> - -<p>“Andrew’s a good creature, mindful of everybody’s comfort,” said Mrs -Ogilvy.</p> - -<p>“I’m saying nothing against that; but it micht be more cheery for me if -he were a wee less preceese about what he hears and sees. A man is mair -about, he canna miss what might be ca’ed the events of the day. But you -and me, mem, we miss them a’ up here.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true, Janet; a man that brings in the news is more entertainment -in a house than the newspaper itself.”</p> - -<p>“Whiles,” said Janet, moderating the expression. “It’s no the clashes -and clavers of the toun that I’m wanting, but when onything important is -stirring—there’s another muckle paper-mill to be set up on our water. -It brings wark for the lads—and the lasses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span> too—and ye daurna say, -just for the sake of Esk, that is no living thing——”</p> - -<p>“I have more courage than you, Janet, for I daur to say it. What! my -bonnie Esk no a living thing! What was ever more living than the bonnie -running water? Eh, woman, running water is not like anything else in the -world! It’s just life itself! It sees everything happen and flows on—no -stopping for the like of us creatures of a day. It heartens me to think -that there’s aye some bairns sitting playing by it, or some young thing -dreaming her dream, or some woman with her little weans—not you and me, -for our time is past, but just other folk.”</p> - -<p>“I’m no like you, mem. I get little comfort out of that. It’s a bonnie -stream, and I like the sough of it coming up through the trees; but none -of the paper-mills would stop that. And when you think that it will -bring siller into the place and wark, and more comfort for the poor -folk——”</p> - -<p>“Will it do that? God forbid that I should go against what brings work -and comfort. It will bring new families, Janet, and strange men to sit -and drink, and roar their dreadful songs at the public-house door; and -more publics, and more dirty wives and miserable weans. I’m just for -doing the best we can with what we have,—and that is not an easy -thing.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span></p> - -<p>“And I’m for ganging forward,” cried Janet. “The more ye produce the -better off ye are—that’s what the books ca’ an axiom. I carena for the -new folk; but it is a grand thing to be making something, and putting -work into men’s hands to do. Thae poor Millers themselves get but little -out of it. They say there’s another of them, the little one with the -curly head, that is just going like the rest.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Janet, the Lord forbid! the little blue-eyed one, that was just the -comfort of the house?”</p> - -<p>“That’s what folk say. I’m no answering for it. In an unfortunate family -like that, ye canna have a sair finger but they’ll say it’s the auld -trouble breaking out.”</p> - -<p>“Poor man, poor man!” cried Mrs Ogilvy. “My heart is wae for him, Janet. -He is like the man in the Bible that built Jericho. He has laid his -foundations in his first-born, and established his gates on his youngest -son. You must tell Andrew that I will want him and Sandy to-morrow to go -and inquire. No the bonnie little one that was his comfort!—oh, not -her, not her, Janet!”</p> - -<p>“Mem, it is aye the Lord that kens best.”</p> - -<p>“I am not misdoubting that; but I’ve had many a thought—I would not aye -be blaming the Lord. When the seed is put into the ground, we should be -prepared for what it will bring forth, and no look for leaves of silver -and apples of gold; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span> why should I speak? for there is little meaning -in words, and we are a strange race—oh, just a strange race—following -our wild ways.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy had dropped her stocking by this time into her lap, and she -wrung her slender hands as she spoke, with a look that was not like the -calm of the place. Whether Janet noted this or merely followed the -instinct of her wandering record of events, it was impossible to tell -from her steady countenance, which did not change.</p> - -<p>“And there’s to be a wedding up the water at Greenha’. You will mind, -mem, Thomoseen, that was once in our ain house here as the girrl, and an -awfu’ time I had with her, for she would learn nothing. She’s grown the -biggest woman on a’ Eskside, and they call her Muckle Tammy, and mony an -adventure she’s had since she left my kitchen—having broken, ye will -maybe mind, mem, every dish we had. And for her ain sake, thinking it -would maybe be a lesson to her, I wanted you to take it off her -wages——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, I mind. The things would not stay in her hands; they were too -big. We have had our experiences with our girrls, Janet,” Mrs Ogilvy -said, with a smile. She had taken up her knitting again, and recovered -her tranquil looks.</p> - -<p>“That we have, mem! if I was to make out a chronicle—but some of them -have turned out no so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span> ill after a’. Weel, Muckle Tammy, she has gotten -a man.”</p> - -<p>“He will likely be some small bit creature,” the mistress said.</p> - -<p>“They say no—a clever chield, and grand wi’ a garden, and meaning to -grow vegetables for the market at Edinburgh; for she is a lass with a -tocher, her mother’s kailyard and her bit cottage, and nothing for him -to do but draw in a chair and sit down.”</p> - -<p>“I doubt there’ll be but little comfort inside,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “If it -had been her to look after the kail and the cabbages, and him to keep -everything clean and trig; but there’s no telling. A change like that -works many ferlies. You must just see, Janet, if there is anything she -is wanting for her plenishing—some linen, or a few silver teaspoons, or -a set of china, or a new gown.”</p> - -<p>“They a’ ken there will be something for them in the coffers at the -Hewan,” said Janet; “but, mem, if ye will be guided by me, you will let -it be no too much. If only one of these dishes had been stoppit off her -wages it would have been a grand lesson: but ye will never hear a word! -A set of chiney! they would a’ be broken afore ever she got them hame.”</p> - -<p>“Let it be the silver spoons then, Janet; they are the things that last -the best. And now, if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span> were to cry in Andrew, we might read our -chapter, and get ready for our beds.”</p> - -<p>This was the invariable conclusion of these evening colloquies. And -Janet went “ben” to her kitchen and then to the garden door, and “cried -upon” Andrew, still conversing with the pony in the stable. And then -there was a great turning of keys and drawing of bolts, and the house -was closed up for the night. And finally the pair went into the parlour, -where Mrs Ogilvy, with her clear little educated voice read “the -chapter,” usually from one of the Gospels, and read in sequence night by -night. Janet was of opinion that she never understood so well as when -her mistress read, and indeed Mrs Ogilvy had a little pride in her -reading, which was very clear and distinct with its broad vowels. The -little prayer which was read out of a book did not please Andrew so -much, who was of opinion that prayers ought never to be previously -invented and written, but come, as he said, “straught from the hairt.” -He had himself indeed thought on occasion that he could have poured -forth the sentiments that moved the family with more unction and -expression than was in the sometimes faltering voice and pause for -breath which affected his mistress when she read these “cauld words out -of a book”; but Andrew knew his own place: or if he did not know, Janet -did.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span></p> - -<p>What was there to catch the breath, and make the voice falter, in the -printed words and amid all that deep calm of waning life? It was at the -prayer for the absent that Mrs Ogilvy for fifteen years past had always -broken down. Nay, not broken down: she was too deeply sensible that to -make an exhibition of private feeling while leading the family devotions -would have been irreverent and unseemly, but she was not capable of -going on quite smoothly without a pause over that petition, “Those who -are absent of this family, be Thou with them to bless them, and bring -them home in Thy good time if it be Thy blessed will.” Every night there -came to Janet’s eyes as she knelt a secret tear; and every night it -seemed to Andrew that if he might speak “straught from the hairt” -instead of that cauld prayer that was printed, the Lord would hear. I -need not say that even in a Scotch book of domestic worship the words -were varied from day to day, but the meaning was always the same. They -left the mistress of the house in a certain commotion of mind when her -old servants had bidden her good night and withdrawn. She had a way then -of walking about the room, sometimes pausing as if to listen. There was -deep silence about the Hewan, uplifted on its little brae, and with few -houses near,—nothing to be heard except the distant murmur of the Esk, -and the rustling of the trees. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span> the night has strange mysteries of -sound for which no one can account. Sometimes something came that seemed -like a step on the gravel outside, sometimes, fainter in the distance, -what might have been the swing of the gate, sometimes a muffled knock as -at the door. She knew them all well, and had been deceived by them a -thousand times; nor was she undeceived yet, but would stop and raise her -head and hold her breath, waiting for perhaps some second sound to -follow to give meaning to it. But there never came any second sound, or -at least there never was, never had been, any meaning in them. She -listened, holding up her head, and then drooped it again, going on upon -her little measured walk. “At ainy moment!” she would say sometimes to -herself.</p> - -<p>Over the front door of the cottage, which was not without a little -pretension, there was what we used to call a fanlight: and in this -summer and winter every night a light burned till morning. People shook -their heads at it as a piece of foolish sentiment and very extravagant; -and Andrew grudged a little the trouble it caused him. But there it -burned all the year round, every night through.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">In</span> the summer evenings Mrs Ogilvy sat on the bench outside the parlour -window. I have never forgotten the sort of rapture with which the long -summer evenings in Scotland impressed my own mind when I rediscovered -them, so to speak, after a long interval of absence. The people who know -Scotland only in the autumn know them not. By that time all things have -grown common, the surprises of the year are over; but in June those -long, soft, pearly, rosy hours which are neither night nor day, which -melt by indescribable degrees out of the glory of the sunset into -everything that is soft and fair, through every tint and shining colour -and mingling of lights, until they reach that which is -inconceivable—surround us with a heavenly atmosphere all their own, the -fusion of every radiance, the subdual of every shade. There are no -shadows in that wonderful light any more than there is any sun. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span> -midnight sun must be a very spectacular sort of performance in -comparison. To people who live in it always, however, it will probably -appear no such great thing.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy was not aware that there was anything that was not most -ordinary in these June nights. She loved them, but knew no reason why. -She sat in the sweet air, in the silence, sometimes feeling herself as -if suspended between air and sky, floating softly in space with the -movement of the world: and in her thoughts she was able even sometimes -to detach herself from Then and Now, those two dreadful limits of our -consciousness, and to catch a glimpse of life as it is rounded out, and -some consciousness of the beginning and the end, and the sequence and -connection of all things. Sometimes: but perhaps not very often, for -these gleams of discovery are but gleams, and fly like the flashes of -lightning which suddenly reveal to us a broad country, a noble city lost -in the darkness. On such occasions the great sphere overhead, the great -landscape stretching into distance, the glimpses of houses, great and -small, amid the warm surrounding of the trees, the murmur of the Esk low -in the glen, filling all the air with sound, affected her with an -extraordinary calm. She used to think sometimes that this was the Peace -that passeth understanding which descended upon her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span> hushing all her -thoughts, stilling every sigh. It came but seldom in that height of -blessing, but often in a less perfect way, as she sat and pondered upon -the great still world revolving round, and she an atom in the boundless -breadth of being, which by-and-by would drop, while the world went on.</p> - -<p>But at other times it appeared to her more strange still that in all -these miles and miles of distance, of solid earth and growing trees, and -the hopeful harvests that were coming, there was one little thing, so -little in fact, so insignificant in the midst of all, that was throbbing -and throbbing and disturbing the quiet, unmoved by the peace of the sky -and the earth and all the beautiful things between them—thinking its -own small thoughts, and troubling, and living—till all the quiet -throbbed and thrilled with it, the one thing that was out of harmony. -The centre of her thoughts, or rather the cause of them all, night and -day, was a thing that had happened fifteen years ago, a thing that most -people had forgotten—a small matter to the world—just the going away -of a heedless young man. It was not that she was always thinking of him, -for her thoughts rambled and wandered through all the heavens and earth; -but that he was the centre of all, the pivot on which they turned, the -beginning and the end of everything. He had gone away—he had left his -home, having already<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span> erred and strayed—and he had been heard of no -more. She was not complaining or finding fault with God for it: she -would sometimes wonder with a little wistfulness why God never listened -to her, did not somewhere seize that wandering boy and bring him -back—to satisfy her before she died. But then there were many things to -be considered, Mrs Ogilvy knew and acknowledged to herself in the -philosophy that had grown out of her much thinking. Robert was not a -bairn, nor was God a mere benevolent patron, to seize the lad without -rhyme or reason, and set him back there, because she wearied Him with -crying. She had wanted God to be that, many times in her long period of -trouble; but by dint of time and thought a different sense of things had -come to her. God was not a good fairy: He was the great God of heaven -and earth. He had Robert to think of as well as his mother, and -thousands and millions of other things. Often in the weariness of her -heart she asked nothing for Robert, said nothing, but sat there before -the Lord with the boy’s name on her heart put before Him. And that was -all she was doing now.</p> - -<p>Of all that landscape there was one point to which her eyes turned the -oftenest, and, which drew her away out of herself, as if by some charm -of movement and going. And that was the piece of road which lay at the -foot of the brae, with her own<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span> garden-gate opening into it, and the two -lines of the holly-hedges on either side. Often she would be drawn back -from her thinking by the sight of a figure on the road, which turned out -to be a very common figure,—sometimes a beggar, or a man with a pack, a -travelling merchant, or, more familiar still than that, a postman on his -way home, or a lad that had been working later than usual. But whatever -the man was, the sight of him always gave Mrs Ogilvy a sharp sensation. -“At any moment!” she had said to herself so long that it had entered -into her very soul. “At any moment!”—she was conscious of this night -and day. Through all that she was doing she had always one ear listening -for any new step or sound. And you may think how much more strong that -habitual watchfulness was when she looked out in the evening, the time -when everybody comes home, upon the road by which he must come, if he -ever came. A hundred times and a hundred more she had watched that road, -with her eyes</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Busy in the distance shaping things<br /></span> -<span class="i1">That made her heart beat thick.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Often and often she had seen a man detach himself from the white strip -of the road, and heard her own gate click and swing, and watched a head -moving upward over the line of the hedge. But it never was any one -except the most simple, the most naturally<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span> to be expected -visitor—perhaps the minister, perhaps Mr Miller from the paper-mill, -perhaps some friend of Andrew’s and Janet’s. Her heart beat in her ears, -in her throat, for a dreadful moment, and then stood still. It was not -he: how should it? She rose up with no heart at all, everything stopped -and hushed, and said, “How are you to-night, Mr Logan? What a bonnie -evening for a walk,” or “How are you, Mr Miller; sit down and take a -rest after your climb.” She said nothing about her disappointment; and, -indeed, who could say she was disappointed? It just was not Robbie: and -she had no more reason to think that it would be him than that the night -would suddenly turn into day.</p> - -<p>On this particular evening it was Mr Logan, the minister, who gave her -this thrill of strong expectation, this disappointment—which was not a -disappointment. He found nothing that was out of the way in her peaceful -looks, neither the one sensation nor the other, but sat down beside her, -pleased with this conclusion to his summer evening’s walk, and the -delightful air and pleasant view, and the calm of the Hewan, in which -everybody said there was such an atmosphere of repose and peace. Mr -Logan was a country minister of what is now called the old school. He -was not a man who had ever thought of making innovations or disturbing -the old order of affairs. His services were just the same as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span> they had -been when he was ordained some thirty years before. He had baptised a -great part of his parishioners, and married the others, so that there -were only the quite old folk, patriarchs of the parish, who could -remember the time when he was first “placed” at Eskholm, and opposed by -some, though always “well likit” by others. He was considered by Mrs -Ogilvy and many ladies of the parish to be a very personable man, comely -in his grey hair, with a good presence and a good voice, and altogether -a wyss-like man. This description, which is so common in Scotland, has -nothing to do with the wisdom of the person described, who may be very -wyss-like without being at all wise. Mr Logan sat down and stretched out -discreetly his long legs. He had the shadow, or rather the subdued -light, of a smile hovering about his face. He looked as if he had -something agreeable to tell.</p> - -<p>“And how is Susie?” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>“Susie,” he said, with a change of expression which did not look quite -so genuine as the lurking smile. “Oh, Susie, poor thing, she is just in -her ordinary; but that is not very well——”</p> - -<p>“Not well! Susie? But she has just been wonderful in her health and her -cheery ways.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, ay! she has kept up to the outside of her strength; but I have -never thought she was equal to it. You will do me the justice to -remember that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span> I always said that. These big boys are too much for her; -and now that they’re coming and going to Edinburgh every day, and all -the trouble of getting them off in the morning, with sandwiches for -George who is in his office, and a piece for Walter and Jamie who are at -the school: and the two little ones all the day at home, and me on the -top of all, that am perhaps accustomed to have too much attention paid -to me——”</p> - -<p>The lurking smile came forth again, much subdued, so that nobody could -ask the minister brutally, “What are you smiling at?”</p> - -<p>“Dear me,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “I am very much astonished. I have always -thought there was nobody like Susie for managing the whole flock.”</p> - -<p>“She is a good girl, a very good girl; but it’s too much for her, Mrs -Ogilvy. I’ve always said so. She takes after her mother, and you know -my—wife was far from strong.”</p> - -<p>The little pause he made before that simple word wife was as when a man -who has married a second time says “my first wife.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy was startled and stared; but she did not take any notice of -this alarming peculiarity. She said, “I cannot think Susie delicate, Mr -Logan. She has none of the air of it. And her mother at her age——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, her mother at her age! I must take double<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span> care that nothing -interferes with Susie. It is an anxious position for a man to have a -family to look after that is deprived of a mother’s care.”</p> - -<p>“It is so, no doubt,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “but with Susie——”</p> - -<p>“Poor thing! who just strains every faculty she has. There are some -women who do these kind of things with no appearance of effort,” said Mr -Logan, shaking his head a little. “You will have heard there was a -marriage in the parish yesterday. They would fain have had it in the -church, in their new-fangled way. But I said our auld kirk did not lend -itself to that sort of thing, and I would like it better in their own -drawing-room, or if they preferred it, mine.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “I heard of it. The English family that -have taken the little house near the Dean. I did not think it was big -enough to have a drawing-room.”</p> - -<p>“Well, an English family is rather a misnomer: they can scarcely be -called English, though they come from the south—and a family you can -call it no longer, for this was the last daughter, and there’s nothing -but Mrs Ainslie herself left.”</p> - -<p>“She’s a well-put-on, well-mannered woman, and well-looking too: but I -know nothing more about her,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>“She is all that,” replied the minister, with a little fervour -unnecessary in the circumstances. “We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span> were at the little entertainment -after, Susie and me. Everything was just perfectly done, and nobody -neglected, and without a bit of fuss or flutter such as is general in -these cases——”</p> - -<p>“Do you think it is general?” said Mrs Ogilvy, with that natural and -instantaneous impulse of self-defence which is naturally awakened by -excessive praise bestowed upon the better methods of a stranger. “We are -maybe not much used to grand entertainments in a landward parish like -this, where there are not many grand folk.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there was nothing particularly grand about it,” said the minister, -with the air of lingering pleasantly in recollection over an agreeable -subject. “These simple sort of things are so much better; but it takes a -clever person to see just what is adapted to a country place. I was -saying to Susie this morning it’s a grand thing to bring people together -like you—and no expense to speak of when you know how to go about -it——”</p> - -<p>“And what did Susie think?” Mrs Ogilvy asked.</p> - -<p>“My dear lady,” said the minister, “nobody will say I am one to take -down the ladies or give them a poor character; but they are maybe slower -of the uptake than men—especially when it’s another lady, and one with -gifts past the common, that is held up for their example.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you were too wise a man to hold up anybody for an example.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span></p> - -<p>“You’re always sensible, Mrs Ogilvy. That is just what I should have -remembered: but perhaps I am too open in my speech at all times. I’ve -come to speak to Susie as if she knew things and the ways of the world -just as well as me.”</p> - -<p>Mr Logan was a little vague about his pronouns, which arose not from -want of grammar, but from national prejudice or prepossession.</p> - -<p>“And so she does,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a little surprise. “She’s young -still, the dear lassie; but it’s very maturing to the mind to be in a -position like hers, and she is just one of the most reasonable persons I -know.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes,” said the minister, with a sigh, which did not interrupt the -lurking smile; “but it’s a very different thing to have a companion of -your own age.”</p> - -<p>At this she began to look at him with more attention than she had as yet -shown, and perceived that there was a little flush more than ordinary on -the minister’s face. Had he come to make any revelation? Mrs Ogilvy had -all the natural prejudices, and she was resolved that at least she would -do nothing to help him out. She sat demurely and looked at him, while -he, leaning forward, traced lines upon the gravel with the end of his -stick. The faint imbecility of the smile about his lips, made of vanity -and pleasure and a little shame, always irritating to women, called -forth an ironical watchfulness on her part.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span></p> - -<p>“There is but one way of having that,” he continued; “a man’s a sad -wreck in many cases when he’s left a widower, as you may say, in the -middle of his days—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘My strength he weakened in the way,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">My days of life he shorten-ed.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">This is not the usual sense in which the words are used, but it just -comes to that. You will know by yourself, Mrs Ogilvy. You were widowed -young.”</p> - -<p>“I have never taken myself to be a rule for other folk,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Well, you don’t do that; but still how are you to judge of other folk’s -feelings but according to what you feel yourself?”</p> - -<p>The lady made no reply. No, she would not help him! if he had any -ridiculous thing to say to her, he should muddle through it the best way -he could. She would not hold out a little finger to help him up to dry -land.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, after a pause, with a little sigh, “to return to Susie. -She’s not equal to her present charge, not equal to it at all. Three big -boys on her hands, and the two little ones, not to count all the family -correspondence with the others in India and Australia, and all that. -There is a great deal of care connected with a large family that people -never think of.” He paused for sympathy, but it was not a point<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span> upon -which his present listener could speak: he went on with a slight and -momentary feeling that she was selfish not to have entered into this -trouble, notwithstanding that it was so different from her own. “And -these growing laddies want a firm hand over them—they want -authority—not just a sister that they can tease and fleech—— I maybe -ought from the first,” he said, slowly and tentatively, “to have taken -the burden more upon myself.”</p> - -<p>“It would have left less burden upon Susie; but I think for my part she -is quite equal to it,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>When a man condescends to blame himself, he expects as his natural due -that he should be reassured. Mr Logan felt that his old friend and -parishioner, to whom he had come half for sympathy, half for -encouragement, was not nearly so sympathetic a person as he thought.</p> - -<p>“I see we’ll not agree in that; and I am sure I hope you’re the one that -is in the right. Well,” he said, getting up slowly, “I’m afraid I must -be going. This is a long walk for me at this hour of the night; and -they’ll be waiting for me at home.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll let me know,” Mrs Ogilvy said, as she walked with him along the -little platform round the plot of grass. “You’ll let me know—when -things have gone further.”</p> - -<p>“When things have gone further?” he cried, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span> a sudden redness and -look of surprise: then added, shaking his head, “What things there are -to go further, and how far they can go, is a mystery to me. You must be -referring to something in your own mind.”</p> - -<p>And the good-night was a little formal with which he went away.</p> - -<p>It was time to go in. The light was fading at last, growing a little -paler, and ten had struck on the big clock. The lamp had been lighted in -the drawing-room for Mrs Ogilvy to read the chapter by, though there was -no real need for it. Janet, who had come out for her mistress’s work and -her footstool, lingered, as was her wont, before she “cried upon” Andrew -for that concluding ceremonial of the day.</p> - -<p>“Did you ever hear that there was any word of the minister——? But -perhaps I should not speak on the small authority I have,” Mrs Ogilvy -said.</p> - -<p>“Speak freely, mem; I can aye bear it—and better from you than from -some other folk.”</p> - -<p>Andrew had strong Free Church inclinations. He was given to -disrespectful speech of the ministers of the Auld Kirk in general, and -of Mr Logan in particular, calling him a dumb dog that could not -bark—which roused Janet to her inmost soul. She was not satisfied even -with her mistress, though she had never forsaken the Kirk of her -fathers. Janet bore her burden, as the only perfectly orthodox person in -the house, with great solemnity and a sense of suffering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span> for the right. -“Say what you will, mem; you may be sure I will have heard worse. I can -put up with it,” Janet said.</p> - -<p>“You are just a very foolish person to speak in that tone to me. Am I -one to find fault with the minister without cause? Nor am I finding -fault with him. He has a right to do it if he likes. I would not say -that it was expedient.”</p> - -<p>“Eh, mem, if ye would but put me out of my pain! What is it? He is a -douce man, that would do harm to nobody. What is he going to do?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, Janet, I cannot tell. It is just some things he said. Was there -ever any lady’s name named—or that caused a silly laugh, or made folk -speak?”</p> - -<p>“Named!” said Janet,—“with our minister? ’Deed, and that there have -been—every woman born that he has ever said a ceevil word to. You ken -little of country clashes, mem, if you’re surprised at that. Your -ainsel’ for one, and we ken the truth there is in that.”</p> - -<p>“They were far to seek if they named me,” said Mrs Ogilvy, drawing -herself up with dignity; “but there is a lady he is very full of. I do -not ask you to inquire, for I hate gossip; but if it should come your -way from any of the neighbours, I would like to hear what they say. Poor -Susie! he says she is not able for so much work, that he is feared she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span> -will go like her mother. Now, she’s not like her mother either in that -or any other thing. There’s trouble brewing for my poor Susie—if you -hear anything, let me know.”</p> - -<p>“And you never heard who the leddy was?” Janet said.</p> - -<p>“I have heard much more—a great deal more,” Mrs Ogilvy cried, very -inconclusively it must be allowed, “than I had any wish to hear!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">This</span> was the ordinary of the life at the Hewan. A great deal of -solitude, a great deal of thought, an endless circling of mind and -reflection round one subject which shadowed heaven and earth, and -affected every channel in which the thoughts of a silent much-reasoning -creature can flow: and at the same time much acquaintance with a crowd -of small human events making up the life of the neighbourhood, with -which, practically speaking, Mrs Ogilvy had nothing to do, yet with -which, in the way of sympathy, advice, and even criticism, she had a -great deal to do. Such half confidences as that of Mr Logan were brought -to her continually—veiled disclosures made for the purpose of finding -out how such and such things looked in the eyes of a woman who was very -discreet, who never repeated anything that was said, and who had the -power of intimating an opinion as veiled as the disclosure by delicate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span> -methods without putting it into words. She sat on her modest height, a -little oracle wrapped in mystery as to her own inner life, impartial and -observant as to that about her. How she had come to be an authority in -the village it would be difficult to tell. She was not a person of noted -family or territorial importance, which is a thing which tells for so -much in Scotland. Perhaps it was chiefly because, since the great -misfortune of her life, she had retired greatly from the observation of -the parish, paying no visits, seeing only the people who went to see -her, and as for her own affairs confiding in nobody, asking no -sympathy—too proud in her love and sorrow even to allow that she was -stricken, or that the dearest object of her life was the occasion of all -her suffering. Neighbours had adjured her not “to make an idol” of her -boy; and after the trouble came they had shaken their heads and assured -her in the first publicity of the blow that God was a jealous God, and -would not permit idolatry. To these speeches she had never made any -reply: and scarcely any one to this day knew whether his mother had ever -heard from Robert, or was aware of his movements and history. This -position had been very impressive to the little community. It is a kind -of pride with which in Scotland there is a great deal of sympathy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span>On the other hand she had never rejected the appeal, tacit or open, of -any one who came to her. The ladies of the village were almost a little -servile in the court they paid to this old lady. They liked to know what -Mrs Ogilvy thought of most things that went on, and to have her opinion -of any stranger who settled among them; and if a rumour rose in the -village, where rumours are so apt to rise, nobody knows how, there was -sure to be a concourse in the afternoon, unpremeditated and accidental, -of visitors eager to hear, but very diffident of being the first to ask, -what the lady of the Hewan thought. Now the suggestion that the minister -of Eskholm was about to make a second marriage, overturning the entire -structure of life, displacing his daughter, who had been the mistress of -the manse for many years, and inflicting a new and alien sway upon his -big boys and his little girls, all flourishing under the cheerful -sovereignty of Susie, was such an idea as naturally convulsed the parish -from one end to the other. And there was little doubt that this was the -question it was intended to discuss, when two or three of these ladies -met without concert or premeditation in the afternoon at the Hewan; and -Janet, half proud of the concourse, half angry at the trouble involved, -had to spend all the warm afternoon serving the tea. If such was the -purpose, however, it was entirely foiled by the unlooked-for appearance -of a lady not at all like the ladies of Eskholm—a stranger,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span> with what -was considered to be a strongly marked “English accent,” the very person -who was believed to have led the minister astray. The new-comer was -good-looking, well-dressed, and extremely anxious to please; but as the -only method of doing so which she could think of was to take the lead of -the conversation, and to assume the air of the principal person, the -expedient perhaps was not very successful. But for the moment even Mrs -Ogilvy was silenced. She allowed her hand to be engulfed in the two -hands of the stranger held out to her; and even gave to this frank and -smiling personage in her consternation the place of honour, the seat by -herself. The English lady, Mrs Ainslie, was not shy; and the little -hostile assembly in the drawing-room of the Hewan, which had assembled -to discuss the danger to the minister of this alarming siren in their -midst, was changed into an audience of civil listeners, hearing the -siren discourse.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I like it beyond description,” she said. “It has become the most -important place in the world to me! What a thing providence is! We came -here thinking of nothing, meaning to spend six weeks, or at the most two -months. And lo! this little country retreat, as we thought it, has -become—I really can’t speak of it. My daughter, my only remaining one, -the last—whom I have sometimes thought the flower of the flock——”</p> - -<p>“You will have a number of daughters?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span></p> - -<p>“I am a grandmother these four or five years,” said the stranger, -spreading out her hands, and putting herself forth, and her still fresh -attractions, with a laugh and a pardonable boast. The ladies of Eskholm, -all listening, felt a movement among them, a half-perceptible rustle, -half of interest, half of envy. This was what it was to be English, to -have a house in London, to move about the world, to introduce your girls -and have them properly appreciated. How can you do that in a small -country place? Some of these ladies were grandmothers too, and no older -than Mrs Ainslie, but not one of them could have succeeded in declaring -with that light and airy manner, See how young, how fresh, how unlike a -grandmother I am! They looked at her with admiration modified by -disapproval. They had meant to discuss her, to organise a defence -against her; and here she was in command of everybody’s attention, the -centre of the group!</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” the lady continued, “it is the truest thing to say that -marriages are made in heaven. We came here, Sophie and I, thinking of -nothing—just for a few weeks in the summer: and here she is happily -married! and, for all I know, I may spend the rest of my life in the -place. She is my youngest, and to be near her is such an attraction. -Besides, I have made such excellent friends—friends that I hope to keep -all my life.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<p>“It is not everybody that is so fortunate,” Mrs Ogilvy said. None of the -audience gave her the least assistance. They were fascinated by the -confidence of the stranger, her pleasure in her own good fortune, and -her freedom from any of that shyness which silenced themselves.</p> - -<p>“Fortunate is really too little to say. Fancy, all my girls have made -love-matches, and my sons-in-law adore their wives—and me. Now, I think -that is a triumph. They are all fond of me. Don’t you think it is a -triumph? If ever I feel inclined to boast, it is of that.”</p> - -<p>“You are perhaps one of those,” said Mrs Ogilvy, somewhat grimly, “that, -as we say in this country, a’body likes,—which is always a -compliment—in one way.”</p> - -<p>“That ah-body likes,” cried Mrs Ainslie with out-stretched hands, and an -imitation which had a very irritating effect on the listeners. “Thank -you a hundred times. It is a very pretty compliment, I think.”</p> - -<p>“That awbody likes,” repeated Mrs Ogilvy, putting the vowel to rights. -“We do not always mean it in just such a favourable sense.”</p> - -<p>“It means a person that makes herself agreeable—with no real meaning in -it,” said one.</p> - -<p>“It means just a whillie-wha,” said another.</p> - -<p>“It means a person, as they say, with a face like a fiddle, and no -sincerity behind.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span></p> - -<p>Mrs Ainslie put up her hands again. “Oh, how am I to understand so much -Scotch? I must ask Mr Logan,” she said.</p> - -<p>And then again there was a pause. She dared to mention him! in the face -of all those ladies banded together for his defence.</p> - -<p>“What a delightful man he is,” she proceeded—“so learned, and so -clever, and so good! I don’t know that I ever met with such a man. If he -were only not so weighed down with these children. Dear Mrs Ogilvy, -don’t you think it is dreadful to see a poor man so burdened. If he had -only some one to keep order a little and take proper care of him. My -heart sinks for him whenever I go into his house.”</p> - -<p>Then there was a universal outcry, no longer capable of being -controlled. “I cannot see that at all,” cried one. “He has Susie,” cried -two or three together. “And where could he find a better? I wish, -indeed, he was more worthy of such a daughter as that.”</p> - -<p>It was an afternoon of surprises, and of the most sensational kind, for -just as the ladies of Eskholm were warming to this combat, in which so -much more was meant than met the eye, and, a little flushed with the -heat of the afternoon and the tea and rising temper, were turning fiery -looks toward the interloper, the door opened quietly, without any -preliminary bell or even knock at the door, and Susie Logan -herself—Susie, in behalf of whom they were all so ready to do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span> -battle—walked quietly in. Susie herself was quite calm, perfectly -fresh, though she had been walking in the hottest hour of the day,—her -white straw hat giving a transparent shade to the face, her cotton dress -so simple, fresh, and clean. Nobody ever managed to look so fresh and -without soil of any kind as Susie, whatever she might do.</p> - -<p>There was a sudden pause again, a pause more dramatic than before, for -the speakers had all been in full career, and some of them angry. Susie -was very familiar at the Hewan—she was like the daughter of the house. -She stopped short at the door and looked round, too much at home even to -pretend that she did not see how embarrassing her appearance was. “I -must have interrupted something?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh no, no, Susie.” “How could you interrupt anything?” “You are just -the one that would know the most of it, whatever we were discussing,” -the ladies hastened to say, one taking the word from another. Mrs Ogilvy -held out her hand without moving. “Come in, come in,” she said; “and ye -can leave the door a little open, Susie, for we’re all flushed a little -with the heat and with our tea.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ainslie was the one who gave Susan the most marked reception. She -alone got up and took the girl in her arms. “How glad I should have -been,” she said, “had I known I was to meet you here.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Susie, I will not have this,” said Mrs Ogilvy;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span> “sit down and do -not make yourself the principal person, my dear; for I was thinking it -was me this lady was glad to see. As we are talking of marriages, I -would like to know if anybody can tell me about that big lassie -Thomasine that I’ve been hearing of—a creature that has a cottage and a -kailyard, and not much of a head on her shoulders. Will he be a decent -man?”</p> - -<p>There were some who shook their heads, and there were some who answered -more cordially—Thomasine’s husband had been as much discussed in the -parish as a more important alliance could have been. And under the -shelter of this new inquiry most of the guests stole away. Mrs Ainslie -herself was one of the last to go. She put once more an arm round Susie. -“Are you coming, my love? I should like to walk with you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Not yet, Mrs Ainslie,” said Susan, with rising colour. She freed -herself from the embrace with a little haste. “I have not seen Mrs -Ogilvie for a long time.”</p> - -<p>“You have not seen me either,” said the stranger playfully and tenderly, -shaking a finger at her; “but it is right that new friends, even when -they’re dear friends, should yield to old friends,” she said, with a -little sigh and smile. She made a very graceful exit considering all -things, and Susie’s presence prevented even the lingerer who went last -from murmuring a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span> private word as she had wished. When they were all -gone, Susie placed herself by her old friend’s side.</p> - -<p>“They worry you, these folk; they come to you with all their clashes. -What was it this time? I saw they were stopped by me. It was not that -old business,” said Susie, with a blush, “about Johnny Maitland? I -thought that was all past and gone.”</p> - -<p>“It was not that—it was rather this lady, this English person that -stopped all their mouths before you came in. She is a very wyss-like -woman, though her manners are strange to me. As I said to your father, -she’s well put-on and well looking. Do you like her, Susie?”</p> - -<p>“Me! I’ve no occasion not to like her, Mrs Ogilvy.”</p> - -<p>“I was not asking that. Do you like her, Susie?”</p> - -<p>Upon which Susie began to laugh. “What can I say?—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘I dinna like ye, Doctor Fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The reason why I canna tell.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">I’ve no occasion not to like her. She is always very kind, a little too -kind, to me—I am not fond of all that kissing—but it is perhaps just -her way. I am not very fond of her, to tell the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Nor am I, Susie; but she is maybe well enough if we were not -prejudiced.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, she is well enough,—she is more than that; and papa thinks -there is nobody like her,” she added, with a laugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span></p> - -<p>“Ah! your papa has an opinion on the subject?”</p> - -<p>“And why not? He has a great eye for the ladies. Did you not know that? -I think I like her the less because he makes so much of her. There was -that party she had for the marriage, I never hear the end of it. It was -all so nice, and so little trouble, and no fuss, and no expense, and so -forth. How can he tell it was no expense?—all the things were sent out -from Edinburgh!” said Susie, offended in her pride of housekeeping; “and -as for the sandwiches and things, I have seen the very same in Edinburgh -parties, and not so very new either. I could make them perfectly -myself!”</p> - -<p>“My dear, that is the way of men,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “a bit of -bread-and-butter in a strange place they will take for a ferlie: whereas -it’s only a piece for the bairns at home.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa is not so bad as that,” said Susie; “and I’m very silly to -mind. Now, just you lean back in your big chair and be quiet a little; -and I will go ben to Janet and bring you a little new-made tea.”</p> - -<p>“I like to see you do it, Susie. I like to take it from your hand. It is -not for the tea——”</p> - -<p>“No, it is not for the tea,” said the girl; and, though she was not fond -of kissing, as she said, she touched Mrs Ogilvy’s old soft cheek -tenderly with her fresh lips, and went away briskly on her errand with a -tear in her eye. Perhaps it is something of a misnomer<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span> to call Susie -Logan a girl. I fear she must have been thirty or a little more; but she -had never left her home, and though she was full of experience, she -retained all the freshness and openness of youth. Her hazel eyes were -limpid and mildly bright; her features good if not remarkable; her -colour fresh as a summer morning. Nowhere could she go without carrying -a sense of youth and life with her; and here in this still existence at -the Hewan among the old people she was doubly young, the representative -of all that was wanting to make that house bright. She alone could make -the mistress yield to this momentary indulgence, and permit herself to -look tired and to rest. And for her Janet joyfully boiled the kettle -over again, though she had just been congratulating herself on having -finished for the day.</p> - -<p>Susan went back and administered the tea, that cordial which is half for -the body and half for the mind, but which swallowed amid a crowd of -visitors fulfils neither purpose: and then she seated herself by Mrs -Ogilvy’s side. “How good it is to feel they’re all gone away and we are -just left to our two selves!”</p> - -<p>“Have you anything particular to say to me, Susie?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, nothing particular; everything is just in its ordinary: the -little ones are sometimes rather a handful, and if papa would get them a -governess I would be thankful. They mean no harm, the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span> things; -but the weather is warm and the day is long, and they are not fond of -their lessons—neither am I,” said Susie, with a laugh, “if the truth -were told.”</p> - -<p>“And you are finding them a little too much for you—that is what your -father was saying——”</p> - -<p>“I find them too much for me! did papa say that?” cried Susie, alarmed; -“that was never, never in my head. I may grumble a little, half in fun; -but too much for me, Mrs Ogilvy! me that was born to it, the eldest -daughter! such a thing was never, never in my mind——”</p> - -<p>“I told him so, my dear, but he would not believe me; he just maintained -it to my face that it was too much for you, and your health was -beginning to fail.”</p> - -<p>“What would he mean by that?” said Susie, sitting up very upright on her -chair. A shadow came over her brightness. “Oh, I hope he has not got any -new idea in his head,” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Maybe he will be thinking of a governess for the little ones, Susie.”</p> - -<p>“It might be that,” she acknowledged in subdued tones. “And then,” she -added, with again a sudden laugh, “I heard <i>that</i> woman—no, no, I never -meant to speak of her so—I heard Mrs Ainslie saying to him it would be -a good thing. I would rather not have the easement than get it through -her hands.”</p> - -<p>“Oh fie! Susie, fie! she would have no ill motive: you must not take -such things into your head.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span></p> - -<p>“It is she that makes me feel as if it were too much,” cried Susie, -“coming in at all hours following me about the house. I get so tired of -her that I am tired of everything. I could just dance at the sight of -her: she puts me out of my senses; and always pitying me that want none -of her pity! It must be kindness, I suppose,” said Susie, grudgingly; -“but then I wish she would not be so kind.” After this there was a -pause. The talk came to an end all at once. Mrs Ainslie and her doings -dropped out of it as if she had gone behind a veil; and Susie looked in -her old friend’s face, with the tenderest of inquiring looks, a question -that needed not to be spoken.</p> - -<p>“No word still, no word?” she rather looked than said.</p> - -<p>“Never a word: not one, not one!” the elder woman replied.</p> - -<p>Susie put her head down on Mrs Ogilvy’s knee, and her cheek upon her -friend’s hand, and then gave way to a sudden outburst of silent tears, -sobbing a little, like a child. Mrs Ogilvy shed no tear. She patted the -bowed head softly with her hand, as if she had been consoling a child. -“The time’s very long,” she said,—“very long, and never a word.”</p> - -<p>After a while Susie raised her head. “I must, perhaps, not be very well -after all,” she said, with an attempt at a smile; “or why should I cry -like that?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span> It is just that I could not help thinking and minding. It -was about this time of the year——”</p> - -<p>“The fifteenth of this month,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “to-morrow, and then -it’ll be fifteen years.”</p> - -<p>They sat for a little together saying nothing; and then Susie exclaimed, -as if she could not contain herself, “But he’ll come back—I’m just as -sure Robbie will come back! He will give you no warning; he was never -one for writing. You will just hear his step on the road, and he will be -here.”</p> - -<p>“That is what I think myself,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>And while they were sitting together silent, there suddenly came into -the silence the click of the gate and the sound of a step. And they both -started, for a moment almost believing that he had come.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> continued disappointment, which was no disappointment but only the -fall of a fancy, a bubble of fond imagination in which there was no -reality at all—happened once more, while these two ladies sat together -and listened. And then the shadow of a man crossed the open window—a -little man—who, not knowing he was seen, paused to wipe his bald head -and recover his breath before he rang the bell at the open door. The -house was all open, fearing nothing, the sunshine and atmosphere -penetrating everywhere.</p> - -<p>“It is Mr Somerville, my man of business. It will only be something -about siller,” Mrs Ogilvy said in a low tone.</p> - -<p>“I will go away, then,” said Susie. She paused a little, holding her old -friend’s hands. “And if it’s any comfort,” she said, “when you’re -sitting alone and thinking, to mind that there is one not far away that -is thinking too—and believing—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“It is a comfort, Susie—God bless you for it, my dear——”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, there are two of us,” she said, with a smile beaming out of -the tearfulness of her face, “and it will be easier when this weary -month is past.”</p> - -<p>Susie, in her fresh summer dress, with her sweet colour and her pleasant -smile, met, as she went out, the old gentleman coming in. She did not -know him, but gave him a little bow as she passed, with rural politeness -and the kindness of nature. Susie was not accustomed to pass any -fellow-creature without a salutation. She knew every soul in the parish, -and every soul in the parish knew her. She could not cross any one’s -path without dropping, as it were, a flower of human kindness by the -way, except, of course, when she was in Edinburgh or any other large and -conventional place, where she only thought her goodwill to all whom she -met. The visitor, coming from that great capital and used to the -reticences of town life, was delighted with this little civility. He -seized his hat, pulling it once more off his bald head, and went into -the Hewan uncovered, as if he had been going into the presence of the -Queen. It gave him a little courage for his mission, which, to tell the -truth, was not a very cheerful mission, nor one which he had undertaken -with any alacrity. It was not that Mrs Ogilvy’s income had sustained any -diminution, or that he had a tale of failing dividends and bad -investments<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span> to tell. What she had was invested in the soundest -securities. It did not perhaps bring her in as much as would now be -thought necessary; but it was as safe as the Bank of England, and the -Bank of Scotland, and the British Linen Company, all rolled into one. -Her income scarcely varied a pound year by year. There was very little -for her man of business to do but to receive the modest dividends and -send her the money as she required it. She would have nothing to do with -banks and cheque-books. She liked always to have a little money in the -house—but there was little necessity for frequent meetings between her -and the manager of her affairs. He would sometimes come in on rare -occasions when he had taken a long walk into the country: but Mr -Somerville was not so young as he once had been, and took long walks no -more. Therefore she looked at him not with anxiety but with a little -curiosity when he sat down beside her. She was far too polite to put, -even into a look, the question, What may you be wanting? but it caused a -little embarrassment between them for the first moment. She, however, -was more at ease than he was—for she expected nothing more than some -question or advice about money, and he knew that what he had to say was -something of a much more troublous kind. This made him prolong a little -the questions about health and the remarks on the weather which form the -inevitable preliminaries of conversation with such old-fashioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span> folk. -When they had complimented each other on the beautiful season, and the -young crops looking so well, and new vegetables so good and plentiful, -there came a little pause again. Mrs Ogilvy was leaning back a little in -her chair, very peaceful, fearing no blow, when the old gentleman, after -clearing his throat a great many times, began—</p> - -<p>“You will remember, Mrs Ogilvy—it is a thing you would be little likely -to forget—a commission that you charged me with, in confidence—it is -now a number of years ago——”</p> - -<p>She raised herself suddenly in her chair, and drew a long breath. The -expression of her countenance changed in a moment. She said nothing, nor -was it necessary: her look, the changed pose of her person leaning -towards him, her two hands clasped together on the arm of her chair, -were enough.</p> - -<p>“You must not expect too much, my dear lady—it is perhaps nothing at -all, perhaps another person altogether; but at least, for the first -time, it appears to me that it is something in the shape of a clue. I -have been very cautious, according to your directions, but all the same -I have made many inquiries: and none of them have ever come to -anything.”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know.”</p> - -<p>“This, if there’s anything in it, is no credit of mine, it is pure -accident.” Mr Somerville paused here to feel in his pockets for -something. He tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span> his breast-pocket, and his tail-pockets, and all -the other mysterious places in which things can be hidden away. “I must -have left it in my overcoat,” he said. “One moment, if you permit, and -I’ll get it before I say more.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy made no movement, while she sat there and waited. She closed -her eyes, and there came from the depths of her bosom a low sigh, which -was something like the breath of patience concentrated and condensed. -She was perfectly still when he went back again, full of apologies: -after having made a great rustling and searching of pockets in the outer -hall, he came back with a newspaper in his hand.</p> - -<p>“We have a good deal of business with America,” he said. “I can scarcely -tell you how it began. One of our clients had a son that went out, and -got on very well in business, and one thing followed another; what with -remittances home, and expenses out, and money for the starting of farms, -and so forth,—and then being laid open to the temptation of American -investments, which, as a rule, pay very well, and all our poor customers -just give us no peace till we put their money on them. This makes it -very necessary for us to know the state of the American stock market, -and how this and that is going. You will not maybe quite understand, but -so it is.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span></p> - -<p>“I understand,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>“And this one, you see, was sent to us a day or two ago with this -object. It’s from one of the towns in what’s called the wild West, just -a ramshackle sort of a place, half built, and not a comfortable house in -it. But they’ve got a newspaper, such as it is. And really valuable to -us for the last week or two, showing the working of a great scheme.”</p> - -<p>Would the man never be done? He laid the newspaper across his knee, and -pointed his words with little gestures made over it. A glance would have -been enough to show her what it was. But no, let patience have its -perfect work. By moments she closed her eyes not to see him, and spoke -not a word.</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, the business of overlooking these American investments -comes upon me; and I get a great many of their papers to glance -at—trashy things, full of personal gossip, the most outrageous -nonsense. I don’t often look beyond the share lists. But this morning, -when I first came into the office, this thing was lying on my table. I -had glanced at it, and taken what was of use in it yesterday. It’s just -a wonder how it got there again. I gave another glance at it by pure -chance, if you’ll believe me, as I slipped on my office-coat. And my eye -was caught by a name. Well, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span> only an <i>alias</i>, among a lot of -others; but I’ve been told that away there in these wild places you can -never tell which may be a man’s real name—as like as not the fifth or -sixth <i>alias</i> in a long line.”</p> - -<p>He looked up at her by chance, and it seemed to him as if his client had -fainted. Her face was drawn and perfectly white, the eyes half closed.</p> - -<p>“Bless me!” he cried, starting up; “it’s been more than she could bear. -What can I do?—some water, or maybe ring the bell.”</p> - -<p>He was about to do this when she caught him with one hand, and with the -other pointed to the paper. Something like “Let me hear it,” came from -her half-closed lips.</p> - -<p>“That I will! that I will!” he cried. It was a relief that she could -speak and see. He took up the paper, and was—how long—a year? of -finding the place.</p> - -<p>“It’s just this,” he said; “it’s an account of a broil in which some of -those wild fellows got killed: and among the lot of them that was -present, there was one, an Englishman they say—but that’s nothing, for -they call us all Englishmen abroad. Our fathers would never have stood -it; but what can you do? it’s handiest when all’s said—an Englishman -that had been about a ranch, and had been a miner, and had been a -coach-driver, and I don’t know all what; but this is his name, ‘Jim -Smith, <i>alias</i> Horse-breaking Jim, <i>alias</i> James Jones, <i>alias</i> Bob<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span> the -Devil, <i>alias</i>,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> here he held up his finger to arrest her attention, -“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Robert Ogilvy. It is suspected that the last may be his real name.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy was incapable of speech. She signed for the paper, raising -herself a little in her chair.</p> - -<p>“That is just all there is: you would not understand the story. I’ve -just carefully read it to you. Well, madam, if you will have it.” The -old gentleman was much disturbed. He let her take the paper because he -could not resist it, and then he went of his own accord and rang the -bell. “Will ye bring a little wine, or even a drop of brandy?” he said, -going to meet Janet at the door, “if your mistress ever takes it. She -has had a bit shock, and she’s not very well.”</p> - -<p>She had got the paper in her hands. The touch of that real thing brought -her back more or less to herself. She sat up and held it to the light, -and read it every word. There was more of it than Mr Somerville had -read. It was an account of a tumult at which murder had been done—no -accident, but cold-blooded murder, and the names given were of men more -or less involved. The last of these, perhaps, therefore, the least -guilty, was this man of many names, Robert Ogilvy—oh, to see it there -in such a record! The bonnie name, all breathing of youth and cheerful -life, with the face of the fresh boy looking at her through -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span>it!—Robbie, her Robbie, <i>alias</i> Jim, <i>alias</i> Bob, <i>alias</i>—— She -clasped her hands together with the paper between them, and “O Lord -God!” she said, in tones wrung out of her very heart.</p> - -<p>“Just swallow this, swallow this, my dear lady; it will give you -strength. She has had a bit shock. She will be better, better directly. -Just do everything you can for her, like a good woman. I was perhaps -rash. But she’ll soon come to herself.”</p> - -<p>“I am myself, Mr Somerville, I am not needing any of your brandy. I -cannot bide the smell of it. Janet, take it way. I have got some news -that I will tell you after. Mr Somerville, I will have to take time to -think of it. I cannot get it into my mind all at once.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said, soothingly, “it was not to be expected. I was too -rash. I should have broken it to you more gently: a wee drop of wine, if -you will not have the brandy?—though good spirit is always the best.”</p> - -<p>“I want nothing,” she said; “just give me a moment to think.” And then -out of that bitterness of death there came a low cry—“Oh, his bonnie -name, his bonnie name!”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said the old gentleman, full of sympathy, “that is just what I -thought—my old friend’s name, douce honest man! that never did anything -to be ashamed of in all his days.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span></p> - -<p>The blood came back to her face with a rush.</p> - -<p>“And how can you tell,” she said, “whether there’s anything to be -ashamed of there? You said yourself it was a wild place. They cannot be -on their p’s and q’s as we are, choosing their company. I am a decent -woman myself, and have been, as you say, all my days; but who could tell -what kind of folk I might have got among had I been there?”</p> - -<p>She rose up and began to walk about the room in sudden excitement. “He -would interfere to help the weak one,” she said. “If there was a weak -side, he would be upon that; he would be helping somebody. Him—murder a -man! You were his father’s friend, I know; but did you ever see Robbie -Ogilvy, my son?—and, if not, man! how daur you speak, and speak of -shame and my laddie together, to me?”</p> - -<p>Mr Somerville was so taken by surprise that he could not find a word to -say. “I thought,” he began—and then he stopped short. Had not shame -already been busy with Robbie Ogilvy’s name? But however much he had -been in possession of his faculties and recollections, silence was the -wiser way.</p> - -<p>“There is one thing,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “if this be true, and if it be -<i>him</i>—there will be a trial, and he will need defence. He must have the -best defence, the best advocate. You will send somebody<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span> out at once -without losing a day. Oh, I’m old, I’m weak, I’m an old woman that knows -nothing! I’ve never been from home. But what is all that. What is all -that to my Robbie? I think, Mr Somerville, I will go myself.”</p> - -<p>“You must not think of that,” he cried. “A wild unsettled country, and -miles and miles, in all probability, to be done on horseback, and no -certainty where to find him—if it is him—on one side of the continent -or the other. For, you will see, none of them were taken. Not the chief -person, who will doubtless be a very different sort of person, nor—any -of the others. They will all be away from that place like the lightning. -They will not bide to be put through an interrogatory or stand their -trial. I will tell you what I will do. I will write to our -correspondents most particularly. I will bid them employ the sharpest -fellow they can find about there to follow him and run him down.”</p> - -<p>“Run him down!” she cried, with a mixture of horror and -indignation,—“my boy! You use words that are ill chosen and drive me -out of my senses,” she added, with a certain dignity. “But you are well -meaning, Mr Somerville, and not an injudicious person in business so far -as I have seen. You will write to no correspondents. There must be sharp -fellows here, and men that have been about the world. You will send one -of them. If I go myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span> or not, I will take a little time to think; but -without losing a day or a moment you will send one of them.”</p> - -<p>“It will be a great expense, Mrs Ogilvy—and the other way would be -better. I might even cable to our correspondents: that means telegraph. -It’s another of their new-fangled words.”</p> - -<p>“The one need not hinder the other. You can do both. Cable, as you call -it——”</p> - -<p>“It is very expensive,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Man!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, towering over him, “what am I caring about -expense?—expense! when it’s him that is in question. It will be the -quickest way. Cable or telegraph, or whatever you call it; and since -there’s nothing that can be done to-night, send the man wherever you may -find him—to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“You go very fast,” he cried, panting as if for breath.</p> - -<p>“And so would you, if it was your only son, your only child, that was in -question. And I will think. I will perhaps set out to-morrow myself.”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow is the Sabbath-day,” said Mr Somerville, with an -indescribable sensation of relief.</p> - -<p>This damped Mrs Ogilvy’s spirit for the moment. “It’s not that I would -be kept back by the Sabbath-day,” she said; “for Him that was the Lord -of the Sabbath, He just did more on that day than any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span> other, healing -and saving: and would He put it against me? Oh no! I ken Him too well -for that. But since it’s not a lawful day for travelling, and there’s -few trains and boats, send your cable to-night, Mr Somerville. Let that -be done at least, if it is the only thing we can do.”</p> - -<p>“There will still be time; but I will have to hurry away,” said the old -gentleman reluctantly, “to Edinburgh by the next train.”</p> - -<p>And then there ensued a struggle in the mind of the hostess, to whom -hospitality was second nature. “I did not think of that; and you’ve had -a hot journey out here, and nothing to refresh you. Forgive me, that -have been just wrapped up in my own concerns. You will stay and -take—some dinner before you go back.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said; “it’s a terrible thing for you to refuse a dinner to -a hungry man. You never did the like of that in your life before. But -it’s best I should go. There’s a train in half an hour. I’ll take a -glass of the wine you would not take, and I’ll be fresh again for my -walk to the station. It’s not just so warm as it was.”</p> - -<p>“You will stay to your dinner, Mr Somerville.”</p> - -<p>“No; I could not swallow it, and you could not endure to see me eating -it and losing time.”</p> - -<p>“Then Andrew shall put in the pony, and drive you down to Eskholm,” Mrs -Ogilvy said. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span> was a relief to her, in the unexampled contingency of -sending a visitor unrefreshed from her house—a thing which perhaps had -never happened in her life before.</p> - -<p>She went out to her habitual place outside a little later, at her usual -hour. She was not capable of saying anything to Janet, who followed her -wistfully, putting herself forward to bring out her mistress’s cushion, -her footstool, her book, her knitting, one after another, always hoping -to be told what Mrs Ogilvy had promised to tell her after. But not a -word did her mistress say. She did not even sit down as she usually did, -but walked about, quickly at first, then with gradually slackening -steps, sometimes pausing to look round, sometimes stooping to throw away -a withered leaf, but always resuming that restless walk which was so -unlike her usual tranquillity. She had her hand pressed upon her side, -as one might press a handkerchief upon a wound. And indeed she had the -stroke of a sword in her heart, and the life-blood flowing. Robert -Ogilvy, Robbie Ogilvy, the bonnie name! and after the silence of fifteen -years to hear it now as in the ‘Hue and Cry,’ at the end of all that -long string of awful nicknames. It was only now that she had full time -to realise it all. Yesterday at this time what would she not have given -for any indication that he was living and where he was! She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span> would have -said she could bear anything only to know that he was safe, and to have -some clue by which he could be found. And now she had both, and a wound -gaping in her heart that required both her hands to cover it, to prevent -her life altogether from welling away. Robert Ogilvy, Robert Ogilvy—oh, -his bonnie name!</p> - -<p>After a while, her forces wearing out, she sat down in her usual place, -but not with her usual patience and calm. Was that what could be called -an answer to her prayers?—the sudden revelation of her son, for whom -she had cried to God for all these years night and day, in anguish and -crime and danger? Oh, was this an answer? Her eyes wandered by habit to -the landscape below and the road which she had watched so often, the -white road, white with summer dust, upon which every passing figure -showed. There was a passing figure now, walking slowly along as far as -she could see. On another day she would have wondered who the man was. -She took no interest in him now, but saw him pass and pass again as if -it were the merest accident. It was not until she had seen him pass -three or four times that her attention was roused. A big figure, not one -she could identify with any of the usual passers-by, strangely clad, and -carrying a cloak folded over one shoulder. A cloak? what could a man -like that want with a cloak—an old-fashioned cumbrous thing. Whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span> -he wanted, he kept his face towards the Hewan. Sometimes he passed very -slow, lingering at every step; sometimes very fast, as if he were -pursued. Other figures went and came—the farmers’ gigs, a few carriages -of the gentry going home. It was late, though it was still so light. -What was that man doing loitering always there? Her attention was more -and more drawn to the road. At last she saw that nobody except this one -man was within sight, not a wheel audible, not a creature visible. The -figure seemed to hesitate, and then all at once with a dart approached -the gate, which swung at his touch. Was he coming here? Who was he? -Long, long had she watched and waited. Was he coming home at last this -June day,—this night of all nights? And who was he, who was he, the man -that was coming? It will only be some person with a message—it will -only be some gangrel person, Mrs Ogilvy said to herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> footstep came slowly up the sloping path. The holly-hedges were -high, and for some time nothing more was visible than a moving speck -over the solid wall of green. There is something in awaiting in this way -the slow approach of a stranger which affects the nerves, even when -there is little expectation and no alarm in the mind. Mrs Ogilvy sat -speechless and unable to move, her throat parched and dry, her heart -beating wildly. Was it he? Was it some one pursuing him—some avenger of -blood on his track? Was it no one at all—some silly messenger, some -sturdy beggar, some one who would require Andrew to turn him away? These -questions went through her head in a whirl, without any volition of -hers. The last was the most likely. She waited with a growing passion -and suspense, yet still in outward semblance as the rose-bush with all -its buds showing white, which stood tranquilly in the dimness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span> behind -her. It was growing dark; or rather it was growing dim, everything still -visible, but vaguely, as if a veil had dropped between the eye and what -it saw. When the man came out at the head of the path, detached and -separate from all the trees and their shadows, upon the little platform, -a thrill came over the looker-on. He seemed to pause there for a moment, -then advanced slowly.</p> - -<p>A tall big man, loosely dressed so as to make his proportions look -bigger: his features, which there would not in any case have been light -enough to see, half lost in a long brown beard, and in the shade of the -broad soft hat, partly folded back, which covered his head. He did not -take that off or say anything, but came slowly, half reluctantly -forward, till he stood before her. It seemed to Mrs Ogilvy that she was -paralysed. She could not move nor speak. This strange figure came into -the peaceful circle of the little house closing up for the night, -separated from all the world—in silence, like a ghost, like a secret -and mysterious Being whose coming meant something very different from -the comings and goings of the common day. He stood all dark like a -shadow before the old lady trembling in her chair, with her white cap -and white shawl making a strange light in the dim picture. How long this -moment of silence lasted neither knew. It became intolerable to both at -the same moment. She burst<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span> forth, “Who are you, who are you, man?” in a -voice which shook and went out at the end like the flame of a candle in -the air. “Have you forgotten me—altogether?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Altogether?” she echoed, painfully raising herself from her chair. It -brought her a little nearer to him, to the brown beard, the shadowed -features, the eyes which looked dimly from under the deep shade of the -hat. She stood for a moment tottering, trembling, recognising nothing, -feeling the atmosphere of him sicken and repel her. And then there came -into that wonderful pause a more wonderful and awful change of -sentiment, a revolution of feeling. “Mother!” he said.</p> - -<p>And with a low cry Mrs Ogilvy fell back into her chair. At such moments -what can be done but to appeal to heaven? “Oh my Lord God!” she cried.</p> - -<p>She had looked for it so long, for years and years and years, -anticipated every particular of it: how she would recognise him afar -off, and go out to meet him, like the father of the prodigal, and bring -him home, and fill the house with feasting because her son who had been -lost was found: how he would come to her all in a moment, and fling -himself down by her side, with his head in her lap, as had been one of -his old ways. Oh, and a hundred ways besides, like himself, like -herself, when the mother and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span> son after long years would look each -other in the face, and all the misery and the trouble would be -forgotten! But never like this. He said “Mother,” and she dropped away -from him, sank into the seat behind her, putting out neither hands nor -arms. She did not lose consciousness—alas! she had not that resource, -pain kept her faculties all awake—but she lost heart more completely -than ever before. A wave of terrible sickness came over her, a sense of -repulsion, a desire to hide her face, that the shadows might cover her, -or cover him who stood there, saying no more: the man who was her son, -who said he was her son, who said “Mother” in a tone which, amid all -these horrible contradictions, yet went to her heart like a knife. Oh, -not with sweetness! sharp, sharp, cutting every doubt away!</p> - -<p>“Mother,” he said again, “I would have sworn you would not forget me, -though all the world forgot me.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, like one in a dream. “Can a mother forget her——” Her -voice broke again, and went out upon the air. She lifted her trembling -hands to him. “Oh Robbie, Robbie! are you my Robbie?” she said in a -voice of anguish, with the sickness and the horror in her heart.</p> - -<p>“Ay, mother,” he said, with a tone of bitterness in his voice; “but take -me in, for I’m tired to death.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span></p> - -<p>And then a great compunction awoke within her: her son, for whom she had -longed and prayed all these years—and instead of running out to meet -him, and putting the best robe on him, a ring on his hand, and shoes on -his feet, he had to remind her that he was tired to death! She took him -by the hand and led him in, and put him in the big chair. “I am all -shaken,” she said: “both will and sense, they are gone from me: and I -don’t know what I am doing. Robbie, if ye are Robbie——”</p> - -<p>“Do you doubt me still, mother?” He took off his hat and flung it on the -floor. Though he was almost too much broken down for resentment, there -was indignation in his tone. And then she looked at him again, and even -in the dimness recognised her son. The big beard hid the lower part of -his face, but these were Robbie’s eyes, eyes half turned away, sullen, -angry—as she had seen him look before he went away, when he was -reproved, when he had done wrong. She had forgotten that ever he had -looked like that, but it flashed back to her mind in a moment now. She -had forgotten that he had ever been anything but kind and affectionate -and trusting, easily led away, oh, so easily led away, but nothing worse -than that. Now it all came back upon her, the shadows that there had -been to that picture even at its best.</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she said, with faltering lips, “Robbie, oh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span> my dear! I know -you now,” and she put those trembling lips to his forehead. They were -cold—it could not feel like a kiss of love; and she was trembling from -head to foot, chiefly with emotion, but a little with fear. She could -not help it: her heart yearned over him, and yet she was afraid of this -strange man who was her son.</p> - -<p>He did not attempt to return the salutation in any way. He said -drearily, “I have not had bite nor sup for twelve hours, nothing but a -cup of bad coffee this morning. My money’s all run out.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my laddie!” she cried, and hurried to the bell but did not ring it, -and then to the door. But before she could reach the door, Janet came in -with the lamp. She came unconscious that any one was there, with the -sudden light illuminating her face, and making all the rest of the room -doubly dark to her. She did not see the stranger sitting in the corner, -and gave a violent start, almost upsetting the lamp as she placed it on -the table, when with a half laugh he suddenly said, “And here’s Janet!” -out of the shade. Janet turned round like lightning, with a face of -ashes. “Who’s that,” she cried, “that calls me by my name?”</p> - -<p>“We shall see,” he said, rising up, “if she knows me better than my -mother.” Mrs Ogilvy stood by with a pang which words could not describe, -as Janet flung up her arms with a great cry. It was true:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span> the woman did -recognise him without a moment’s hesitation, while his mother had held -back—the woman, who was only the servant, not a drop’s blood to him. -The mother’s humiliation could not be put into words.</p> - -<p>“Janet,” she said severely, mastering her voice, “set out the supper at -once, whatever is in the house. It will be cold; but in the meantime put -the chicken to the fire that you got for to-morrow’s dinner: the cold -beef will do to begin with: and lose not a moment. Mr Robert,”—she -paused a moment after those words,—“Mr Robert has arrived suddenly, as -you see, and he has had a long journey, and wants his supper. You can -speak to him after. Now let us get ready his food.”</p> - -<p>She went out of the room before her maid. She would not seem jealous, or -to grudge Janet’s ready and joyful greeting. She went into the little -dining-room, and began to arrange the table with her own hands. “Go you -quick and put the chicken to the fire,” she said. Was she glad to escape -from his presence, from Robbie, her long absent son, her only child? All -the time she went quickly about, putting out the shining silver, freshly -burnished, as it was Saturday; the fresh linen, put ready for Sunday; -the best plates, part of the dinner-service that was kept in the -dining-room. “This will do for the cold things,” she said; “and oh, make -haste, make haste<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span> with the rest!” Then she took out the two decanters -of wine, the port and the sherry, which nobody drank, but which she had -always been accustomed to keep ready. The bread was new, just come in -from the baker’s, everything fresh, the provisions of the Saturday -market, and of that instinct which prepares the best of everything for -Sunday—the Sabbath—the Lord’s day. It was not the fatted calf, but at -least it was the best fare that ever came into the house, the Sunday -fare.</p> - -<p>Then she went back to him in the other room: he had not followed her, -but sat just as she had left him, his head on his breast. He roused up -and gave a startled look round as she came in, as if there might be some -horrible danger in that peaceful place. “Your supper is ready,” she -said, her voice still tremulous. “Come to your supper. It is nothing but -cold meat to begin with, but the chicken will soon be ready, Robbie: -there’s nothing here to fear——”</p> - -<p>“I know,” he said, rising slowly: “but if you had been like me, in -places where there was everything to fear, it would be long before you -got out of the way of it. How can I tell that there might not be -somebody watching outside that window, which you keep without shutter or -curtain, in this lonely little house, where any man might break in?”</p> - -<p>He gave another suspicious glance at the window<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span> as he followed her out -of the room. “Tell Janet to put up the shutters,” he said.</p> - -<p>Then he sat down and occupied himself with his meal, eating ravenously, -like a man who had not seen food for days. When the chicken came he tore -it asunder (tearing the poor old lady’s heart a little, in addition to -all deeper wounds, by the irreverent rending of the food, on which, she -had also remarked, he asked no blessing), and ate the half of it without -stopping. His mother sat by and looked on. Many a time had she sat by -rejoicing, and seen Robbie, as she had fondly said, “devour” his supper, -with happy laugh and jest, and questions and answers, the boy fresh from -his amusements, or perhaps, though more rarely, his work—with so much -to tell her, so much to say,—she beaming upon him, proud to see how -heartily he ate, rejoicing in his young vigour and strength. Now he ate -in silence, like a wild animal, as if it might be his last meal; while -she sat by, the shadow of her head upon the wall behind her showing the -tremor which she hoped she had overcome, trying to say something now and -then, not knowing what to say. He had looked up after his first -onslaught upon the food, and glanced round the table. “Have you no -beer?” he said. Mrs Ogilvy jumped up nervously. “There is the table-beer -we have for Andrew,” she said. “You will have whisky, at least. I must -have something to drink with my dinner,” he answered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span> morosely. Mrs -Ogilvy knew many uses for whisky, but to drink it, not after, but with -dinner, was not one that occurred to her. She brought out the -old-fashioned silver case eagerly from the sideboard, and sought among -the shelves where the crystal was for the proper sized glass. But he -poured it out into the tumbler, to her horror, dashing the fiery liquid -about and filling it up with water. “I suppose,” he said again, looking -round him with a sort of angry contempt, “there’s no soda-water here?”</p> - -<p>“We can get everything on Monday, whatever you like, my—my dear,” she -said, in her faltering voice.</p> - -<p>Afterwards she was glad to leave him, to go up-stairs and help Janet, -whose steps she heard overhead in the room so long unused—his room, -where she had always arranged everything herself, and spent many an hour -thinking of her boy, among all the old treasures of his childhood and -youth. It was a room next to her own—a little larger—“for a lad has -need of room, with his big steps and his long legs,” she had many a time -said. She found Janet hesitating between two sets of sheets brought out -from Mrs Ogilvy’s abundant store of napery, one fine, and one not so -fine. “It’s a grand day his coming hame,” Janet said. “Ye’ll mind, mem, -a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet: it’s true that shoon are -first necessaries, but no the ring on his finger.”</p> - -<p>“Take these things away,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span> an indignation that was -more or less a relief to her, pushing away the linen, which slid in its -shining whiteness to the floor, as if to display its intrinsic -excellence though thus despised. She went to the press and brought out -the best she had, her mother’s spinning in the days when mothers began -to think of their daughter’s “plenishing” for her wedding as soon as she -was born. She brought it back in her arms and placed it on the bed. “He -shall have nothing but the best,” she said, spreading forth the snowy -linen with her own hands. Oh! how often she had thought of doing that, -going over it, spreading the bed for Robbie, with her heart dancing in -her bosom! It did not dance now, but lay as if dead, but for the pain of -its deadly wounds.</p> - -<p>“And, Janet,” she said, “how it is to be done I know not, but Andrew -must hurry to the town to get provisions for to-morrow. It will be too -late to-night, and who will open to him, or who will sell to him on the -Sabbath morning, is more than I can tell; but we must just trust——”</p> - -<p>“Mem,” said Janet, “I have sent him already up Esk to Johnny Small’s to -get some trout that he catched this afternoon, but couldna dispose o’ -them so late. And likewise to Mrs Loanhead at the Knowe farm, to get a -couple of chickens and as many eggs as he could lay his hands on. You’ll -not be surprised if ye hear the poor things cackling. We’ll just thraw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span> -their necks the morn. I maun say again, as I have aye said, that for a -house like this to have nae resources of its ain, no a chicken for a -sudden occasion without flying to the neebors, is just a very puir kind -of thing.”</p> - -<p>“And what would become of my flowers, with your hens and their families -about?”</p> - -<p>“Flooers!” said Janet, contemptuously: and her mistress had not spirit -to continue the discussion.</p> - -<p>“And now,” she said, “that all’s ready, I must go down and see after my -son.”</p> - -<p>“Eh, mem, but you’re a proud woman this night to say thae words again! -and him grown sic a grand buirdly man!”</p> - -<p>The poor lady smiled—she could do no more—in her old servant’s face, -and went down-stairs to the dining-room, which she found to her -astonishment full of smoke, and those fumes of whisky which so often -fill a woman’s heart with sickness and dismay, even when there is no -need for such emotion. Robert Ogilvy sat with his chair pushed back from -the table, a pipe in his mouth, and a tumbler of whisky-and-water at his -hand. The whisky and the food had perhaps given him a less hang-dog -look, but the former had not in the least affected him otherwise, nor -probably had he taken enough to do so. But the anguish of the sight was -not less at the first glance to his mother, so long unaccustomed to the -habits of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span> even the soberest men. She said nothing, and tried even to -disguise the trouble in her expression, heart-wrung with a cumulation of -experiences, each adding something to those that had gone before.</p> - -<p>“Your room is ready, Robbie, my dear. You will be wearied with this long -day—and the excitement,” she said, with a faint sob, “of coming home.”</p> - -<p>“I do not call that excitement,” he said: “a man that knows what -excitement is has other ways of reckoning——”</p> - -<p>“But still,” she said, with a little gasp accepting this repulse, “it -would be something out of the common. And you will have been travelling -all day. How far have you come to-day, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t put me through my catechism all at once,” he said, with a hasty -wrinkle of anger in his forehead. “I’ll tell you all that another time. -I’m very tired, at least, whether I’ve come a short way or a long.”</p> - -<p>“I have put your bed all ready for you—Robbie.” She seemed to say his -name with a little reluctance: his bonnie name! which had cost her so -keen a pang to think of as stained or soiled. Was it the same feeling -that arrested it on her lips now?</p> - -<p>“Am I bothering you, mother, staying here a little quiet with my pipe? -for I’ll go, if that is what you want.”</p> - -<p>She had coughed a little, much against her will, unaccustomed to the -smoke. “Bothering me!” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span> cried: “is it likely that anything should -bother me to-night, and my son come back?”</p> - -<p>He looked at her, and for the first time seemed to remark her -countenance strained with a wistful attempt at satisfaction, on the -background of her despair.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” he said, shaking his head, “there is not much more -pleasure in it to you than to me.”</p> - -<p>“There would be joy and blessing in it, Robbie,” she cried, forcing -herself to utterance, “if it was a pleasure to you.”</p> - -<p>“That’s past praying for,” he replied, almost roughly, and then turned -to knock out his pipe upon the edge of the trim summer fireplace, all so -daintily arranged for the warm season when fires were not wanted. Her -eyes followed his movements painfully in spite of herself, seeing -everything which she would have preferred not to see. And then he rose, -putting the pipe still not extinguished in his pocket. “If it’s to be -like this, mother,” he said, “the best thing for me will be to go to -bed. I’m tired enough, heaven knows; but the pipe’s my best friend, and -it was soothing me. Now I’ll go to bed——”</p> - -<p>“Is it me that am driving you, Robbie? I’ll go ben to the parlour. I -will leave you here. I will do anything that pleases you——”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, with a sullen expression closing over his face, “I’ll go -to bed.” He was going without<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span> another word, leaving her standing -transfixed in the middle of the room—but, after a glance at her, came -back. “You’ll be going to church in the morning,” he said. “I’ll take -what we used to call a long lie, and you need not trouble yourself about -me. I’m a different man from what you knew, but—it’s not my wish to -trouble you, mother, more than I can help.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie, trouble me!” she cried: “oh, my boy! would I not cut myself -in little bits to please you? would I not—— I only desire you to be -comfortable, my dear—my dear!”</p> - -<p>“You’ll make them shut up all these staring open windows if you want me -to be comfortable,” he said. “I can’t bear a window where any d——d -fellow might jump in. Well, then, good-night.”</p> - -<p>She took his hand in both hers. She reached up to him on tiptoe, with -her face smiling, yet convulsed with trouble and pain. “God bless you, -Robbie! God bless you! and bless your homecoming, and make it happier -for you and me than it seems,” she said, with a sob, almost breaking -down. He stooped down reluctantly his cheek towards her, and permitted -her kiss rather than received it. Oh, she remembered now! he had done -that when he was angered, when he was blamed, in the old days. He had -not been, as she persuaded herself, all love and kindness even then.</p> - -<p>But she would not allow herself to stop and think.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span> Though she had -herself slept securely for years, in the quiet of her age and -peacefulness, with little heed to doors and windows, she bolted and -barred them all now with her own hands. “Mr Robert wishes it,” she said, -explaining to Janet, who came in in much surprise at the sound. “He has -come out of a wild country full of strange chancy folk—and wild beasts -too, in the great forests,” she added by an after-thought. “He likes to -see that all’s shut up when we’re so near the level of the earth.”</p> - -<p>“I’m very glad that’s his opinion,” said Janet, “for it’s mine; no for -wild beasts, the Lord preserve us! but tramps, that’s worse. But -Andrew’s not back yet, and he will be awfu’ surprised to see all the -lights out.”</p> - -<p>“Andrew must just keep his surprise to himself,” said the mistress in -her decided tones, “for what my son wishes, whatever it may be, that is -what I will do.”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Deed, mem, and I was aye weel aware o’ that,” Janet said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day was such a Sunday as had never been passed in the Hewan -before. Mrs Ogilvy did not go to church: consequently Sandy was not -taken out of the stable, nor was there any of the usual cheerful bustle -of the Sunday morning, the little commotion of the best gown, the best -bonnet, the lace veil taken out of their drawers among the lavender. -Nobody but Mrs Ogilvy continued to wear a lace veil: but her old, softly -tinted countenance in the half mask of a piece of net caught upon the -nose, as was once the fashion, or on the chin, as is the fashion now, -would have been an impossible thing. Her long veil hung softly from her -bonnet behind it or above it. It could cover her face when there was -need; but there never was any reason why she should cover her face. Her -faithful servants admired her very much in her Sunday attire. Janet, -though she was so hot a churchwoman, was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span> not much of a churchgoer. -Somebody, she said, had to stay at home to look after the house and the -dinner, even when it was a cold dinner: and to see the mistress sit down -without even a hot potatie, was more than she could consent to: so -except on great occasions she remained at home, and Andrew put a mark in -his Bible at the text, and told her as much as he could remember of the -discourse. It was a “ploy” for Janet to come out to the door into the -still and genial sunshine on Sunday morning, and see the little -pony-carriage come round, all its polished surfaces shining, and Sandy -tossing his head till every bit of the silver on his harness twinkled in -the sun, and Andrew, all in his best, bringing him up with a little dash -at the door. And then Mrs Ogilvy would come out, not unconscious and not -displeased that the old servants were watching for her, and that the -sight of her modest finery was a “ploy” to Janet, who had so few ploys. -She would pin a rose on her breast when it was the time of roses, and -take a pair of grey gloves out of her drawer, to give them pleasure, -with a tender feeling that made the little vanity sweet. The grey gloves -were, indeed, her only little adornment, breaking the monotony of the -black which she always wore; but Janet loved the lustre of the best -black silk, and to stroke it with her hand as she arranged it in the -carriage, loath to cover up its sheen with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span> the wrapper which was -necessary to protect it from the dust. Nothing of all this occurred on -the dull morning of this strange Sabbath, which, as if in sympathy, was -grey and cheerless—the sky without colour, the landscape without -sunshine. Mrs Ogilvy came out to the door to speak to Andrew as he -ploughed across the gravel with discontented looks—for to walk in to -the kirk did not please the factotum, who generally drove. She called -him to her, standing on the doorstep drawing her white shawl round her -as if she had taken a chill. “Andrew,” she said, “I know you are not a -gossip; but it’s a great event my son coming home. I would have you say -little about it to-day, for it would bring a crowd of visitors, and -perhaps some even on the Sabbath: and Mr Robert is tired, and not caring -to see visitors. He must just have a day or two to rest before everybody -knows.”</p> - -<p>“I’m no a man,” said Andrew, a little sullen, “for clashes and clavers: -you had better, mem, say a word to the wife.” Andrew was conscious that -in his prowl for victuals the night before he had spread the news of -Ogilvy’s return,—“and nae mair comfort to his mother nor ever, or I am -sair mistaen”—far and wide.</p> - -<p>“Whatever you do,” Mrs Ogilvy said, a little subdued by Andrew’s looks, -“do not say anything to the minister’s man.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span></p> - -<p>She went back, and sat down in her usual place between the window and -the fireplace. The room was full of flowers, gathered fresh for Sunday; -and the Bible lay on the little table, the knitting and the newspapers -being carefully cleared away. She took the book and opened it, or rather -it opened of itself, at those chapters in St John’s Gospel which are the -dearest to the sorrowful. She opened it, but she did not read it. She -had no need. She knew every word by heart, as no one could do by any -mere effort of memory: but only by many, many readings, long penetration -of the soul by that stream of consolation. It did her a little good to -have the book open by her side: but she did not need it—and, indeed, -the sacred words were mingled unconsciously by many a broken prayer and -musing of her own. She had gone to her son’s room, to the door, many -times since she parted with him the night before; but had heard no -sound, and, hovering there on the threshold, had been afraid to go in, -as she so longed to do. What mother would not, after so long an absence, -steal in to say again good-night—to see that all was comfortable, -plenty of covering on the bed, not too much, just what he wanted; or -again, in the morning, to see how he had slept, to recognise his dear -face by the morning light, to say God bless him, and God bless him the -first morning as the first night of his return? But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span> Mrs Ogilvy was -afraid. She went and stood outside the door, trembling, but she had not -the courage to go in. She felt that it might anger him—that it might -annoy him—that he would not like it. He had been a long time away. He -had grown a man almost middle-aged, with none of the habits or even -recollections of a boy. He would not like her to go near him—to touch -him. With a profound humility of which she was not conscious, she -explained to herself that this was after all “very natural.” A man -within sight of forty (she counted his age to a day—he was -thirty-seven) had forgotten, being long parted from them, the ways of a -mother. He had maybe, she said to herself with a shudder, known—other -kinds of women. She had no right to be pained by it—to make a grievance -of it. Oh no, no grievance: it was “very natural.” If she went into the -parlour, where she always sat in the morning, she would hear him when he -began to move: for that room was over this. Meantime, what could she do -better than to read her chapter, and say her prayers, and bless him—and -try “to keep her heart”?</p> - -<p>Many, many times had she gone over the same thoughts that flitted about -her mind now and interrupted the current of her prayers, and of the -reading which was only remembering. There was Job, whom she had thought -of so often, whose habit was, when his sons and daughters were in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span> -their grandeur before anything happened to them, to offer sacrifices for -them, if, perhaps, in the carelessness of their youth, they might have -done something amiss. How she had longed to do that! and then had -reminded herself that there were no more sacrifices, that there had been -One for all, and that all she had to do was but to put God in mind, to -keep Him always in mind: that there was her son yonder somewhere out in -His world, and maybe forgetting what his duty was. To put God in -mind!—as if He did not remember best of all, thinking on them most when -they were lost, watching the night when even a mother slumbers and -sleeps, and never, never losing sight of them that were His sons before -they were mine! What could she say then, what could she do, a poor small -thing of a woman, of as little account as a fly in the big world of God? -Just sit there with her heart bleeding, and say between the lines, “In -my Father’s house are many mansions”—and, “If a man love me, my Father -will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him:” -nothing but “my Robbie, my Robbie!” with anguish and faith contending. -This was all mixed up among the verses now, those verses that were balm, -the keen sharpness of this dear name.</p> - -<p>She was not, however, permitted to remain with these thoughts alone. -Janet came softly to the door,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span> half opening it, asking, “May I come -in?” “Oh, who can prevent you from coming in?” her mistress said, in the -sudden impatience of a preoccupied mind, and then softly, “Come in, -Janet,” in penitence more sudden still. Janet came in, and, closing the -door behind her, stood as if she had something of the gravest importance -to say. “What is it, woman, what is it?” Mrs Ogilvy cried in alarm.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking,” said Janet, “Mr Robert brought nae luggage with him -when he came last night.”</p> - -<p>“No—he was walking—how could he bring luggage?” cried Mrs Ogilvy, -picking up that excuse, as it were, from the roadside, for she had not -thought of it till this minute.</p> - -<p>“That is just what I am saying,” said Janet: “no a clean shirt, nor a -suit of clothes to change, and this the Sabbath-day——!”</p> - -<p>“There are his old things in the drawer,” said Mrs Ogilvy.</p> - -<p>“His auld things!—that wouldna peep upon him, the man he is now. He was -shapin’ for a fine figger of a man when he went away: but no braid and -buirdly as he is now.”</p> - -<p>Janet spoke in a tone of genuine admiration and triumph, which was balm -to her mistress’s heart. His bigness, his looseness of frame, had indeed -been one of the little things that had vexed her among so many others. -“Not like my Robbie,” she had breathed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span> to herself, thinking of the slim -and graceful boy. But it gave her great heart to see how different -Janet’s opinion was. It was she who was always over-anxious. No doubt -most folk would be of Janet’s mind.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking,” said Janet, “to take him a shirt of my man’s, just his -best. It has not been on Andrew’s back for many a day. ’Deed, I just -gave it a wash, and plenty of stairch, as the gentlemen like, and ironed -it out this morning. The better day the better deed.”</p> - -<p>“On the Sabbath morning!” said Mrs Ogilvy, half laughing, half crying.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take the wyte o’t,” said Janet. “But I can do nae mair. I canna -offer him a suit of Andrew’s: in the first place, his best suit, he has -it on: and I wouldna demean Mr Robert to a common man’s working claes; -and then besides——”</p> - -<p>“If you’ll get those he’s wearing, Janet, and brush them well, that’ll -do fine. And then we must have no visitors to-day. I know not who would -come from the town on the Sabbath-day, except maybe Miss Susie. Miss -Susie is not like anybody else; but oh, I would not like her to see him -so ill put on! Yet you can never tell, with that ill habit the Edinburgh -folk have of coming out to Eskholm on the Sunday afternoon, and then -thinking they may just daunder in to the Hewan and get a cup of tea. The -time when you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span> want them least is just the time they are like to come.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll just steek the doors and let them chap till they’re wearied,” -said Janet, promptly. “They’ll think ye’ve gane away like other folk, -for change of air.”</p> - -<p>“I’m loth to do that—when folk have come so far, and tired with their -walk. Do you think, Janet, you could have the tea ready, and just say I -have—stepped out to see a neighbour, or that I’m away at the manse, -or——? I would be out in the garden out of sight, so it would be no lee -to say I was out of the house.”</p> - -<p>“If it’s the lee you’re thinking of, mem—I’m no caring that,” and Janet -snapped her fingers, “for the lee.”</p> - -<p>Neither mistress nor maid called it a lie, which was a much more serious -business. The Scottish tongue is full of those <i>nuances</i>, which in other -languages we find so admirable.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Janet!” cried Mrs Ogilvy again, between laughing and crying, “I -fear I’ll have but an ill character to give you—washing out a shirt on -Sunday and caring nothing for a lee!”</p> - -<p>“If we can just get Andrew aff to his kirk in the afternoon. I’ll no -have him at my lug for ever wi’ his sermons. Lord, if I hadna kent -better how to fend for him than he did himsel’, would he ever have been -a man o’ weight, as they say he is, in that Auld Licht meetin’ o’ his, -and speaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span> ill o’ a’ the ither folk? Just you leave it to me. Bless -us a’! sae lang as the dear laddie is comfortable, what’s a’ the rest to -you and me?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Janet, my woman!” said the mistress, holding out her hand. It was -so small and delicate that Janet was seized with a compunction after she -had squeezed it in her own hard but faithful one, which felt like an -iron framework in comparison. “I doubt I’ve hurt her,” she said to -herself; “but I was just carried away.”</p> - -<p>And Mrs Ogilvy was restored to her musing and her prayers, which -presently were interrupted again by sounds in the room overhead—Janet’s -step going in, which shook and thrilled the flooring, and the sound of -voices. The mother sat and listened, and heard his voice speaking to -Janet, the masculine tone instantly discernible in a woman’s house, -speaking cheerfully, with after a while a laugh. His tone to her had -been very different. It had been full of involuntary self-defence, a -sort of defiance, as if he felt that at any moment something might be -demanded of him, excuse or explanation—or else blame and reproach -poured forth upon him. The mother’s heart swelled a little, and yet she -smiled. Oh, it was very natural! He could even joke and laugh with the -faithful servant-woman, who could call him to no account, whom he had -known all his life. If there was any passing cloud in Mrs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span> Ogilvy’s mind -it passed away on the instant, and the only bitterness was that wistful -one, with a smile of wonder accompanying it, “That he could think I -would demand an account—me!”</p> - -<p>He came down-stairs later, half amused with himself, in the high collar -of Andrew’s gala shirt, and with a smile on his face. “I’m very -ridiculous, I suppose,” he said, walking to the glass above the -mantelpiece; “but I did not want to vex the woman, and clean things are -pleasant.”</p> - -<p>“Is your luggage—coming, Robbie?” she ventured to say, while he stood -before the glass trying to fold over or modify as best he could the -spikes of the white linen which stood round his face.</p> - -<p>“How much luggage do you think a man would be likely to have,” he said -impatiently, standing with his back towards her, “who came from New York -as a stowaway in a sailing-ship?”</p> - -<p>She had not the least idea what a stowaway was, but concluded it to be -some poor, very poor post, with which comfort was incompatible. “My -dear,” she said, “you will have to go into Edinburgh and get a new -outfit. There are grand shops in Edinburgh. You can get things—I mean -men’s things—just as well, they tell me, as in London.”</p> - -<p>She spoke in a half-apologetic tone, as if he had been in the habit of -getting his clothes from London, and might object to a less fashionable -place<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span>—for indeed the poor lady was much confused, believing rather -that her son had lived extravagantly and lavishly than that he had been -put to all the shifts of poverty.</p> - -<p>“I’ve had little luggage this many a day,” he said,—“a set of flannels -when I could get them for the summer, and for winter anything that was -warm enough. I’ve not been in the way of sending to Poole for my -clothes.” He laughed, but it was not the simple laugh that had sounded -from the room above. “What did I ever know about London, or anything but -the commonest life?”</p> - -<p>“Just what we could give you, Robbie,” she said, in a faltering tone.</p> - -<p>“Well!” he cried impatiently. And then he turned round and faced -her—Andrew’s collars, notwithstanding all his efforts, giving still a -semi-ludicrous air, which gave the sting of an additional pang to Mrs -Ogilvy, who could not bear that he should be ridiculous. He confronted -her, sitting down opposite, fixing his eyes on her face, as if to -forestall any criticism on her part. “I’ve come back as I went away,” he -said with defiance. “I had very little when I started,—I have nothing -now. If you had not kept me so bare, and never a penny in my pocket, I -might have done better: but nothing breeds nothing, you know, mother. -It’s one of the laws of the world.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span></p> - -<p>“Robbie, I gave you what I had,” she exclaimed, astonished, yet half -relieved, to find that it was she who was put on her defence.</p> - -<p>“Ay, that’s what everybody says. You must have kept a little more for -yourself, however, for you seem very comfortable: and you talk at your -ease of a new outfit, while I’ve been glad of a cast-off jacket or an -old pair of breeks that nobody else would wear.”</p> - -<p>“Oh Robbie, Robbie!” she cried in a voice of anguish, “and me laying up -every penny for you, and ready with everything there was—at a moment’s -notice!”</p> - -<p>“Well, perhaps it’s better as it is,” he said: “I might just have lost -it again. You get into a sort of a hack-horse way—just the same round, -and never able to get out of it—unless when you’ve got to cut and run -for your life.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you about that another time. I don’t know what you’re going -to do with me, now you’ve got me here. I’m a young fellow enough yet, -mother—a sort of a young fellow, but not good for anything. And then if -this affair comes up, I may have to cut and run again. Oh, I’ll tell you -about it in time! It’s not likely they’ll be after me, with all the -loose swearing there is yonder, and extraditions, and that kind of -thing; but I’m not one that would stand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span> being had up and examined—even -if I was sure I should get off: I’d just cut and run.”</p> - -<p>“Is there any danger?” she said in a terrified whisper.</p> - -<p>He burst out laughing again, but these laughs were not good to hear. “Of -what do you think? That they might hang me up to the first tree? But -till it blows over I can be sure of nothing—or if any other man turns -up. There is a man before whom I would just cut and run too. If he -should get wind that I was here”—he gave a suspicious glance round. -“And this confounded house on a level with the ground, and the windows -open night and day!”</p> - -<p>“Who is it? Who is the man?” she said. She followed every change of his -face, every movement, every question, with eyes large with panic and -terror.</p> - -<p>What he said first, he had the grace to say under his breath out of some -revived tradition of respect, “Would you be any the wiser if I told you -a name—that you never heard before?” he said.</p> - -<p>“No, Robbie, no. But tell me one thing, is it a man you have wronged? Oh -Robbie, tell me, tell me that, for pity’s sake!”</p> - -<p>“No!” he shouted with a rage that overcame all other feelings. “Damn -him! damn him! it’s he that has never done anything but hunt and harm -me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, God be thanked!” cried his mother, suddenly rising and going to -him. “Oh Robbie, my dear, the Lord be praised! and God forgive that -unfortunate person, for if it’s him, it’s not you!”</p> - -<p>He submitted unwillingly for a moment to the arm which she put round -him, drawing his head upon her breast, and then put her not ungently -away. “If there’s any consolation in that, you can take it,” he said: -“There’s not much consolation in me, any way.” And then he reached his -large hand over the table to her little bookcase, which stood against -the wall. “I can always read a book,” he said, “a story-book; it’s the -only thing I can do. You used to have all the Scotts here.”</p> - -<p>“They are just where they used to be, Robbie,” she said, in a subdued -tone. She watched him, still standing while he chose one; and throwing -himself back in his chair, began to read. It added a little sense of -embarrassment, of confusion and disorder, to all the heavier trouble, -that he had thrown himself into her chair, the place in which she had -sat through all those years when there was no one to interfere with her. -Glad was she to give up the best place in the house to him, whatever he -might please to choose; but it gave her a feeling of disturbance which -she could not explain, not being even aware at first what it was that -caused it. She did not know where to sit, nor what to do. She could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span> -go back to fetch her open Bible, nor sit down to read it, partly because -it would be a reproach to him sitting there reading a novel—only a -novel, no reading for Sabbath, even though it was Sir Walter’s; partly -because it would seem like indifference, she thought, to occupy herself -with reading at all, when at any moment he might have something to say -to her again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Perhaps</span> it would be well for Janet’s sake not to inquire into the -history of that Sabbath afternoon. Friends arrived from Edinburgh, as -Mrs Ogilvy had divined, carefully choosing that day when they were so -little wanted. There were some people who walked, keeping up an old -habit: the walk was long, but when you were sure of a good cup of tea -and a good rest at a friend’s house, was not too much for a robust -walker with perhaps little time for walking during the week: and -some—but they kept a discreet veil on the means of their -conveyance—would come occasionally by the wicked little train which, to -the great scandal of the whole village, had been permitted between -Edinburgh and Eskholm in quite recent days, by the direct influence of -the devil or Mr Gladstone some thought, or perhaps for the convenience -of a railway director who had a grand house overlooking the Esk higher<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span> -up the stream. It may well be believed, however, that nobody who visited -Mrs Ogilvy on Sunday owned to coming by the train. They could not resist -the delights of the walk in this fine weather, they said, and to breathe -the country air in June after having been shut up all the week in -Edinburgh was a great temptation. They all came from Edinburgh, these -good folks: and there was one who was an elder in the Kirk, and who said -that the road had been measured, and it was little more, very little -more, than a Sabbath-day’s journey, such as was always permitted. -Sometimes there would be none of these visitors for weeks, but naturally -there were two parties of them that day. Mrs Ogilvy, out in the garden -behind the house, sat trembling among Andrew’s flower-pots in his -tool-house, feeling more guilty than words could say, yet giving Janet a -certain countenance by remaining out of doors, to justify the statement -that the mistress just by an extraordinary accident was out. Robert was -in his room up-stairs with half a shelfful of the Waverleys round him, -lying upon his bed and reading. Oh how the house was turned upside down, -how its whole life and character was changed, and falsity and -concealment became the rule of the day instead of truth and openness! -And all by the event which last Sabbath she had prayed for with all the -force of her heart. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span> she did not repent her prayer. God be thanked, -in spite of all, that he had come back, that he that had been dead was -alive again, and that he that had been lost was found. Maybe—who could -tell?—the prodigal’s father, after he had covered his boy’s rags with -that best robe, might find many a thing, oh many a thing, in him, to -mind him of the husks that the swine did eat!</p> - -<p>Meantime Janet gave the visitors tea, and stood respectfully and talked, -now and then looking out for the mistress, and wondering what could have -kept her, and saying many a thing upon which charity demands that we -should draw a veil. She had got Andrew off to his kirk, which was all -she conditioned for. She could not, she felt sure, have carried through -if Andrew had been there, glowering, looking on. But she did carry -through; and I am not sure that there was not a feeling of elation in -Janet’s mind when she saw the last of them depart, and felt the full -sweetness of success. The sense of guilt, no doubt, came later on.</p> - -<p>“And I just would take my oath,” said Janet, “that they’re all away back -by <i>that</i> train. Ye needna speak to me of Sabbath-day’s journeys, and -afternoon walks. The train, nae doubt, is a great easement. I ken a -sooth face from a leeing one. They had far ower muckle to say about the -pleesure of the walk. They’re just a’ away back by the train.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<p>“It’s not for you and me to speak, Janet, that have done nothing but -deceive all this weary day!”</p> - -<p>“Toots!” said Janet, “you were out, mem, it was quite true, and just -very uncomfortable—and they got their rest and their tea. And I would -have gathered them some flowers, but Mrs Bennet said she would rather no -go back through the Edinburgh streets with a muckle flower in her hands, -as if she had been stravaigin’ about the country. So ye see, mem, they -were waur than we were, just leein’ for show and appearance—whereas -with us (though I leed none—I said ye were oot, and ye <i>were</i> oot) it -was needcessity, and nae mair to be said.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy shook her head as she rose up painfully from among the -flower-pots. It was just self-indulgence, she said to herself. She had -done harder things than to sit in her place and give her acquaintances -tea; but then there was always the risk of questions that old friends -feel themselves at liberty to ask. Any way, it was done and over; and -there was, as Janet assured her, no more to be said. And the lingering -evening passed again, oh so slowly—not, as heretofore, in a gentle -musing full of prayer, not in the sweet outside air with the peaceful -country lying before her, and the open doors always inviting a wanderer -back! Not so: Robert was not satisfied till all the windows were closed, -warm though the evening was, the door locked, the shutters bolted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span> -every precaution taken, as if the peaceful Hewan were to be attacked -during the night. He caught Andrew in the act of lighting that light -over the door which had burned all night for so many years. “What’s that -for?” he asked abruptly, stopping him as he mounted the steps, without -which he could not reach the little lamp.</p> - -<p>“What it’s for I could not take it upon me to tell you. It’s just a -whimsey of the mistress. They’re full of their whims,” Andrew said.</p> - -<p>“Mother, what’s the meaning of this?” Robert cried.</p> - -<p>She came to the parlour door to answer him, with her white shawl and her -white cap—a light herself in the dim evening. It was perhaps too dim -for him to see the expression in her eyes. She said, with a little -drawing of her breath and in a startled voice, “Oh, Robbie!”</p> - -<p>“That’s no answer,” he said, impatiently. “What’s the use of it? drawing -every tramp’s attention to the house. Of course it can be seen from the -road.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, Robbie, that was my meaning.”</p> - -<p>“A strange meaning,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “You’d better -leave it off now, mother. I don’t like such landmarks. Don’t light it -any more.”</p> - -<p>Andrew stood all this time with one foot on the steps and his candle in -his hand. “The mistress,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span> he said darkly, in a voice that came from his -boots, “has a good right to her whimsey—whatever it’s for.”</p> - -<p>“Did we ask your opinion?” cried Robert, angrily. “Put out the light.”</p> - -<p>“You will do what Mr Robert bids you, Andrew,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>And for the first time for fifteen years there was no light over the -door of the Hewan. It was right that it should be so. Still, there was -in Mrs Ogilvy’s mind a vague, unreasonable reluctance—a failing as if -of some visionary hope that it might still have brought back the real -Robbie, the bonnie boy she knew so well, out of the dim world in which, -alas! he was now for ever and for ever lost.</p> - -<p>Robert talked much of this before he went up-stairs to bed. Perhaps he -was glad to have something to talk of that was unimportant, that raised -no exciting questions. “You’ve been lighting up like a lighthouse; -you’ve been showing all over the country, so far as I can see. But -that’ll not do for me,” he said. “I’ll have to lie low for a long time -if I stay here, and no light thrown on me that can be helped. It’s -different from your ways, I know, and you have a right to your whimseys, -mother, as that gardener fellow says—especially as you are the one that -has to pay for it all.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she cried, “oh, Robbie, do not speak like that to me!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span></p> - -<p>“It’s true, though. I haven’t a red cent; I haven’t a brass farthing: -nothing but the clothes I’m standing in, and they are not fit to be -seen.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she said, “I have to go in to Edinburgh in the morning. Will -you come with me and get what you want?”</p> - -<p>“Is that how it has to be done?” he said, with a laugh. “I thought you -were liberal when you spoke of an outfit; but what you were thinking of -was a good little boy to go with his mother, who would see he did not -spend too much. No, thank you: I’ll rather continue as I am, with -Andrew’s shirt.” He gave another laugh at this, pulling the corners of -the collar in his hand.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy had never allowed to herself that she was hurt till now. She -rose up suddenly and took a little walk about the room, pretending to -look for something. One thing with another seemed to raise a little keen -soreness in her, which had nothing to do with any deep wound. It took -her some time to bring back the usual tone to her voice, and subdue the -quick sting of that superficial wound. “I am going very early,” she -said; “it will be too early for you. I am going to see Mr Somerville, -whom perhaps you will remember, who does all my business. There was -something he had taken in hand, which will not be needful now. But you -must do—just what you wish. You know it’s our old-fashioned way here -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span> do no business on the Sabbath-day; but the morn, before I go, I will -give you—if you could maybe tell me what money you would want——?”</p> - -<p>“There’s justice in everything,” he said, in a tone of good-humour. “I -leave that to you.”</p> - -<p>Then he went to his room again, carrying with him another armful of -Waverleys. Was it perhaps that he would not give himself the chance of -thinking? It cheered his mother vaguely, however, to see him with the -books. It was not reading for the Sabbath-day; but yet Sir Walter could -never harm any man: and more still than that—it was not ill men, men -with perverted hearts, that were so fond of Sir Walter. That was -Robbie—the true Robbie—not the man that had come from the wilds, that -had come through crime and misery, that had run for his life.</p> - -<p>She left him a packet of notes next morning before she went to -Edinburgh. This must not be taken as meaning too much, for it was -one-pound notes alone which Mrs Ogilvy possessed. She was glad to be -alone in the train, having stolen into a compartment in which a woman -with a baby had already placed herself. She did not know the woman, but -here she felt she was safe. The little thing, which was troublesome and -cried, was her protection, and she could carry on her own thoughts -little disturbed by that sound: though indeed after a while it must be -acknowledged that Mrs Ogilvy succumbed to a temptation<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span> almost -irresistible to a mother, and desired the woman to “give me the bairn,” -with a certainty of putting everything right, which something magnetic -in the experienced touch, in the soft atmosphere of her, and the -<i>frôlement</i> of her silk, and the sweetness of her face, certainly -accomplished. She held the baby on her knee fast asleep during the rest -of the short journey, and that little unconscious contact with the -helpless whom she could help did her good also. And the walk to Mr -Somerville’s office did her good. On the shady side of the street it is -cool, and the little novelty of being there gave an impulse to her -forces. When she entered the office, where the old gentleman received -her with a little cry of surprise, she was freshened and strengthened by -the brief journey, and looked almost as she had looked when he found -her, fearing no evil, in the great quiet of the summer afternoon two -days before. He was surprised yet half afraid.</p> - -<p>“I know what this means,” he said, when he had shaken hands with her and -given her a seat. “You’ve made up your mind, Mrs Ogilvy, to make that -dreadful journey. I see it in your face—and I am sorry. I am very -sorry——”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said; “you are mistaken. I am not going. I came to ask you, on -the contrary, after all we settled the other day, to do nothing -more—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“To do nothing more!—I cabled as I promised, and I’ve got the man ready -to go out——”</p> - -<p>“He must not go,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Well—— I think it is maybe just as wise. But you have changed your -mind very quick. I will not speak the common nonsense to you and say -that’s what ladies will do: for no doubt you will have your reasons—you -have your reasons?”</p> - -<p>She looked round her, trembling a little, upon the quiet office where -nobody could have been hidden, scarcely a fly.</p> - -<p>“Mr Somerville,” she said, “you were scarcely gone that day—oh, how -long it is ago I know not—it might be years!—you were scarcely gone, -when my son came home.”</p> - -<p>“What?” he cried, with a terrifying sharpness of tone.</p> - -<p>Her face blanched at the sound. “Was it an ill thing to do? Is there -danger?” she cried; and then with deliberate gravity she repeated, “You -were scarcely gone when, without any warning, my Robbie came home.”</p> - -<p>“God bless us all!” said the old gentleman. “No; I do not know that -there is any danger. It might be the wisest thing he could do—but it is -a very surprising thing for all that.”</p> - -<p>“It is rather surprising,” she said, with a little dignity, “that having -always his home open to him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> and no safeguards against the famine that -might arise in that land—and indeed brought down for his own part, my -poor laddie, to the husks that the swine do eat—he should never have -come before.”</p> - -<p>“That’s an old ferlie,” said Mr Somerville; “but things being so that he -should have come now—that’s what beats me. There’s another paper with -more particulars: maybe he was well advised. It’s a far cry to Lochow. -That’s a paper I have read with great interest, Mrs Ogilvy, but it would -not be pleasant reading for you.”</p> - -<p>“But is there danger?” she said, her face colouring and fading under her -old friend’s eye, as she watched every word that fell from his lips.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “with a thing like that hanging over a man’s head, it’s -rash to say that there’s no danger; but these wild offeecials in the -wild parts of America—sheriffs they seem to call them—riding the -country with a wild posse, and a revolver in every man’s hand—bless me, -very unlike our sheriffs here!—have not their eyes fixed on Mid-Lothian -nor any country place hereaway, we may be sure. They will look far -before they will look for him here.”</p> - -<p>“But is it him—him, my son—that they are looking for, my Robbie?” she -said, with a sharp cry.</p> - -<p>“I think I can give you a little comfort in that too—it’s not him in -the first place, nor yet in the second. But he was there—and he was one -of them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span> or supposed to be one of them. Mistress Ogilvy,” said the old -gentleman, slowly and with emphasis, “we must be very merciful. A young -lad gets mixed in with a set of these fellows—he has no thought what -it’s going to lead to—then by the time he knows he’s so in with them, -he has a false notion that his honour’s concerned. He thinks he would be -a kind of a traitor if he deserted them,—and all the more when there’s -danger concerned. I have some experience, as you will perhaps have -heard,” he said, after a pause, with a break in his voice.</p> - -<p>“God help us all!” she said, putting out her hand, her eyes dim with -tears. He took it and grasped it, his hand trembling too.</p> - -<p>“You may know by that I will do my very best for him,” he said, “as if -he were my own.” Then resuming his business tones, “I would neither hide -him nor put him forward, Mrs Ogilvy, if I were you. I would keep him at -home as much as possible. And if the spirit moves him to come and tell -me all about it—— Has he told you——?”</p> - -<p>“Something—about not being one to stand an examination even if he -should get off, and about some man—some man that might come after him: -but he will not explain. I said, Was it a man he had wronged? and he -cried with a great No! that it was one that had wronged him.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! that’ll just be one of them: but let us<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span> hope none of these -American ruffians will follow Robert here. No, no, that could not be; -but, dear me, what a risk for you to run in that lonely house. I always -said the Hewan was a bonnie little place, and I could understand your -fancy for it, but very lonely, very lonely, Mrs Ogilvy. Lord bless us! -if anything of that kind were to happen——! But no, no; across half the -continent and the great Atlantic—and for what purpose? They would never -follow him here.”</p> - -<p>“I have never been frighted of my house, Mr Somerville; and now there is -my son Robbie in it, a strong man, bless him!—and Andrew the -gardener—and plenty of neighbours less than half a mile off—oh, much -less than half a mile.”</p> - -<p>“Do you keep money in the house?”</p> - -<p>“Money! very little—just enough for my quarter’s payments, nothing to -speak of—unless when William Tod at the croft comes up to pay me my -rent.”</p> - -<p>“Then keep none,” said Mr Somerville; “just take my word and ask no -questions—keep none. It’s never safe in a lonely house; and let in no -strange person. A man might claim to be Robert’s friend when he was no -friend to Robert. But your heart’s too open and your faith too great. -Send away your money to the bank and lock up your doors before the -darkening, and keep every strange person at a safe distance.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span></p> - -<p>“But,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “where would be my faith then, and my peace of -mind? Nobody has harmed me all my days—not a living creature—if it -were not them that were of my own house,” she added, after a moment’s -pause. “And who am I that I should distrust my neighbours?—no, no, Mr -Somerville. There is Robbie to take care of me, if there was any danger. -But I am not feared for any danger—unless it were for him—and you -think there will be none for him?”</p> - -<p>“That would be too much to say. If he were followed here by any of those -ill companions—— Mind now, my dear lady. You say Robert will take care -of you. It will be far more you that will have to take care of him.”</p> - -<p>“I have done that all his days,” she said, with a smile and a sigh; -“but, oh, he is beyond me now—a big, strong, buirdly man.”</p> - -<p>They were Janet’s words, and it was in the light of Janet’s admiration -that his mother repeated them. “I am scarcely higher than his elbow,” -she said, with a more genuine impulse of her own. “And who am I to take -care of a muckle strong man.”</p> - -<p>“Mind!” cried the old gentleman, with a kind of solemnity, “that’s just -the danger. If there’s cronies coming after him, Lord bless us, it may -just be life or death. Steek your doors, Mrs Ogilvy, steek your doors. -Let no stranger come near you. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span> mind that it is you to take care of -Robert, not him of you.”</p> - -<p>She came away much shaken by this interview. And yet it was very -difficult to frighten her, notwithstanding all her fears. Already as she -came down the dusty stairs from Mr Somerville’s office, her courage -began to return. Everybody had warned her of the danger of tramps and -vagabonds for the last twenty years, but not a spoon had ever been -stolen, nor a fright given to the peaceful inhabitants of the Hewan. No -thief had ever got into the house, or burglar tried the windows that -would have yielded so easily. And it could not be any friend of Robbie’s -that would come for any small amount of money she could have, to his -mother’s house. No, no. Violence had been done, there had been quarrels, -and there had been bloodshed. But that was very different from Mr -Somerville’s advices about the money in the house. Robbie’s friends -might be dangerous men, they might lead him into many, many ill ways; -but her little money—no, no, there could be nothing to do with that. -She went home accordingly almost cheerfully. To be delivered from her -own thoughts, and brought in face of the world, and taught to realise -all that had happened as within the course of nature, and a thing to be -faced and to be mended, not to lie down and die upon, was a great help -to her. She would lock<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> the doors and fasten the windows as they all -said. She would watch that no man should come near that was like to harm -her son. To do even so much or so little as that for him, it would be -something, something practical and real. She would not suffer her -eyelids to slumber, nor her eyes to sleep. She would be her own -watchman, and keep the house, that nothing harmful to her Robbie should -come near. Oh, but for the pickle money! there was no danger for that. -She would like to see what a paltry thief would do in Robbie’s hands.</p> - -<p>With this in her mind she went back, her heart rising with every step. -From the train she could see the back of the Hewan rising among the -trees—not a desolate house any longer, for Robbie was there. How ill to -please she had been, finding faults in him just because he was a boy no -longer, but a man, with his own thoughts and his own ways! But to have -been parted from him these few hours cleared up a great deal. She went -home eagerly, her face regaining its colour and its brightness. She was -going back not to an empty house, but to Robbie. It was as if this, and -not the other mingled moment, more full of trouble than joy, was to be -the mother’s first true meeting with her son after so many years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> Mrs Ogilvy reached, somewhat breathless, the height of the little -brae on which her own door, standing wide open in the sunshine, offered -her the usual unconscious welcome which that modest house in its natural -condition held out to every comer, it was with a pang of disappointment -she heard that Robert had gone out. For a moment her heart sank. She had -been looking forward to the sight of him. She had felt that to-day, -after her short absence, she would see him without prejudice, able to -make allowance for everything, not looking any longer for her Robbie of -old, but accustomed and reconciled to the new—the mature man into which -inevitably in all these years he must have grown. She had hurried home, -though the walk from the station was rather too much for her, to realise -these expectations, eager, full of love and hope. Her heart fluttered a -little: the light went out of her eyes for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> a moment; she sat down, all -the strength gone out of her. But this was only for a moment. “To be -sure, Janet,” she said, “he has gone in to Edinburgh to—see about his -luggage. I mean, to get himself some—things he wanted.” Janet had a -long face, as long as a winter’s night and almost as dark. Her mistress -could have taken her by the shoulders and shaken her. What right had she -to take it upon her to misdoubt her young master, or to be so anxious as -that about him—as if she were one that had a right to be “meeserable” -whatever might happen?</p> - -<p>“Could he not have gane with you, mem, when you were going in yoursel’?”</p> - -<p>“He was not ready,” said Mrs Ogilvy, feeling herself put on her defence.</p> - -<p>“You might have waited, mem, till the next train——”</p> - -<p>“If you will know,” cried Mrs Ogilvy, indignant, “my boy liked best to -be free, to take his own way—and I hope there is no person in this -house that will gainsay that.”</p> - -<p>“Eh, mem, I’m aware it’s no for me to speak—but so soon, afore he has -got accustomed to being at hame—and with siller in his pouch.”</p> - -<p>“What do you know about his siller in his pouch?” cried the angry -mistress.</p> - -<p>“I saw the notes in his hand. He’s aye very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span> nice to me,” said Janet, -not without a little pleasure in showing how much more at his ease -Robert was with her than with his mother, “and cracks about everything. -He just showed me in his hand—as many notes as would build a kirk. He -said: ‘See how liberal——’<span class="lftspc">”</span> Janet stopped here, a little confused; for -what Robert had said was, “See how liberal the old woman is.” She liked -to give her mistress the tiniest pin-prick, perhaps, but not the stab of -a disrespect like that.</p> - -<p>“I wish to be liberal,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “I am very glad he was pleased: -and I knew he was going,—there was nothing out of the way about it that -you should meet me with such a long face. I thought nothing less than -that he must be ill after all his fatigues and his travels.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no a bit of him,” said Janet—“no ill: I never had ony fears about -that.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy by this time had quite recovered herself. “He will have a -good many things to do,” she said. “He will never be able to get back to -his dinner. I hope he’ll get something comfortable to eat in Edinburgh. -You can keep back the roast of beef till the evening, Janet, and just -give me some little thing: an egg will do and a cup of tea——”</p> - -<p>“You will just get your dinner as usual,” said Janet, doggedly, “as you -did before, when you were in your natural way.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span></p> - -<p>When she was in her natural way! It was a cruel speech, but Mrs Ogilvy -took no notice. She did not fight the question out, as Janet hoped. If -she shed a few tears as she took off her things in her bedroom, they -were soon wiped away and left no traces. Robbie could not be tied to her -apron-strings. She knew that well, if Janet did not know it. And what -could be more natural than that he should like to buy his clothes and -get what he wanted by himself, not with an old wife for ever at his -heels? She strengthened herself for a quiet day, and then the pleasure -of seeing him come back.</p> - -<p>But it was wonderful how difficult it was to settle for a quiet day. She -had never felt so lonely, she thought, or the house so empty. It had -been empty for fifteen years, but it was long since she had felt it like -this, every room missing the foot and the voice and the big presence, -though it was but two days since he came back. But she settled herself -with an effort, counting the trains, and making out that before five -o’clock it would be vain to look for him. He would have to go to the -tailor’s, and to buy linen, and perhaps shoes, and a hat—maybe other -things which do not in a moment come to a woman’s mind. No; it could not -be till five o’clock, or perhaps even six. He would have a great many -things to do. She would not even wonder, she said to herself, if it were -later. He would, no doubt, just walk about<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span> a little and look at things -that were new since he went away. There were some more of these statues -in the Princes Street Gardens. Mrs Ogilvy did not care for them herself, -but Robbie would. A young man, noticing everything, he would like to see -all that was new.</p> - -<p>A step on the gravel roused her early in the afternoon—the swing of the -gate, and the sound of the gradually nearing footstep. Ah, that was him! -earlier than she had hoped for, knowing she would be anxious, making his -mother’s heart to sing for joy. She watched discreetly behind the -curtain, that he might not think she was looking out for him, or had any -doubts about his early return. Poor Mrs Ogilvy! she was well used to -that kind of disappointment, but it seemed like a blow full in her face -now, a stroke she had not the least expected, when she saw that it was -not Robbie that was coming, but the minister—the minister of all -people—who had the right of old friendships to ask questions, and to -have things explained to him, and who was doubtless coming now to ask if -she had been ill yesterday,—for when had it happened before that she -had not been in her usual place in the kirk? She sat down faint and -sick, but after a moment came round again, saying to herself that it -would have been impossible for Robbie to get back so soon, and that she -richly deserved a disappointment that she had brought on herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span> When -Mr Logan came in she was seated in her usual chair (she had moved it -from its old place since Robert seemed to like that, placing for him a -bigger chair out of the dining-room, which suited him better), and -having her usual looks, so that he began by saying that he need not ask -if she had been unwell, for she was just as blooming as ever. Having -said this, the minister fell into a sort of brown study, with a smile on -his face, and a look which was a little sheepish, as if he did not know -what more to say. He asked no questions, and he did not seem even to -have heard anything, for there was no curiosity in his face. Mrs Ogilvy -made a few short remarks on the weather, and told him she had been in -Edinburgh that morning, which elicited from him nothing more than a -“Dear me!” of the vaguest interest. Not a word about Robbie, not a -question did he ask. She had been alarmed at the idea of these -questions. She was still more alarmed and wondering when they did not -come.</p> - -<p>“I had a call from Susie—the other day,” she said at last. Was it -possible that it was only on Saturday—the day that was now a marked -day, above all others, the day that Robbie came home!</p> - -<p>“Ay!” said the minister, for the first time looking up. “Would she have -anything to tell you? I’m thinking, Mrs Ogilvy, Susie has no secrets -from you.”</p> - -<p>“I never heard she had any secrets. She is a real<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> upright-minded, -well-thinking woman. I will not say bairn, though she will always be a -bairn to me——”</p> - -<p>“No, she’s no bairn,” said the minister, shaking his head. -“Two-and-thirty well-chappit, as the poor folk say. She should have been -married long ago, and with bairns of her own.”</p> - -<p>“And how could she be married, I would like to ask you,” cried Mrs -Ogilvy, indignant, “with you and your family to look after? And never -mother has done better by her bairns than Susie has done by you and -yours.”</p> - -<p>“I am saying nothing against that. I am saying she has had the burden on -her far too long. I told you before her health is giving way under it,” -the minister said. He spoke with a little heat, as of a man crossed and -contradicted in a statement of fact of which he was sure.</p> - -<p>“I see no signs of that,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>“I came up the other night,” he went on, “to open my mind to you if I -could, but you gave me no encouragement. Things have gone a little -further since then. Mrs Ogilvy, you’re a great authority with Susie, and -the parish has much confidence in you. I would like you to be the first -to know—and perhaps you would give me your advice. It is not as to the -wisdom of what I’m going to do. I am just fairly settled upon that, and -my mind made up——”</p> - -<p>“You are going—to marry again,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span></p> - -<p>He gave a quick look upward, his middle-aged countenance growing red, -the complacent smile stealing to the corners of his mouth. “So you’ve -guessed that!”</p> - -<p>“I have not guessed it—it was very clear to see—— both from her and -from you.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve guessed the person, too,” he said, the colour deepening, and the -smile turning to a confused laugh.</p> - -<p>“There was no warlock wanted to do that; but what my advice would be -for, I cannot guess, Mr Logan, for, if your mind’s fixed and all -settled——”</p> - -<p>“I did not say just as much as that; but—well, very near it. Yes, very -near it. I cannot see how in honour I could go back.”</p> - -<p>“And you’ve no wish to do so. And what do you want with advice?” Mrs -Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>She was severe, though she was thankful to him for his preoccupation, -and that he had no leisure at his command to ask questions or to pry -into other people’s affairs.</p> - -<p>“Me,” he said; “that’s but one side of the subject. There’s Susie. It’s -perhaps not quite fair to Susie. I’ve stood in her way, you may say. -She’s been tangled with the boys—and me. There’s no companion for a -man, Mrs Ogilvy, like the wife of his bosom; but Susie—I would be the -last to deny it—has been a good daughter to me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span></p> - -<p>“It would set you ill, or any man, to deny it!” cried Mrs Ogilvy. “And -what are you going to do for Susie, Mr Logan? A sister that keeps your -house, you just say Thank you, and put her to the door; but your -daughter—you’re always responsible for her——”</p> - -<p>“Till she’s married,” he said, giving his severe judge a shamefaced -glance.</p> - -<p>“Have you a man ready to marry her, then?” she asked, sharply.</p> - -<p>“It’s perhaps not the man that has ever been wanting,” said the -minister, with a half laugh.</p> - -<p>“And how are you going to do without Susie?” said Mrs Ogilvy, always -with great severity. “Who is to see the callants off to Edinburgh every -morning, and learn the little ones their lessons? It will be a great -handful for a grand lady like yon.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just a mistake that is very painful to me,” said Mr Logan. “The -lady that is going to be—my wife——”</p> - -<p>“Your second wife, Mr Logan,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with great severity.</p> - -<p>“I am meaning nothing else—my second wife—is not a grand lady, as you -all suppose. She is just a sweet, simple woman—that would be pleased to -do anything.”</p> - -<p>“Is she going to learn the little ones their lessons, and be up in the -morning to give the boys their breakfasts and see them away?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span></p> - -<p>Mr Logan waved his hand, as a man forestalled in what he was about to -say. “There is no need for all that,” he said—“not the least need. The -servant that has been with them all their days is just very well capable -of seeing that they get off in time. And as for the little ones, I have -heard of a fine school—in England.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy threw up her arms with a cry. “A school—in England!”</p> - -<p>“Which costs very little, and is just an excellent school—for the -daughters of clergymen—but, I confess, it’s clergymen of the other -church: it is not proved yet if a Scotch minister will be allowed——”</p> - -<p>“A thing that’s half charity,” said Mrs Ogilvy, scornfully. “I did not -think, Mr Logan, that you, that are come of well-kent folk, would demean -yourself to that.”</p> - -<p>“She says—I mean, I’m told,” said the poor man, “that it’s sought after -by the very best. The English have not our silly pride. When a thing is -a good thing and freely offered——”</p> - -<p>“You will not get it, anyway,” said Mrs Ogilvy, quickly. “You’re not a -clergyman according to the English way. You’re a Scotch minister. But if -all this is to be done, I’m thinking it means that there will be no -place for Susie at all in her father’s house.”</p> - -<p>“She will marry,” the minister said.</p> - -<p>“And how can you tell that she will marry? Is she to do it whether she -will or not? There might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span> more reasons than one for not marrying. -It’s not any man she wants, but maybe just one man.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy thought she was well aware what it was that had kept Susie -from marrying. Alas, alas! what would she think of him now if she saw -him, and how could she bear to see the wonder and the pain reflected in -Susie’s face?</p> - -<p>“I thought,” said Mr Logan, rising up, “that I would have found sympathy -from you. I thought you would have perceived that it was as much for -Susie I was thinking as for myself. She will never break the knot till -it’s done for her. She thinks she’s bound to those bairns; but when she -sees they are all provided for without her——”</p> - -<p>“The boys by the care of a servant. The little ones in a school that is -just disguised charity——”</p> - -<p>“You’re an old friend, Mrs Ogilvy, but not old enough or dear enough to -treat my arrangements like that.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, go away, minister!” cried the mistress of the Hewan. She was -beginning to remember that Robbie’s train might come in at any moment, -and that she would not for the world have him brought face to face with -Mr Logan without any warning or preparation. “Go away! for we will never -agree on this point. I’ve nothing to say against you for marrying. If -your heart’s set upon it, you’ll do it, well I know; but to me Susie and -the bairns are the first thing, and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span> the second. Say no more, say no -more! for we’ll never agree.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll not help me, then?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Help you! how am I to help you? I have nothing to do with it,” she -cried.</p> - -<p>“With Susie,” he repeated. “I’ll not quarrel with you: you mean well, -though you’re so severe. There is nobody like you that could help me -with Susie. You could make her see my position—you could make her see -her duty——”</p> - -<p>“If it is her duty,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>She could scarcely hear what he said in reply. Was that the gate again? -and another step on the gravel? Her heart began to choke and to deafen -her, beating so loud in her ears. Oh, if she could but get him away -before Robbie, with his rough clothes, his big beard, his air of -recklessness and vagabondism, should appear! She felt herself walking -before him to the door, involuntarily moving him on, indicating his -path. I think he was too deeply occupied with his own affairs to note -this; but yet he was aware of something repellent in her aspect and -tone. It was just like all women, he said to himself: to hear that a -poor man was to get a little comfort to himself with a second wife -roused up all their prejudices. He might have known.</p> - -<p>It was time for Robbie’s train when she got her visitor away. She sat -down and listened to his footsteps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> retiring with a great relief. That -sound of the gate had been a mistake. How often, how often had it been a -mistake! She lingered now, sitting still, resting from the agitation -that had seized upon her till the minister’s steps died away upon the -road. And as soon as they were gone, listened, listened over again, with -her whole heart in her ears, for the others that now should come.</p> - -<p>It was six o’clock past! If he had come by this train he must have been -here, and there was not another for more than an hour. He must have been -detained. He must have been looking about the new things in the town, -the new buildings, the things that had been changed in fifteen years, -things that at his age were just the things a young man would remember; -or perhaps the tailor might be altering something for him that he had to -go back to try on, or perhaps—— It would be all right anyway. What did -six o’clock matter, or half-past seven, or whatever it was? It was a -fine light summer night; there was plenty of time,—and nobody waiting -for him but his mother, that could make every allowance. And it was not -as if he had anything to do at home. He had nothing to do. And his first -day in Edinburgh after so many years.</p> - -<p>She was glad, however, to hear the step of Janet, so that she could call -her without rising from her seat, which somehow she felt too tired and -feeble to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span></p> - -<p>“Janet,” she said, “you will just keep back the dinner. Mr Robert has -been detained. I’ve been thinking all day that perhaps he might be -detained, maybe even later than this. If we said eight o’clock for once? -It’s a late hour; but better that than giving him a bad dinner, neither -one thing nor another, neither hot nor cold. Where were you going, my -woman?” Mrs Ogilvy added abruptly, with a suspicious glance.</p> - -<p>“I was just gaun to take a look out. I said to mysel’ I would just look -out and see if he was coming: for it’s very true, you say, a dinner in -the dead thraws, neither hot nor cauld, is just worse than no dinner at -all.”</p> - -<p>“Just bide in your kitchen,” said her mistress, peremptorily. “I’ll let -you know when my son comes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll hear soon enough,” Janet said. And then the mother was left -alone. But not undisturbed: for presently Andrew’s slow step came round -the corner, with a clanking of waterpots and the refreshing sounds and -smell of watering—that tranquil employment, all in accord with the -summer evening, when it was always her custom to go out and have a talk -with Andrew about the flowers. She did not feel as if she could move -to-night—her feet were cold and like lead, her cheeks burning, and her -heart clanging in her throat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> Nevertheless the bond of custom being on -her, and a strong sense that to fulfil every usual occupation was the -most satisfying exercise, she presently rose and went out, the pleasant -smell of the refreshed earth and thirsty plants, bringing out all the -sweetest home breath of the flowers, coming to meet her as she went -forth to the open door.</p> - -<p>“It’s very good for them, Andrew, after this warm day.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, it’s good for them,” Andrew said.</p> - -<p>“You will mind to shut up everything as soon as my son comes home,” she -said.</p> - -<p>“Oh ay,” said Andrew, “there was plenty said about it yestreen.”</p> - -<p>“The sweet-williams are coming on nicely, Andrew.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said Andrew, “they’re common things; they aye thrive.”</p> - -<p>“They are very bonnie,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I like them better than your -grand geraniums and things.”</p> - -<p>“There’s nae accounting for tastes,” Andrew said, in his gruff voice.</p> - -<p>By this time she felt that she could not continue the conversation any -longer, and went back to her chair inside. The sound of the flowing -water, and even of Andrew clanking as he moved, was sweet to her. The -little jar and clang fell sweetly into the evening, and they were so -glad of that refreshing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> shower, the silly flowers! though maybe it -would rain before the morning, and they would not need it. Then -Andrew—though nobody could say he was quick, honest man!—finished his -task and went in. And there was a great quiet, the quiet of the falling -night, though the long light remained the same. And the time passed for -the next train. Janet came to the door again with her heavy step. “He -will no be coming till the nine train,” she said; “will you have the -dinner up?” “Oh no,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ll not sit down to a big meal -at this hour of the night. Put out the beef to let it cool, and it will -be supper instead of dinner, Janet.”</p> - -<p>“But you’ve eaten nothing, mem, since——”</p> - -<p>“Am I thinking of what I eat! Go ben to your kitchen, and do what I tell -you, and just leave me alone.”</p> - -<p>Janet went away, and the long vigil began again. She sat a long time -without moving, and then she took a turn about the house, looking into -his room for one thing, and looking at the piles of books that he had -carried up-stairs. There were few traces of him about, for he had -nothing to leave behind,—only the big rough cloak, of a shape she had -never seen before, which was folded on a chair. She lifted it, with a -natural instinct of order, to hang it up, and found falling from a -pocket in it a big badly printed newspaper, the same newspaper in which -Mr<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span> Somerville had showed her her son’s name. She took it with her half -consciously when she went down-stairs, but did not read it, being too -much occupied with the dreadful whirl of her own thoughts. Nine o’clock -passed too, and the colourless hours ran on. And then there was the -sound all over the house of Andrew fulfilling his orders, shutting up -every window and door. When he came to the parlour to shut the window by -which she sat, his little mistress, always so quiet, almost flew at him. -“Man, have you neither sense nor reason!” she cried. It was more than -she could bear to shut and bar and bolt when nobody was there that -either feared or could come to harm. No one disturbed her after that. -The couple in the kitchen kept very quiet, afraid of her. Deep night -came on; the last of all the trains rumbled by, making a great crash in -the distance in the perfect stillness. There had been another time like -this, when she had watched the whole night through. And midnight came -and went again, and as yet there was no sound.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> one struck on the big kitchen clock, with an ominous sound like a -knell, Janet, trying to reduce her big step to an inaudible footfall, -came “ben” again. She found her mistress sitting still idly as if she -were dead, the lamp burning solemnly, not the sound even of a breath in -the room. “No stocking in her hands, not even reading a book,” Janet -said. For a moment, indeed, with a quick impulse of fear, the woman -thought that Mrs Ogilvy had died in the new catastrophe. “Oh, mem, mem!” -she cried, and in an instant there was a faint stir.</p> - -<p>“Well, Janet,” Mrs Ogilvy said in a stifled voice.</p> - -<p>“Will ye sit up longer? A’ the trains are passed, and long passed. He -will be coming in the morning; he must just—have missed the last.”</p> - -<p>“I am not going to my bed just yet,” the mistress said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span></p> - -<p>“But, mem, you will be worn out. You have just had no meat and no sleep -and no rest, and you’ll be weariet to death.”</p> - -<p>“And what would it matter if I was?” she answered, with a faint smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dinna say that; how can we tell what may be wanted of you, and -needing a’ your strength?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy roused herself at these words. “And that’s quite true,” she -said. “You have more sense than anybody would expect; you are a lesson -to me, that have had plenty reason to know better. But, nevertheless, I -will not go to my bed yet—not just yet. I can get a good sleep in this -chair.”</p> - -<p>“With the window open, mem, in the dead of the night, after all Mr -Robert said!”</p> - -<p>“Do you call that the dead of the night?” said the mistress. And the two -women looked out silenced in the great hush and awe of that pause of -nature between the night and the day. It was like no light that ever was -on sea or land, though it <i>is</i> daily, nightly, for watchers and -sleepless souls. It was lovely and awful—a light in which everything -hidden in the dark came to life again, like the light alone of the -watchful eyes of Him who slumbereth not nor sleeps. They felt Him -contemplating them and their troubles, knowing what was to come of them, -which they did not, from the skies—and their hearts were hushed within -them: there was silence for a moment, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> profound silence that reigned -out and in, in which they were as the trees.</p> - -<p>Then Mrs Ogilvy started and cried, “What is that?” Was it anything at -all? There are sounds that enhance the silence, just as there are -discords that increase the harmony of music—sounds of insects stirring -in their sleep, of leaves falling, of a grain of sand losing its balance -and rolling over on the way. Janet heard nothing. She shook her head in -her big white cap. And then suddenly her mistress gripped her with a -force that no one could have suspected to be in those soft old hands. -“Now, listen! There’s somebody on the road, there’s somebody at the -gate!”</p> - -<p>I will not describe the heats and chills of the moment that elapsed -before the big loose figure appeared on the walk, coming on leisurely, -with a perceptible air of fatigue. “Ah, you’re up still,” he said, as he -came within hearing. Janet had flown to open the door for him, undoing -all the useless bars, making a wonderful noise in the night. “I could -have stepped in through the window,” he said. “You’ve walked from -Edinburgh,” cried Janet; “you must be wanting some supper.” “I would not -object to a little cold meat,” he said, with a laugh. His tone was -always pleasant to Janet. His mother stood and listened to this colloquy -within the parlour door. She must have been angry, you would say, -jealous that her maid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span> should be more kindly used by her son than she, -exasperated by his heedless selfishness. She was none of all those -things. Her heart was like a well, a fountain of thankfulness welling up -before God: her whole being over-flooded with sudden relief and sweet -content.</p> - -<p>“How imprudent with that window open—in the middle of the night; how -can you tell who may be about?” were the first words he said, going up -himself to the window and closing it and the shutters over it hastily. -“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said afterwards. “I missed the last train, and -then I think I missed the road. I’ve been a long time getting here. -These confounded light nights; you’ve no shelter at all, however late -you walk.”</p> - -<p>“You will be tired, my dear.” He had brought in an atmosphere with him -that filled in a moment this little dainty old woman’s room. It was -greatly made up of tobacco, but there was also whisky in it and other -odours indiscriminate, the smell of a man who had been smoking all day -and drinking all day, though the latter process had not affected his -seasoned senses. Of all things horrible to her this was the most -horrible: it made her faint and sick. But he was, of course, quite -unconscious of any such effect, nor did he notice the paleness that had -come over her face.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am tired,” he said; “Janet’s suggestion was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span> not a bad idea. I -have not walked so far for years. A horse between my legs, and I would -not mind a dozen times the distance; but I’ve got out of the use of my -own feet.” He spoke more naturally, with a lighter heart than he had -shown yet. “I have not had a bad day. I looked up some of the old -howffs. Nobody there that remembered me, but still it was a little like -old times.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t you be better, Robbie, oh my dear, to keep away from the old -howffs?” she said, trembling a little.</p> - -<p>“It was to be expected that you would say that. If you mean for the -present affair, no; if you mean for general good behaviour, perhaps yes; -but it is early days. I may surely take a little licence the first days -I am back. There are some of your new clothes,” he added, tossing down a -bundle, “and more will be ready in a day or two. I’ve rigged myself out -from head to foot. But I wouldn’t have them sent out here. I’m not too -fond of an address. I promised to call for them on Saturday.”</p> - -<p>The poor mother’s heart was transfixed as with a sudden arrow. This, -then, would be repeated again; once more she would have to watch the day -out and half the night through—and again, no doubt, and again.</p> - -<p>“There’s Janet as good as her word,” he said, as the sound of her -proceedings in the next room became<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> audible. And he ate an immense meal -in the middle of the night, the light growing stronger every moment in -the crevices of the shutters. I don’t know what there is that is -wholesome, almost meritorious, in the consumption of food. Mrs Ogilvy -forgot the smell of the tobacco and the whisky in the pleasure of seeing -the roast beef disappear in large slices from his plate. “It was a -pleasure to see him eating,” she said afterwards to Janet. Yes, it is -somehow wholesome and meritorious. It implies a good digestion, not -spoiled by other pernicious things; it implies (almost) an easy mind and -a peaceful conscience, and something like innocence in a man. A good -meal, not voracious, as of a creature starving, but eaten with good -appetite, with satisfaction,—it is a kind of certificate of morality -which many a poor woman has hailed with delight. They have their own way -of looking at things.</p> - -<p>And thus the evening and the morning made a new day.</p> - -<p>The next day, before she left her room, Mrs Ogilvy took the newspaper, -which she had laid carefully aside, and read for the first time—locking -her door first, which was a thing she had scarcely done all her life -before—the story of the crime which had thrown a shadow over her son, -and had made him “cut and run,” as he said, for his life. She had to -read it three or four times over before she could make out what it -meant, and even then her understanding was not very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span> clear. For one -thing, she had not, as was natural, the remotest idea what “road agents” -were. Mercifully for her: for I believe, though I know as little as she, -that it means, not to put too fine a point upon it, highwaymen, neither -more nor less. A party of these men—she thought it must mean some kind -of travelling merchants; not perhaps a brilliant career, but no harm in -it, no harm in it!—had been long about the country, a country of which -she had never heard the name, in a half-settled State equally unknown, -and at length had been traced to their headquarters. They had been -pursued hotly by the Sheriff for some time. To Mrs Ogilvy a sheriff -meant an elderly gentleman in correct legal costume, a person of serious -importance, holding his courts and giving his judgments. She could not -realise to herself the Sheriff-Substitute of Eskshire riding wildly over -moss and moor after any man; but no doubt in America it was different. -It was proved that the road agents had sworn vengeance against him, and -that whoever met him first was pledged to shoot him, whether he himself -could escape or not. The meeting took place by chance at a roadside -shanty in the midst of the wilds, and the Sheriff was shot, before his -party had perceived the other, by a premeditated well-directed bullet -straight to the heart. Who had fired it? The most likely person was the -leader of the band, of whom the Western journalist gave a sensational -history, and to secure him was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span> the object of the police; but there were -half-a-dozen others who might have done it, and whom it was of the -utmost importance to secure, if only in the hope that one of them might -turn Queen’s evidence. (I don’t know what they call this in America, -nor, indeed, anything but what I have heard vaguely reported of such -matters. The better instructed will pardon and rectify for themselves.) -Among these, but at the end—heaven be praised, at the end!—was the -name of Robert. The band had dispersed in different directions and fled, -all but one, who was killed.</p> - -<p>When she had got all this more or less distinctly into her mind, she -read the story of the captain of the band, Lewis or Lew Winterman, with -a dozen aliases. He was a German by origin, though an American born. He -spoke English with a slight German accent. He was large and tall and -fair, of great strength, and very ingratiating manners. He had gone -through a hundred adventures all told at length. He had ruined both men -and women wherever he took his fatal way. He was a hero of romance, he -was a monster of cruelty. Slaughter and bloodshed were his natural -element. He was known to have an extraordinary ascendancy over his band, -so that there was nothing they would not do while under his influence; -though, when free from him, they hated and feared him. Thus every man of -the party was the object of pursuit, if not for himself, yet in hopes -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span> finding some clue to the whereabouts of this master ruffian, whose -gifts were such that, though he would not recoil from the most -cold-blooded murder, he could also wheedle the bird from the tree. Mrs -Ogilvy carefully locked this dreadful paper away again with trembling -hands. It took her a little trouble to find a safe place to which there -was a lock and key, but she did so at last. And when she went -down-stairs it was with a feeling that Mr Somerville’s prayer to steek -her doors, and Robbie’s concern for the fastening of all the windows, -were perhaps justified; but what would bring a man like that over land -and sea—what would bring him here to the peaceful Hewan? No, no; it was -not a thing for any reasonable person to fear. There were plenty of -places in the world to take refuge in more like such a man. What would -he do here?—he could find nothing to do here. America, Mrs Ogilvy had -always heard, was a very big place, far bigger than England and Scotland -and Ireland put together. He must have plenty of howffs there. And if -not America, there was Germany, which they said he came from, or other -places on the Continent, far, far more likely to have hiding-holes for a -criminal than the country about Edinburgh. No, no. No, no. Therefore -there was no fear.</p> - -<p>When Robert came down-stairs, which was not till late, he was a little -improved in appearance by a new<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span> coat, but not so much as his mother had -hoped. She was disappointed, though in face of the other things this was -such a very small matter. He was just a backwoodsman, a bushman, -whatever you call it, still. He had not got back that air of a gentleman -which had been his in his youth—that most prized and precious thing, -which is more than beauty, far more than fine clothes or good looks. -This gave her a pang: but then there were many things that gave her a -pang, though all subsided in the thought that he was here, that he had -come back guiltless and uninjured from Edinburgh, notwithstanding the -anxiety he had given her. But was it not her own fault that she was -anxious, always imagining some dreadful thing? After his breakfast -(again such an excellent breakfast, quite unaffected by his late hours -or his large supper!) he came to her into the parlour with the -‘Scotsman,’ which Janet had brought him, in his hand. “I thought you -would like to hear,” he said, carefully closing the door after him. “You -remember that man I mentioned to you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Robbie,”—she had almost said the man’s name, but refrained.</p> - -<p>“There is no word of him,” he said. “That was one thing I was anxious -about. There are places where—communications are kept up. I had an -address in Edinburgh to inquire.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span></p> - -<p>“What has he to do with Edinburgh?” she cried in dismay.</p> - -<p>“Nothing; but there’s a kind of a communication, everywhere. Nothing has -been heard of him. So long as nothing is heard of him I can breathe -free. There’s no reason he should come here——”</p> - -<p>“Come here! For what would he come here?”</p> - -<p>“How can I tell? If you knew the man——”</p> - -<p>“God forbid I should ever know the man,” she cried with fervour.</p> - -<p>“I say Amen to that. But if you knew him, you would know it’s the place -that is least likely which is the place where he appears.”</p> - -<p>“It may be so,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “but a place like this—a small bit -house deep in the bosom of the country, and nothing but quiet -country-folk about——”</p> - -<p>“What is that but the best of places for a hunted man? He said once that -if I ever came home he would come after me—that it was just the place -he wanted to lie snug in, where nobody would think of looking for him. -You think me a fool to be so anxious about the bolts and the bars; but -the room might be empty one moment, and the next you might look round, -and he would be there.”</p> - -<p>Though it was morning, before noon, and the safety of the full day was -upon the house, with its open windows, he cast a doubtful suspicious -glance round,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span> as if afraid of seeing some one behind him even now.</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “there is no man that has to do with you, -were he good or bad, that I would close my doors upon, except the -shedder of blood. He shall not come here.”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing I can refuse him,” cried the young man. “I would say -so too. I say, Curse him; I hate his very name. He’s done me more harm -than I can ever get the better of. I’ve seen him do things that would -curdle your blood in your veins; but him there and me here, standing -before each other—there is nothing I can refuse him!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“Robbie, you will think I am but a poor old woman,” said his mother, -with her faltering voice. “I could not stand up, you will think, to any -strange man; but the shedder of blood is like nothing else. It shall -never be said of me that I harboured a shedder of blood.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mother! how can you tell—how can you tell?” he cried, “when I that -know tell you that I could not refuse him anything. I am just his slave -at his chariot-wheels.”</p> - -<p>“But I am not his slave,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a glitter of spirit in -her eyes. “I can face him, though you may not think it. He shall never -come here!”</p> - -<p>He flung himself down into a chair, and put the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> newspaper between her -and himself, making a semblance of reading. But this he could not keep -up: the stillness, and the peace, and the innocence about him affected -the man, who, whatever he was now, had been born Robbie Ogilvy of the -Hewan. He made a stifled sound in his throat once or twice as if about -to speak, but brought forth no certain sound for some five minutes, when -he suddenly burst forth in a high but broken voice, “What would you say -if I were to tell you——?” and suddenly stopped again.</p> - -<p>“What, Robbie?” she said, quivering like a leaf.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” he replied, looking up with sudden defiance in her face.</p> - -<p>And there was a silence again in the room—the silence of the sweet -morning: not a sound to break the calm: the birds in the trees, the -scent of the roses coming in at the window—there was no such early -place for roses in all Mid-Lothian—and the house basking in the sun, -and the sun shining on the house, as if there was no roof-tree so -beloved in all the basking and breathing earth. Then the voice of the -little old lady uplifted itself in the midst of all that peace of -nature—small, like her delicate frame; low—a little sound that could -have been put out so easily,—almost, you would have said, that a sudden -breath of wind would have put it out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span></p> - -<p>“Robbie, my son,” she said, “there is nothing you could tell me, or that -any man could tell me, that would put bar or bolt between you and me. -What is yours is mine, if there is any trouble to bear; and thankful -will I be to take my share. There is no question nor answer between you -and me. If you’ve been wild in the world, my own laddie, I’ve been here -on my knees for you before the Lord. Whatever there is to tell, tell it -to Him, and He will not turn His back upon you. Then, do you think your -mother will? But that’s not the question—not the question. My house is -my own house, and I will defend it and my son, and all that is in -it—ay, if it were to the death!”</p> - -<p>He looked at her for a moment, half impressed; but the glamour soon went -out of Robert’s eyes. The reality was a very quiet feeble old woman, -with the strength of a mouse, with a flash of high spirit such as he -knew of old his mother possessed, and a voice that shook even while it -pronounced this defiance of every evil thing. Short work would be made -with that. He could remember scenes in which other old women had tried -to protect their belongings, and short work had been made with them. He -had never, never laid a finger on one himself. If he had ever dared to -make his penitence, and could have disentangled his own story from that -of those among whom he was, it might have been seen how little real -guilt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span> there ever was in his disorderly wretched life; but he could not -disentangle it, even to himself: he felt himself guilty of many things -in which he had had no share. Even in the confusion of the remorse that -sometimes came upon him, he believed himself to have executed orders -which were never given to him. The only thing he was not doubtful about -was where these orders came from, and that if the same voice spoke them -again suddenly at any moment, it would be his immediate impulse to obey.</p> - -<p>And after this he took up the ‘Scotsman,’—that honest peaceable paper, -with its clever articles, and its local records, and consciousness of -the metropolitan dignity which has paled a little in the hurry and flash -of the times—the paper that goes to every Scotsman’s heart, whatever -may be his politics, throughout the world, which everywhere, even in -busy London, compatriots will offer to each other as something always -dear. Wild as his life had been, and distracted as he now was, the sight -and the sound of the ‘Scotsman’ was grateful to Robert Ogilvy. The paper -in his hands not only shielded his face from observation, but gradually -calmed him down, drew back his interest, and, wonder of wonders, -occupied his mind. He had himself said he could always read. After this -scene, with its half revelation and its overmastering dread, he in a few -minutes read the ‘Scotsman’ as if there had been neither crime nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span> -punishment in the world. And Mrs Ogilvy had already taken up her -knitting; but what was in her heart, still throbbing and aching with the -energy of that outburst, and how much less quickly the high tide died -down, I will not venture to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Robert</span> went in again to Edinburgh a few days later, with results very -similar. Mrs Ogilvy once more waited for him half through the night: but -she sat with her window closed, and with a book in her hand, reading or -making believe to read, and with no longer any passion of tears or panic -in her heart, but a vague misery, a thrill of expectation she knew not -of what, of bad or good, of danger or safety. He came in always, -sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, with a kind of -regularity which she had to accept, which, indeed, she accepted, without -remonstrance or complaint. The atmosphere about him was always the same, -tobacco and whisky, to both which things the little fragrant feminine -house was getting accustomed, to which she consented with a pang -indescribable, but which had no consequences to make any complaint of, -as she acknowledged with thankfulness. When he did<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> not go to Edinburgh, -he remained quietly enough in the house, doing nothing, saying not very -much, taking his walks in the darkening, when it was quite late, and -consequently keeping her in a sort of perennial uneasiness, only -intensified on those occasions when he went to Edinburgh. On no evening -was she sure that he might not come in, in a state of alarm, bidding her -extinguish every light, and watching from the chinks of the window lest -some one clandestine might be roaming round the house; or that he might -not appear with another at his elbow, the man whom he hated yet would -obey, the shedder of blood, as she called him; or, finally, that he -might never come back at all,—that the man who had so much influence -over him might sweep him away, carry him off, notwithstanding all his -unwillingness. It is not to be supposed that much comfort now dwelt in -the Hewan, in the constant contemplation of so many dangers. Yet -everything was more or less as before. The mistress of the house gave no -external sign of trouble. To anxious eyes, had there been any to inspect -her, there would have appeared new lines in her countenance; but no eyes -were anxious about her looks. She pursued her usual habits, as careful -as always of the neatness of her house, her dress, her garden, -everything surrounding her. Her visitors still came, though this was her -hardest burden. To them she said nothing of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span> son’s return. He -withdrew hurriedly to his room whenever there was the smallest sign of -any one approaching; and few of them were of his time. The neighbourhood -had changed in fifteen years, as the face of the country changes -everywhere. There were plenty of people in the neighbourhood who knew -Robert Ogilvy, but these were not of the kind who go out in the -afternoon to tea. The habit had not begun when he left home. There were -wives of his own contemporaries among the ladies who paid their visits -at the Hewan, but Robert was not acquainted with them. Of those whom he -had known of old, the elder ladies were like his mother, receiving their -little company, not going forth to seek it, and the younger ones -married, bearing names with which he was not acquainted, or perhaps gone -from the country-side altogether. “I know nobody, and nobody would know -me,” he said; which was a great mistake, however, for already the rumour -of his return had flashed all over the neighbourhood, and was hotly -discussed in the parish, and half of the visitors who came to the Hewan -came with the determination of ascertaining the truth. But they -ascertained nothing. He was never visible, his mother looked “just in -her ordinary,” the house seemed undisturbed and unchanged. Sometimes a -whiff of tobacco was sensible to the nostrils of some of the guests; but -when one bold woman said so, Mrs Ogilvy had answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> quietly, “There is -at present a great deal of smoke about the house,” with a glance, or so -the visitor thought, at her rose-trees, which Andrew fumigated -diligently against the greenfly in that simple way. The greenfly is a -subject on which all possessors of gardens are kin. The questioner -determined that she would have it tried that very evening on her own -rose-bushes, for Mrs Ogilvy’s buds were uncommonly vigorous and clean; -and so the smell of tobacco ceased to be discussed or perceived, being -accounted for.</p> - -<p>This secrecy could not, of course, have been maintained had Mrs Ogilvy -taken counsel with any one, or opened her mind on the subject. It could -not have been maintained, for instance, had Mr Logan, the minister, been -in his right mind. I do not know that she would have naturally consulted -on such a subject her legitimate spiritual guide. But the intimacy -between the families was such that it could not have been hid. Even had -the boys been at home instead of going to Edinburgh every day, some -large-limbed rapid lad would no doubt have darted into the house with a -message from Susie at an inopportune moment, and found Robert. Susie -herself was the only person now whom Mrs Ogilvy half dreaded, half hoped -for. The secret could not have been kept from her—that would have been -impossible; and from day to day her coming was looked for, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span> without -a rising of hope, not without a thrill of fear. In other circumstances -Mrs Ogilvy would have been moved to seek Susie, to discover how she was -bearing the complications of her own lot. Susie was the only creature -for whom Mrs Ogilvy longed: the sight of her would have been good: the -possibility of unburdening her soul, even if she had not done it, would -have been a relief, to the imagination at least. Her complete separation -from Susie for the time, which was entirely accidental, was one of the -most curious circumstances in this curious and changed life.</p> - -<p>If she did not see Susie, however, she saw the woman who was about to -change Susie’s life and circumstances still more than her own were -changed,—the lady from England who carried an indefinable atmosphere of -suspicion about with her, as Robbie carried that whiff of tobacco. Mrs -Ainslie took upon her an air of unwarrantable intimacy which the -mistress of the Hewan resented. “I thought you would have come to see -me,” the visitor said, in a tone of flattering reproach.</p> - -<p>“I go to see nobody,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “except old friends, or where I -am much needed. It’s a habit of mine that is well known.”</p> - -<p>“But you must excuse me,” said the other, “for not knowing all the -habits of the people here” (as if Mrs Ogilvy of the Hewan had been but -one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span> the people here!). And then she made a pause and put her head on -one side, and regarded the old lady, now impenetrable as a stone wall, -with cajoling sweetness. “He has told you!” she said.</p> - -<p>“If you are meaning the minister——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, why should we play at hide-and-seek, when I am dying for your -sympathy, and you know very well whom I mean? Who could I mean but—— -And oh, dear Mrs Ogilvy, do wish me joy, and say you think I have done -well——”</p> - -<p>“Upon your marriage with the minister?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried the lady, holding up her hands, “don’t crush me with your -minister! I think it’s pretty. I have no objections to it: but still you -do call him Mr Logan when you speak to him. Poor man! he has been so -lonely ever since his poor wife died. And I—I have been very lonely -too. Can any one ever take the same place as a wife or a husband? We are -two lonely people——”</p> - -<p>“Not him,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I can say nothing for you. Very good -company he has had, better than most of the wives I see. His own -daughter just the best and the kindest—and that has kept his house in -such order—as it will take any strange woman no little trouble to do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t think I shall attempt that,” said the visitor. “I have -promised to be his wife, but not to be his drudge. Poor Susan has been -his drudge. Not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span> much wonder, therefore, that she could not be much of a -companion to him. One can’t, my dear Mrs Ogilvy, be busy with a set of -children, and teaching the a b c, all day, and then be lively and -amusing to a man when he comes in tired at night.”</p> - -<p>“I have nothing to say to it one way or another,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “I -wish you may never rue it, neither him nor you, and that is just all -that will come to my lips. If she is a lively companion or not, I cannot -say, but my poor Susie has been a mother to these bairns; and what he -will do with the little ones turned out of the house, and Susie turned -out of his house——”</p> - -<p>“You are so prejudiced! The little girls will be far better at -school—and Susie is going to marry, which she should have done ten -years ago. Her father has no right to keep a girl from making a happy -marriage and securing the man of her heart.”</p> - -<p>“And where is she to get,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a slight choke in her -throat, “what you call the man of her heart?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear lady, you that have known Susie all through, how can you -ask? He proposed to her when she was twenty, and I believe he has asked -her every year since——”</p> - -<p>“So he has told you that old story; but he had not the courage, knowing -a little more than you do, to speak to me of the man of her heart. Oh -no,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> he had not the boldness to do that! And is Susie aware of the -happiness you are preparing for her, her father and you?” the old lady -said, grimly.</p> - -<p>“Mr Logan,” said the lady, “has a timidity about that which I don’t -understand. I tell him he is frightened for his daughter. It is as if he -felt he had jilted her.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, and it is very like that,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>“He thought you, perhaps, dear Mrs Ogilvy, as such a very old friend, -would tell her,—and then, when he found that you were disinclined to do -it, he—well, I fear he has shirked it again. Nothing so cowardly as a -man in certain circumstances. I believe at the last I will have to do it -myself.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody could be better qualified——”</p> - -<p>“Do you really think so? I’m so glad you are learning to do me justice. -It’s all for her good—you know it is. To marry and have children of her -own is better than acting mother to another person’s children. Oh yes, -they are her own brothers and sisters now; but they will grow up, and if -Susie does not marry, what prospect has she? Those who really love her -should take all these things into account.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ainslie spoke these sensible words with many little gestures and -airs, which exasperated the older woman perhaps all the more that there -was nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> to be said against the utterance itself. But at that moment -she heard a step that she knew well upon the gravel outside, and of all -people in the world to meet and divine who Robert was, and publish it -abroad, this interloper, this stranger, who had awakened a warmer -feeling of hostility in Mrs Ogilvy’s bosom than any one had done before, -was the last. She sat breathless, making no answer, while she heard him -enter the house: he had been in the garden with his pipe and his -newspaper—for it was still morning, and not an hour when the Hewan was -on guard against visitors. His large step, so distinctly a man’s step, -paused in the hall. Mrs Ogilvy raised her voice a little, to warn him, -as she made an abstract reply.</p> - -<p>“It’s rare,” she said, “that we’re so thankful as we ought to be—to -them that deal with us for our good.”</p> - -<p>“Do you hear that step in the passage?” cried Mrs Ainslie. “Ah, I know -who it is. It is dear James—it is Mr Logan, I mean. I felt sure he -would not be long behind me. Mayn’t I let him in?”</p> - -<p>She rose in a flutter, and rushing to the door threw it open, with an -air of eager welcome and arch discovery; but recoiled a step before the -unknown personage, large, silent, with his big beard and watchful -aspect, who stood listening and uncertain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> outside. “Oh!” she cried, and -fell back, not without a start of dismay.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy’s pride did not tolerate any denial of her son, who stood -there, making signs to her which she declined to notice. “This is my -son,” she said, “the master of the house. He has just come back after a -long time away.”</p> - -<p>“Oh—Mr Ogilvy!” the lady faltered. She was anxious to please everybody, -but she was evidently frightened, though it was difficult to tell why. -“How pleased you must be to have your son come back at last!”</p> - -<p>He paused disconcerted on the threshold. “I did not mean to—disturb -you, mother—I did not know there was anybody here.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t upbraid me, please, with coming at such untimely hours,” she -cried. Mrs Ainslie was in a flutter of consciousness, rubbing her gloved -hands, laughing a little hysterically, but more than ever anxious to -please, and instinctively putting on her little panoply of airs and -graces. “I had business. I had indeed. It was not a mere call meaning -nothing. Your mother will tell you, Mr Ogilvy——” She let her veil drop -over her face, with a tremulous movement, and almost cringed while she -flattered him, with little flutterings and glances of incomprehensible -meaning.</p> - -<p>The woman was trying to cast her spells over<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span> Robbie! There flew through -Mrs Ogilvy’s mind a sensation which was not all disagreeable. “The -woman” was odious to her; but she was a well-looking woman, and not an -ignorant one, knowing something of the world; and Robert, with his big -beard and his rough clothes, had given Mrs Ogilvy the profoundly -humiliating consciousness that he had ceased to look like a gentleman; -but the woman did not think so. The woman made her little coquettish -advances to him as if he had been a prince. This was how his mother -interpreted her visitor’s looks: she thought no better of her for this, -but yet the sensation was soothing, and raised her spirits,—even though -she scorned the woman for it, and her son for the hesitating smile which -after a moment began to light up his face.</p> - -<p>“However,” said the lady, hurriedly, “unless you wish for the minister -on my heels, perhaps I had better go now. No? you will not be persuaded, -indeed? You are more hard-hearted than I expected. So then there is -nothing for it but that I must do it myself. There, Mr Ogilvy! You see -we have secrets after all—mysteries! Two women can’t meet together, can -they, without having something tremendous, some conspiracy or other, for -each other’s ears?”</p> - -<p>“I did not say so,” said Robert, not unresponsive, though taken by -surprise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh no, you did not say so; but you were thinking so all the same. They -always do, don’t they? Gentlemen have such fixed ideas about women.” She -had overcome her little tremor, but was more coquettish than ever. While -she held his mother’s hand in hers, she held up a forefinger of the -other archly at Robert. “Oh, I’ve had a great deal of experience. I know -what to expect from men.”</p> - -<p>She led him out after her to the door talking thus, and down towards the -gate; while Mrs Ogilvy stood gazing, wondering. It was one of her -tenets, too, that no man can resist such arts; but the anger of a woman -who sees them thus exerted in her very presence was still softened by -the sensation that this woman, so experienced, still thought Robbie -worth her while. He came back again in a few minutes, having accompanied -the visitor to the gate, with a smile faintly visible in his beard. “Who -is that woman?” he said. “She is not one of your neighbours here?”</p> - -<p>“What made you go with her, Robbie?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she seemed to expect it, and it was only civil. Where has she come -from? and how did you pick such a person up?”</p> - -<p>“She is a person that will soon be—a neighbour, as you say, and a -person of importance here. She is going to be married upon the minister, -Robbie.”</p> - -<p>“The minister!” he gave a low whistle—“that will<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> be a curious couple; -but I hope it’s a new minister, and not poor old Logan, whom I—whom I -remember so well. I’ve seen women like that, but not among ministers. I -almost think I’ve—seen her somewhere. Old Logan! But he has a wife,” -Robert said.</p> - -<p>“He had one; but she’s been dead these ten years, and this lady is new -come to the parish, and he has what you call fallen in love with her. -There are no fules like old fules, Robbie. I like little to hear of -falling in love at that age.”</p> - -<p>“Old Logan!” said Robert again. There were thoughts in his eyes which -seemed to come to sudden life, but which his mother did not dare -investigate too closely. She dreaded to awaken them further; she feared -to drive them away. What memories did the name of Logan bring? or were -there any of sufficient force to keep him musing, as he seemed to do, -for a few minutes after. But at the end of that time he burst into a -sudden laugh. “Old Logan!” he said; “poor old fellow! I remember him -very well. The model of a Scotch minister, steady-going, but pawky too, -and some fun in him. Where has he picked up a woman like that? and what -will he do with her when he has got her? I have seen the like of her -before.”</p> - -<p>“But, Robbie, she is just a very personable, well-put-on woman, and -well-looking, and no ill-mannered. She is not one I like,—but I am -maybe prejudiced,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span> considering the changes she will make; and there is -no harm in her, so far as we have ever heard here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very likely there is no harm in her; but what has she to do in a -place like this? and with old Logan!” He laughed again, and then, -growing suddenly grave, asked, “What changes is she going to make?”</p> - -<p>“There are always changes,” said Mrs Ogilvy, evasively, “when a man -marries that has a family, and everything settled on another foundation. -They are perhaps more in a woman’s eyes than in a man’s; I will tell you -about that another time. But you that wanted to be private, -Robbie—there will be no more of that, I’m thinking, now.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it cannot be helped,” he said, crossly; “what could I do? Could I -refuse to answer her? Private!—how can you be private in a place like -this, where every fellow knew you in your cradle? Two or three have -spoken to me already on the road——”</p> - -<p>“I never thought we could keep it to ourselves—and why should we?” his -mother said.</p> - -<p>He answered with a sort of snort only, which expressed nothing, and then -fell a-musing, stretched out in the big chair, his legs half away across -the room, his beard filling up all the rest of the space. His mother -looked at him with mingled sensations of pride and humiliation—a -half-admiration and a half-shame. He was a big buirdly man, as Janet -said; and he had his new clothes, which were at least clean and fresh: -but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span> they had not made any transformation in his appearance, as she had -hoped. Was there any look of a gentleman left in that large bulk of a -man? The involuntary question went cold to Mrs Ogilvy’s heart. It still -gave her a faint elation, however, to remember that Mrs Ainslie had -quite changed her aspect at the sight of him, quite acknowledged him as -one of the persons whom it was her mission in the world to attract. It -was a small comfort, and yet it was a comfort. She took up her stocking -and composed herself to wait his pleasure, till he should have finished -his thoughts, whatever they were, and be disposed to talk again.</p> - -<p>But when his voice came finally out of his beard and out of the silence, -it was with a startling question: “What do you mean to do with me, -mother, now I am here?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">They</span> sat and looked at each other across the little area of the peaceful -room. He, stretching half across it, too big almost for the little -place. She, in her white shawl and her white cap, its natural occupant -and mistress. Her stocking had dropped into her lap, and she looked at -him with a pathos and wistfulness in her eyes which were scarcely -concealed by the anxious smile which she turned upon him. They were not -equal in anything, in this less than in other particulars—for he was -indifferent, asking her the question without much care for the answer, -while she was moved to her finger-ends with anxiety on the subject, -thrilling with emotion and fear. She looked at him for her inspiration, -to endeavour to read in his eyes what answer would suit him best, what -she could say to follow his mood, to please him or to guide him as might -be. Mrs Ogilvy had not many experiences that were encouraging. She had -little confidence in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span> her power to influence and to lead. If she could -know what he would like her to say, that would be something. She had in -her heart a feeling which, though very quiet, was in reality despair. -She did not know what to do with him—she had no hope that it would -matter anything what she wanted to do. He would do what he liked, what -he chose, and not anything she could say.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” she said, “when this calamity is over-past, and you have got -settled a little, there will be plenty of things that you could do.”</p> - -<p>“That’s very doubtful,” he said; “and you have not much faith in it -yourself. I’ve been used to do nothing. I don’t know what work is like. -Do you think I’m fit for it? I had to work on board ship, and how I -hated it words could never tell. I was too much of a duffer, they said, -to do seaman’s work. They made me help the cook—fancy, your son helping -the cook!”</p> - -<p>“It is quite honest work,” she said, with a little quiver in her -voice—“quite honest work.”</p> - -<p>He laughed a little. “That’s like you,” he said; “and now you will want -me to do more honest work. I will need to, I suppose.” He paused here, -and gave her a keen look, which, fortunately, she did not understand. -“But the thing is, I’m good for nothing. I cannot dig, and to beg I am -ashamed. I’ve done many things, but I’ve not worked much all my life. I -will be left on your hands—and what will you do with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> me?” He was not -so indifferent, after all, as when he began. He was almost in earnest, -keeping his eye upon her, to read her face as well as her words. But -somehow she, who was so anxious to divine him, to discover what he -wished her to say—she had no notion, notwithstanding all her anxiety, -what it was he desired to know.</p> - -<p>“My bonnie man!” she said, “it’s a hard question to answer. What could I -wish to do with you but what would be best for yourself? I have made no -plan for you, Robbie. Whatever you can think of that you would like—or -whatever we can think of, putting our two heads together—but just, my -dear, what would suit you best——”</p> - -<p>“But suppose there is nothing I would like—and suppose I was just on -your hands a helpless lump——”</p> - -<p>“I will suppose no such thing,” she said, with the tears coming to her -eyes; “why should I suppose that of <i>my</i> son? No, no! no, no! You are -young yet, and in all your strength, the Lord be praised! You might have -come back to me with the life crushed out of you, like Willie Miller; or -worn with that weary India, and the heat and the work, like Mrs -Allender’s son in the Glen. But you, Robbie——”</p> - -<p>“What would you have done with me,” he repeated, insisting, though with -a half smile on his face, “if it had been as bad as that—if I had come -to you like them?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span></p> - -<p>“Why should we think of that that is not, nor is like to be? Oh! my -dear, I would have done the best I could with a sore heart. I would just -have done my best, and pinched a little and scraped a little, and put -forth my little skill to make you comfortable on what there was.”</p> - -<p>“You have every air of being very comfortable yourself,” he said, -looking round the room. “I thought so when I came first. You are like -the man in the proverb—the parable, I mean—whose very servants had -enough and to spare, while his son perished with hunger.”</p> - -<p>She was a little surprised by what he said, but did not yet attach any -very serious meaning to it. “I am better off,” she said, “than when you -went away. Some things that I’ve been mixed up in have done very well, -so they tell me. I never have spent what came in like that. I have saved -it all up for you, Robbie.”</p> - -<p>“Not for me, mother,” he said; “to please yourself with the thought that -there was more money in the bank.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she said, “you cannot be thinking what you are saying. That -was never my character. There is nobody that does not try to save for -their bairns. I have saved for you, when I knew not where you were, nor -if I would ever see you more. The money in the bank was never what I was -thinking of. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span> would be enough to give you, perhaps, a good -beginning—whatever you might settle to do.”</p> - -<p>“Set me up in business, in fact,” he said, with a laugh. “That is what -would please you best.”</p> - -<p>“The thing that would please me best would be what was the best for -you,” she said, with self-restraint. She was a little wounded by his -inquiries, but even now had not penetrated his meaning. He wanted more -distinct information than he had got. Her gentle ease of living, her -readiness to supply his wants, to forestall them even—the luxury, as it -seemed to him after his wild and wandering career, of the long-settled -house, the carefully kept gardens, the little carriage, all the modest -abundance of the humble establishment, had surprised him. He had -believed that his mother was all but poor—not in want of anything -essential to comfort, but yet very careful about her expenditure, and -certainly not allowing him in the days of his youth, as he had often -reflected with bitterness, the indulgences to which, if she had been as -well off as she seemed now, he would have had, he thought, a right. What -had she now? Had she grown rich? Was there plenty for him after her, -enough to exempt him from that necessity of working, which he had always -feared and hated? It was, perhaps, not unreasonable that he should wish -to know.</p> - -<p>“I told you,” he said, after a short interval, “that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span> was good for -nothing. If I had stayed at home, what should I have been now? A Writer -to the Signet with an office in Edinburgh, and, perhaps, who can tell, -clients that would have come to consult me about where to place their -money and other such things.” He laughed at the thought. “I can never be -that now.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, in tender sympathy with what she was quick to think a -regret on his part. “No, Robbie, my dear; I fear it’s too late for that -now.”</p> - -<p>“Well! it’s perhaps all the better: for how could I tell them what to do -with their money, who never had any of my own? No; what I shall do is -this: be a dependent on you, mother, all my life; with a few pounds to -buy my clothes, and a few shillings to get my tobacco and a daily paper, -now that the ‘Scotsman’ comes out daily—and some wretched old library -of novels, where I can change my books three or four times a-week: and -that’s how Rob Ogilvy will end, that was once a terror in his way—no, -it was never I that was the terror, but those I was with,” he added, in -an undertone.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy’s heart was wrung with that keen anguish of helplessness -which is as the bitterness of death to those who can do nothing to help -or deliver those they love. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” she said, “why -should that be so? It is all yours whatever is mine. It’s not a fortune, -but you shall be no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span> dependent—you shall have your own: and better -thoughts will come—and you will want more than a library of foolish -books or a daily paper. You will want your own honest life, like them -that went before you, and your place in the world—and oh, Robbie! God -grant it! a good wife and a family of your own.”</p> - -<p>He got up and walked about, with large steps that made the boards creak, -and with the laugh which she liked least of all his utterances. “No, -mother, that will never be,” he said. “I’m not one to be caught like -that. You will not find me putting myself in prison and rolling the -stone to the mouth of the cave.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie!” she cried, with a sense of something profane in what he said, -though she could scarcely have told what. But the conversation was -interrupted here by Janet coming to announce the early dinner, to which -Robert as usual did the fullest justice. Whatever he might have done or -said to shock her, the sight of his abundant meal always brought Mrs -Ogilvy’s mind, more or less, back to a certain contentment, a sort of -approval. He was not too particular nor dainty about his food: he never -gave himself airs, as if it were not good enough, nor looked -contemptuous of Janet’s good dishes, as a man who has been for years -away from home so often does. He ate heartily, innocently, like one who -had nothing on his conscience, a good digestion, and a clean record.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span> It -was not credible even that a man who ate his dinner like that should not -be one who would work as well as eat, and earn his meal with pleasure. -It uplifted her heart a little, and eased it, only to see him eat.</p> - -<p>Afterwards it could scarcely be said that the conversation was resumed; -but that day he was in a mood for talk. He told her scraps of his -adventures, sitting with the ‘Scotsman’ in his hand, which he did not -read—taking pleasure in frightening her, she thought; but yet, after -leading her to a point of breathless interest, breaking off with a half -jest—“It was not me, it was him.” She got used to this conclusion, and -almost to feel as if this man unknown, who was always in her son’s mind, -was in a manner the soul of Robert’s large passive body, moving that at -his will. Then her son returned with a sudden spring to the visitor of -the morning, and to poor old Logan and the strangeness of his fate. -“She’s like a woman I once saw out yonder”—with a jerk of his thumb -over his shoulder—“a singer, or something of that sort,—a woman that -was up to anything.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, my dear, of a woman that will soon be the minister’s -wife.”</p> - -<p>“The minister’s wife!” he said, with a great explosion of laughter. And -then he grew suddenly grave. “Old Logan,” he said, with a sort of -hesitation, “had—a daughter, if I remember right.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span></p> - -<p>“If you remember right! Susie Logan, that you played with when you were -both bairns—that grew up with you—that I once thought—— a daughter! -Well I wot, and you too, that he had a daughter.”</p> - -<p>“Well, mother,” he said, subdued, “I remember very well, if that will -please you better. Susie: yes, that was her name. And Susie—I suppose -she is married long ago?”</p> - -<p>“They are meaning,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with an intonation of scorn, “to -marry her now.”</p> - -<p>“What does that mean—to marry her now? Do you mean she has never -married—Susie? And why? She must be old now,” he said, with a half -laugh. “I suppose she has lost her looks. And had no man the sense to -see she was—well, a pretty girl—when she was a pretty girl?”</p> - -<p>“If that was all you thought she was!” said Mrs Ogilvy—even her son was -not exempted from her disapproval where Susie was concerned. She paused -again, however, and said, more softly, “It has not been for want of -opportunity. The man that wants her now wanted her at twenty. She has -had her reasons, no doubt.”</p> - -<p>“Reasons—against taking a husband? I never heard there were any—in a -woman’s mind.”</p> - -<p>“There are maybe more things in heaven and earth—than you just have the -best information upon,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span></p> - -<p>She thought it expedient after this to go up-stairs a little, to look -for something Janet wanted, she explained. Sometimes there were small -matters which affected her more than the greater ones. The early -terrible impression of him was wearing a little away. She had got used -to his new aspect, to his new voice, to the changed and altered being he -was. The bitterness of the discovery was over. She knew more or less -what to expect of him now, as she had known what to expect of the boyish -Robbie of old; and, indeed, this man who was made up of so many things -that were new to her had thrown a strange and painful light on the -Robbie of old, whom during so many years she had made into an ideal of -all that was hopeful and beautiful in youth. She remembered now, yet was -so unwilling to remember. She was very patient, but patient as she was, -there were some things, some little things, which she found hard to -bear; as for instance about Susie—Susie: that she was a pretty girl, -but must be old now, and had probably lost her looks,—was that all that -Robert Ogilvy knew of Susie? It gave her a sharp pang of anger, in spite -of her great patience, in spite of herself.</p> - -<p>It took her some time to find what Janet wanted. She was not very sure -what it was. She opened two or three cupboards, and with a vague look -went over their contents, trying to remember. Perhaps it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span> nothing of -importance after all. She went down again to the parlour at last, to -resume any conversation he pleased, or to listen to whatever he might -tell her, or to be silent and wait till he might again be disposed to -talk; passing by the kitchen on her way first to tell Janet that she had -forgotten what it was she had promised to get for her: but if she would -wait a little, the first time she went up-stairs,—and then the mistress -returned to her drawing-room by the other way, coming through the back -passage. She had not heard any one come to the front door.</p> - -<p>But when she went into the room she saw a strange sight. In the doorway -opposite to her stood a familiar figure, which had always been to Mrs -Ogilvy like sunshine and the cheerful day, always welcome, always -bringing a little brightness with her—Susie Logan, in her light summer -dress, a soft transparent shadow on her face from the large brim of her -hat, every line of her figure expressing the sudden pause, the arrested -movement of a great surprise and wonder,—nothing but wonder as yet. She -stood with her lips apart, one foot advanced to come in, her hand upon -the door as she had opened it, her eyes large with astonishment. She was -gazing at him, where he half sat, half lay, in the great chair, his long -legs stretched half across the room, his head laid back. He had fallen -asleep in the drowsy afternoon, after the early dinner, with the -newspaper spread out upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span> his knee. He had nothing to do, there was not -much in the paper: there was nothing to wonder at in the fact that he -had fallen asleep. His mother, to whom it always gave a pang to see him -do so, had explained it to herself as many times as it happened in this -way; and there sprang up into her eyes the ready challenge, the instant -defence. Why should he not sleep? He had had plenty, oh plenty, to weary -him; he was but new come home, where he could rest at his pleasure. But -this warlike explanation died out of her as she watched Susie’s face, -who as yet saw nobody but this strange sleeper in possession of the -room. The wonder in it changed from moment to moment; it changed into a -gleam of joy, it clouded over with a sudden trouble: there came a quiver -to her soft lip, and something liquid to her eyes, more liquid, more -soft than their usual lucid light, which was like the dew. There rose in -Susie’s face a look of infinite pity, of a tenderness like that of a -mother at the sight of a suffering child. Oh, more tender than me, more -like a mother than me! said to herself the mother who was looking on. -And then there came from Susie’s bosom a long deep sigh, and the tears -brimmed over from her eyes. She stepped back noiselessly from the door -and closed it behind her; but stood outside, making no further movement, -unable in her great surprise and emotion to do more.</p> - -<p>There Mrs Ogilvy found her a moment after, when,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span> closing softly, as -Susie had done, the other door upon the sleeper, she went round -trembling to the little hall, in which Susie stood trembling too, with -her hand upon her breast, where her heart was beating so high and loud. -They took each other’s hands, but for a moment said nothing. Then Susie, -with the tears coming fast, said under her breath, “You never told me!” -in an indescribable tone of reproach and tenderness.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy led her into the other room, where they sat down together. -“You knew him, Susie, you knew him?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Knew him!—what would hinder me to know him?” Susie replied, with the -same air of that offence and grievance which was more tender than love -itself.</p> - -<p>“Oh, me! I was not like that,” the mother cried. She remembered her -first horror of him, with horror at herself. She that was his mother, -flesh of his flesh, and bone of his bone. And here was Susie, that had -neither trouble nor doubt.</p> - -<p>“To think I should come in thinking about nothing—thinking about my own -small concerns—and find him there as innocent! like a tired bairn. And -me perhaps the only one,” said Susie, “never to have heard a word! -though the oldest friend—I do not mind the time I did not know Robbie,” -she cried, with that keen tone of injury; “it began with our life.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span></p> - -<p>Here was the difference. He too had admitted that he remembered her very -well—a pretty girl; but she must be old now, and have lost her looks. -Susie had not lost her looks; it was he who had lost his looks. Mrs -Ogilvy’s heart sank, as she thought how completely those looks were -lost, and of the unfavourable aspect of that heavy sleep, and the -attitude of drowsy abandonment in the middle of the busy day. But Susie -was conscious of none of these things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> day after this was one of the days on which Robert chose to go to -Edinburgh, which were days his mother dreaded, though no harm that she -could specify came of them. He had not seen Susie on that afternoon, but -was angry and put out when he heard of her visit, and that she had seen -him asleep in his chair. “You might have saved me from that,” he said, -angrily; “you need not have made an exhibition of me.” “I did not know, -Robbie, that she was there.” “It is the same thing,” he cried: “you keep -all your doors and windows open, in spite of everything I say. What’s -that but making an exhibition of me, that am something new, that anybody -that likes may come and stare at?” She thought he had reason for his -annoyance, though it was no fault of hers: and it pleased her that he -should be angry at having been seen by Susie in circumstances so -unfavourable. Was not that the best thing for him to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> roused to a -desire to appear at his best, not his worse? He went to Edinburgh next -day in the afternoon, after the early dinner. There was no question put -to him now as to when he should be back.</p> - -<p>During that afternoon Susie came again, and was much disappointed and -cast down not to see him. Perhaps it was well that Susie’s first sight -of him had been at a moment when he could say or do nothing to diminish -or spoil her tender recollection. None of those things that vexed the -soul of his mother affected Susie. The maturity of the man, so different -from the boy; the changed tone; the different way of regarding all -around him; the indifference to everything,—all these were hidden from -her. The only thing unfavourable she had seen of him was his personal -appearance, and that had not struck Susie as unfavourable. The long, -soft, brown beard, so abundant and well grown, had been beautiful to -her; his size, the large development of manhood, had filled her with a -half pride, half respect. Pride! for did not Robbie, her oldest friend, -more or less belong to Susie too. She had dreamt already of walking -about Eskholm with him, happy and proud in his return, in the -falsification of all malicious prophecies to the contrary. He was her -oldest friend, her playfellow from her first recollection. There was -nothing more wanted to justify Susie’s happy excitement—her -satisfaction in his return.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span></p> - -<p>“And he is away to Edinburgh, and has never come to see us! That is not -like Robbie,” she cried, with a trace of vexation in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Susie, I will tell you and no other the secret, if it is a secret -still. He had fallen into ill company, as I always feared, in that -weary, far America.”</p> - -<p>“How could he help it?” cried Susie, ready to face the world in his -defence, “young as he was, and nobody to guide him.”</p> - -<p>“That is true; and we that live in a quiet country, and much favoured -and defended on every side, we know nothing of the lawlessness that is -there. You will read even in the very papers, Susie: they think no more -of drawing a pistol than a gentleman here does of taking his stick when -he goes out for a walk.”</p> - -<p>Susie nodded her head in acquiescence, and Mrs Ogilvy went on: “Where -that’s the custom, harm will come. Men with pistols in their hands like -that, that sometimes go off, even when it’s not intended, as you may -also read in the papers every day——. Oh, Susie! it happened that there -was an accident. How can we tell at this long distance, and so little as -we know their manners and their ways, the rights of it all, and what -meaning there was in it, or if there was any meaning! But a shot went -off, and a man was killed. I am used to it now,” said Mrs Ogilvy, her -lip quivering, her face appealing in every line to the younger woman at -her side not—oh! not—to condemn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span> him; “but at the first moment I was -as one that had no more life. The stain of blood may be upon my son’s -hand.”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” cried Susie. “No, I will not believe it—not him, of all that -are in the world!”</p> - -<p>“God bless you, my bonnie dear, that is just the truth! But the shot -came out of the band, he among them. There is another man that was at -the head who is likely the man. And he is like Robbie, the same height, -and so forth. And he has kept hold of him, and kept fast to him, and -never let him go.”</p> - -<p>“I am not surprised,” said Susie, very pale, and with her head high. -“For Robbie would never betray him. He would never fail one that trusted -in him.”</p> - -<p>“And the terror in his heart is—oh, he says little to me, but I can -divine it!—the terror in his heart is that this man will come after him -here.”</p> - -<p>“From America!” said Susie; “so far, so far away.”</p> - -<p>“It is not so far but that you can come in a week or a fortnight,” said -Mrs Ogilvy; “you or me would say, impossible: but naturally he is the -one that knows best. And he does not think it is impossible. He makes us -bolt all the windows and lock the doors as soon as the sun goes down. -Susie, this is what is hanging over us. How can he go and see his -friends, or let them know he is here, or take the good of coming -home—with this hanging over him night and day?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span></p> - -<p>The colour had all gone out of Susie’s face. She put an arm round her -old friend, and gave her a trembling almost convulsive embrace. “And you -to have this to bear after all the rest!”</p> - -<p>“Me!” said Mrs Ogilvy; “who is thinking of me? It is an ease to my mind -to have said it out. You were the only one I could speak to, Susie, for -you will think of him just as I do. You will excuse him and forgive him, -and explain it all within yourself—— as I do, as I must do.”</p> - -<p>“Excuse him!” cried Susie; “that will I not! but be proud of him, -because he’s faithful to the man in trouble, whoever he may be!”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy did not say, even to Susie, that it was not faithfulness but -panic that moved Robert, and that all his anxiety was to keep the man in -trouble at arm’s-length. Even in confessing what was his problematical -guilt and danger, it was still the first thing in her thoughts that -Robbie should have the best of it whatever the position might be. They -were walking up and down together on the level path in front of the -house—now skirting the holly hedges, now brushing the boxwood border -that made a green edge to the flowers. Susie had come with perplexities -of her own to lay before her friend, but they all fled from her mind in -face of this greater revelation. What did it matter about Susie? -Whatever came to her, it would be but she who was in question, and she -could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span> bear it—but Robbie! Me! who is thinking of me? she said to -herself, as Mrs Ogilvy had said it, with a proud contempt of any such -petty subject. It was not the spirit of self-sacrifice, the instinct of -unselfishness, as people are pleased to call such sentiments. I am -afraid there was perhaps a little pride in it, perhaps a subtle -self-confidence that whatever one had to fear in one’s own person, what -did it matter? one would be equal to it. But Robbie—— What blood could -be shed, what ordeal dared to keep it from him!</p> - -<p>“You will feel now that I am always ready,” said Susie, “to do anything, -if there is anything to do. You will send for me at any moment. If it -were to take a message, if it were to send a letter, if it were to go to -Edinburgh for any news, if it were to—hide the man——”</p> - -<p>“Susie!”</p> - -<p>“And wherefore not? it’s not ours to punish. I know nothing about him: -but to save Robbie and you, or only to help you, what am I caring? I -would put my arm through the place of the bolt, like Katherine Douglas -for King James. And why should I not hide a man in trouble? Them that -went before us have done that, and more than that, for folk in trouble, -many a day.”</p> - -<p>“But not for the shedder of blood,” said Mrs Ogilvy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span></p> - -<p>“They were all shedders of blood,” cried Susie; “there was not one side -nor the other with clean hands—and our fore-mothers helped them all, -whichever were the ones that were pursued: and so would I any man that -stood between you and peace. If he were as bad a man as ever lived, I -would help him to get away.”</p> - -<p>“We must not go so far as that, Susie. We will hope that nothing will -need to be done. Robbie and me, we will just keep very quiet till all -this trouble blows over. I have a confidence that it will blow over,” -said Mrs Ogilvy, with a shadow in her eyes which belied her words.</p> - -<p>“Certainly it will,” cried Susie, with an intensity of assent which, -though she knew so little, yet comforted the elder woman’s heart.</p> - -<p>And Susie once more left her friend without saying a word of the -anxieties which were becoming more and more urgent in her own life. She -had not yet been told what was the true state of the case, but many -alarms had filled her mind, terrors which she would not acknowledge to -herself. It did not seem credible that she should be dethroned from her -own household place, which she had filled so long, to make way for a -stranger, “a strange woman,” as Susie, like Mrs Ogilvy, said; nor that -the children should be taken out of her hands, and her home be no longer -hers. But all other apprehensions and alarms had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> been confusedly -deepened and increased, she could scarcely tell how, by the sudden -interference of her father in behalf of an old lover long ago rejected, -whose repeated proposals had become the jest of the family, a man whom -nobody for years had taken seriously. Mr Logan had suddenly taken up his -cause, and pressed it hotly and injudiciously, filling Susie with -consternation and indignant distress. The minister had naturally -employed the most unpalatable arguments. He had bidden her to remember -that her time was running short, that she had probably out-stayed her -market, that a wooer was not to be found by every dykeside, and that at -her age it was no longer possible to pick and choose, but to take what -you could get. Exasperated by all this, Susie had rushed to her friend -to ask what was the interpretation of it. But the appearance of Robert -had driven every other thought out of her mind, and now again, more than -ever, his story, the danger he was in, the reason why his return was not -published abroad and rejoiced in. To Susie’s simple and straightforward -mind this was the only point in the whole matter that was to be -deplored. She found no fault with Robbie’s appearance, with his mid-day -sleep, with the failure of his career—even with the ill company and -dreadful associations of which Mrs Ogilvy’s faltering story had told -her. She was ready to wipe all that record out with one tear of -tenderness and pity. He had been led<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> away; he had come back. That he -had come back was enough to atone for all the rest. But there should be -no secret, no concealing of him, no silence as to this great event. She -accepted the bond, but it was heavy on her soul, and went home, her mind -full of Robert, only vexed and discouraged that she must not speak of -Robert, forgetting every other trouble and all the changes that seemed -to threaten herself. Me! who is caring about me? Susie said to herself -proudly, as Mrs Ogilvy said it. These women scorned fate when it was but -themselves that were threatened by it.</p> - -<p>When she was gone, Mrs Ogilvy continued for a while to walk quietly up -and down the little platform before the door of her peaceful house. She -had almost given up her evenings out of doors since Robert’s return, but -to-night her heart was soothed, her fears were calmed. Susie could do -nothing to clear up the situation. Yet to have unbosomed herself to -Susie had done her good. The burden which was so heavy on herself, which -was Robbie in his own person, the most intimate of all, did not affect -Susie. She was willing to take him back as at the same point where he -had dropped from her ken. There was no criticism in her eyes or her -mind,—nothing like that dreadful criticism, that anguish of -consciousness which perceived all his shortcomings, all the loss that -had happened to him in his dismal way through the world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span> which was in -his mother’s mind. That Susie did not perceive these things was a -precious balm to Mrs Ogilvy’s wounds. It was her exacting imagination -that was in fault, perhaps nothing else or little else. If Susie were -pleased, why should she, who ought to be less clear-sighted than Susie, -be so far from pleased? Nothing could have so comforted her as did this. -She was calmed to the bottom of her heart. Robbie would be very late -to-night, she knew; but what harm was there in that, if it was an -amusement to him, poor laddie? He had no variety now in his life, he -that had been accustomed to so much. She heard Andrew come clanking -round from the back-garden with his pails and his watering-pots. She had -not assisted at the watering of the flowers, not since the day of -Robbie’s return, but she did so this calm evening in the causeless -relief of her spirit. “But I would not be so particular,” she said, -“Andrew; for it will rain before the morning, or else I am mistaken.” -“It’s very easy, mem, to be mistaken in the weather,” said Andrew; “I’ve -thought that for a week past.” “That is true; it has been a by-ordinary -dry season,” his mistress said. “Just the ruin of the country,” said the -man. “Oh,” cried she, “you are never content!”</p> - -<p>But she was content that night, or as nearly content as it was possible -to be with such a profound disturbance and trouble in her being. She had -her chair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span> brought out, and her cushion and footstool, her stocking and -her book, as in the old days, which had been so short a time before and -yet seemed so far off. It was not so fine a night as it had usually -been, she thought <i>then</i>. The light had not that opal tint, that silvery -pearl-like radiance. There was a shadow as of a cloud in it, and the -sky, though showing no broken lines of vapour, was grey and a little -heavy, charged with the rain which seemed gathering after long drought -over the longing country. Esk, running low, wanted the rain, and so did -the thirsty trees, too great to be watered like the flowers, which had -begun to have a dusty look. But in the meantime the evening was warm, -very warm and very still, waiting for the opening up of the fountains in -the skies. Mrs Ogilvy sat there musing, almost as she had mused of old: -only instead of the wistful longing and desire in her heart then, she -had now an ever-present ache, the sense of a deep wound, the only -partially stilled and always quivering tremor of a great fear. -Considering that these things were, however, and could not be put away, -she was very calm.</p> - -<p>She had been sitting here for some time, reading a little of her book, -knitting a great deal of her stocking, which did not interfere with her -reading, thinking a great deal, sometimes dropping the knitting into her -lap to think the more, to pray a little—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span>one running into the other -almost unconsciously—when she suddenly heard behind her a movement in -the hedge. It was a high holly hedge, as has been already said, very -well trimmed, and impenetrable, almost as high as a man. When a man -walked up the slope from the road, only his hat, or if he were a tall -man, his head, could be seen over it. The hedge ran round on the -right-hand side to the wall of the house, shutting out the garden, which -lay on the other slope, as on the left it encircled the little platform, -with its grass-plot and flower-borders and modest carriage-drive in -front of the Hewan. It was in the garden behind that green wall that the -sound was, which a month ago would not have disturbed her, which was -probably only Janet going to the well or Andrew putting his -watering-cans away. Mrs Ogilvy, however, more easily startled now, -looked round quickly, but saw nothing. The light was stealing away, the -rain was near; it was that rather than the evening which made the -atmosphere so dim. The noise had made her heart beat a little, though -she felt sure it was nothing; it made her think of going in, though she -could still with a slight effort see to read. It was foolish to be -disturbed by such a trifle. She had never been frightened before: a -step, a sound at the gate, had been used, before Robert came back, to -awaken her to life and expectation, to a constantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span> disappointed but -never extinguished hope. That, however, was all over now: but at this -noise and rustle among the bushes, which was not a footstep or like any -one coming, her heart stirred in her, like a bird in the dark, with -terror. She was frightened for any noise. This was one of the great -differences that had arisen in herself.</p> - -<p>She turned, however, again, with some resolution, to her former -occupations. It was not light enough to see the page with the book lying -open on her knee. She took it in her hand, and read a little. It was one -of those books which, for my own part, I do not relish, of which you are -supposed to be able to read a little bit at a time. She addressed -herself to it with more attention than usual, in order to dissipate her -own foolish thrill of excitement and the disturbance within her. She -read the words carefully, but I fear that, as is usual in such cases, -the meaning did not enter very clearly into her mind. Her attention was -busy, behind her back as it were, listening, listening for a renewal of -the sound. But there was none. Then through her reading she began to -think that, as soon as she had quite mastered herself, she would go in -at her leisure, and quite quietly, crying upon Janet to bring in her -chair and her footstool; and then would call Andrew to shut the windows -and bar the door, as Robbie wished. Perhaps a man understood the dangers -better, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span> it was well in any case to do what he wished. She would -have liked to rise from her seat at once, and go in hurriedly and do -this, but would not allow herself, partly because she felt it would be -foolish, as there could be no danger, and partly because she would not -allow herself to be supposed to be afraid, supposing that there was. She -sat on, therefore, and read, with less and less consciousness of -anything but the words that were before her eyes.</p> - -<p>When suddenly there came almost close by her side, immediately behind -her, the sound as of some one suddenly alighting with feet close -together, with wonderfully little noise, yet a slight sound of the -gravel disturbed: and turning suddenly round, she saw a tall figure -against the waning light, which had evidently vaulted over the hedge, in -which there was a slight thrill of movement from the shock. He was -looking at his finger, which seemed, from the action, to have been -pricked with the holly. Her heart gave a great leap, and then became -quiet again. There was something unfamiliar, somehow, in the attitude -and air; but yet no doubt it was her son—who else could it be?—who had -made a short cut by the garden, as he had done many a time in his -boyhood. Nobody but he could have known of this short cut. All this ran -through her mind, the terror and the reassurance in one breath, as she -started up hastily from her chair, crying, “Robbie! my dear,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span> what a -fright you have given me. What made you come that way?”</p> - -<p>He came towards her slowly, examining his finger, on which she saw a -drop of blood; then enveloping it leisurely in the handkerchief which he -took from his pocket, “I’ve got a devil of a prick from that dashed -holly,” he said.</p> - -<p>And then she saw that he was not her son. Taller, straighter, of a -colourless fairness, a strange voice, a strange aspect. Not Robbie, not -Robbie! whoever he was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">For</span> a moment Mrs Ogilvy’s heart sank within her. There was something in -the moment, in the hour, in that sudden appearance like a ghost, only -with a noise and energy which were not ghost-like, of this man whom at -the first glance she had taken for Robbie, which chilled her blood. Then -she reminded herself that a similar incident had befallen her before -now. A tramp had more than once made his way into the garden, and, but -for her own lion mien, and her call upon Andrew, might have robbed the -house or done some other unspeakable harm. It was chiefly her own aspect -as of a queen, protected by unseen battalions, and only conscious of the -extraordinary temerity of the intruder, that had gained her the victory. -She had not felt then as she felt now: the danger had only quickened her -blood, not chilled it. She had been dauntless as she looked: but now a -secret horror stole her strength away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span></p> - -<p>“I think,” she said, with a little catching of the breath, “you have -made a mistake. This is no public place, it is my garden; but if you -have strayed from the road, I will cry upon my man to show you the right -way—to Edinburgh, or wherever you may be going.”</p> - -<p>“Edinburgh’s not good for my health. I like your garden,” he said, -strolling easily towards her; “but look here, mother, give me something -for my scratch. I’ve got a thorn in my hand.”</p> - -<p>“You will just go away, sir,” said Mrs Ogilvy. “Whoever you may be, I -permit no visitor here at this late hour of the night. I will cry upon -my man.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you’ve got a man about the place,” said the stranger, sitting -down calmly upon the bench and regarding her little figure as she stood -before him, with an air half of mockery, half of kindness. “It’s a -little lonely for an old lady. But then you’re all settled and civilised -here. None the better for that,” he continued, easily; “snakes in the -grass, thieves behind the door.”</p> - -<p>“I have told you, sir,” said Mrs Ogilvy, trembling more and more, yet -holding her ground, “that I let nobody come in here, at this hour. You -look like—like a gentleman:” her voice trembled on the noiseless -colourless air, in which there was not a breath to disturb anything: -“you will therefore not, I am sure, do anything to disturb a woman—who -lives alone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> but for her faithful servants—at this hour of the night.”</p> - -<p>“You are a very plucky old lady,” he said, “and you pay me a compliment. -I’m not sure that I’m a gentleman in your meaning, but I’m proud that -you think I look like one. Sit down and let us talk. There’s no pleasure -in sitting at one’s ease when a lady’s standing: and, to tell the truth, -I’m too tired to budge.”</p> - -<p>“I will cry upon my man Andrew——”</p> - -<p>“Not if you’re wise, as I’m sure you are.” The stranger’s hand made a -movement to his pocket, which had no significance for Mrs Ogilvy. She -was totally unacquainted with the habits of people who carry weapons; -and if she had thought there was a revolver within a mile of her, would -have felt herself and the whole household to be lost. “It will be a -great deal better for Andrew,” said this man, with his easy air, “if you -let him stay where he is. Sit down and let’s have our talk out.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy did not sit down, but she leant trembling upon the back of -her chair. “You’re not a tramp on the roads,” she said, “that I could -fee with a supper and a little money—nor a gentleman, you say, that -will take a telling, and refrain from disturbing a woman’s house. Who -are you then, man, that will not go away,—that sit there and smile in -my face?”</p> - -<p>“I’m a man that has always smiled in everybody’s face,—if it were the -whole posse, if it were Death<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span> himself,” he replied. “Mother, sit down -and take things quietly. I’m a man in danger of my life.”</p> - -<p>A shriek came to her lips, but she kept it in by main force. In a moment -the vague terror which had enveloped her became clear, and she knew what -she had been afraid of. Here was the man who was like Robbie, who was -Robbie’s leader, his tyrant, whose influence he could not -resist—provided only that Robbie did not come back and find him here!</p> - -<p>“Sir,” she said, trembling so that the chair trembled too under the -touch of her hand, but standing firm, “you are trying to frighten -me—but I am not feared. If it is true you say (though I cannot believe -it is true), what can I do for you? I am a peaceable person, with a -peaceable house, as you see. I have no hiding-places, nor secret -chambers. Where could I put you that all that wanted could not see? Oh, -for the love of God, go away! I know nothing about you. I could not -betray you if—if I desired to do so.”</p> - -<p>“You would never betray anybody,” he said, quite calmly. “I know what is -in a face. If you thought it would be to my harm, though you hate me and -fear me, you would die before you would say a word.”</p> - -<p>“God forbid I should hate you!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, with trembling white -lips. “Why should I hate you?—but oh, it is late at night, and you will -get no bed any place if you do not hurry and go away.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span></p> - -<p>“That’s what I ask myself,” he said, unmoved. “Why should you hate me, -if you know nothing about me?—that is what surprises me. You know -something about me, eh?—you have a guess who I am? you are not -terrified to death when a tramp comes in to your grounds, or a gentleman -strays: eh? You call for Andrew. But you haven’t called for Andrew—you -know who I am?”</p> - -<p>“I know what you are not,” she cried, with the energy of despair. “You -are no vagrant, nor yet a gentleman astray. You would have gone away -when I bid you, either for fear or for right feeling, if you had been -the one or the other. I know you not. But go, for God’s sake go, and I -will say no word to your hurt, if all the world were clamouring after -you. Oh, man, will ye go?”</p> - -<p>She thought she heard that well-known click of the gate,—the sound -which she had listened for, for years—the sound most unwished and -unlooked for now—of Robbie coming home. He saw her momentary pause and -the holding of her breath, the almost imperceptible turn of her head as -she listened. It had now become almost dark, and she was not much more -than a shadow to him, as he was to her; but the whiteness of her shawl -and cap made her outline more distinct underneath the faintly waving -shadows of the surrounding trees. The stranger settled himself into the -corner of the bench. He watched her repressed movements and signs of -agitation with amusement, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span> one watches a child. She would not betray -him—but even in the dimness of the evening air she betrayed herself. -Her eagerness, her agitation, were far more, he judged rightly, being a -man accustomed to study the human race and its ways, than any chance -accident would have brought about. She was a plucky old lady. A vagrant -would have had no terrors for her, still less a gentleman—a gentleman! -that name that the English give such weight to. Her appeal to him as -being like one had gone deep into his soul.</p> - -<p>“I will do better,” he said, “mother, than seek a bed in any strange -place; you will give me one here.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you will not force me—to take strong measures,” she said, with -consternation which she could scarcely conceal. “There is a -constable—not far off. I will have to send for him, loath, loath though -I would be to do so, if ye will not go away.”</p> - -<p>The stranger laughed, and made again that movement towards his pocket. -“You will have to provide then for his widow and his orphans: and a -country constable has always a large family,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Man,” cried the little lady with passion, “will ye mock both at the law -and at what is right? Then you shall not mock at me. I will put you -forth from my door with my own hands.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” he said, startled, “that’s a different thing.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> He was moved by -this extraordinary threat. Even in her agitation Mrs Ogilvy felt there -must be some good in him, for he was visibly moved. And she felt her -power. She went forward undaunted to take him by the arm. When she was -close to him he put out his hand, and smiled in her face, not with a -smile of ridicule but of appeal. “Mother,” he said, “is it the act of a -mother to turn a man out of doors to the wild beasts that seek his -life—even if he has deserved it, and if he is not her son?”</p> - -<p>There came from her strained bosom a faint cry. A mother, what is that? -The tigress that owns one cub, and would murder and slay a thousand for -it, as men sometimes say—or something that is pity and help and love, -the mother of all sons through her own? Her hand dropped from his -shoulder. The sensation that she would have done what she threatened, -that he would not have resisted her, made her incapable even of a touch -after that.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” he said in another tone, having, as he perceived, gained the -victory, “I have come to tell you of your son.”</p> - -<p>A swift and sudden change came over Mrs Ogilvy’s mind. He did not know, -then, that Robbie had come back. He had come in ignorance, not meaning -any harm, meaning to appeal to her for help for Robbie’s sake. And she -was in no danger from him, though Robbie was. She might even help him -secretly, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span> do her son no harm. If only a good Providence would keep -Robbie late to-night.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” she said, “I can do nothing against you with my son’s name on -your lips; but if you are in danger as you say, there is no safety for -you here. I have friends coming to see me that would wonder at you, and -find out about you, and would not be held back like me. I cannot -undertake for what times they might come, morning or night: and their -first question would be, Who is that you have in your house? and, What -is he doing here? You would not be safe. I have a number of -friends—more than I want, more than I want—if there was anything to -hide. But if you will trust yourself to me, I will find a good bed for -you, and a safe place, where my word will be enough. I will send my -woman-servant with you. That will carry no suspicion: and I will come -myself in the morning to see what I can do for you—what you want, if it -is clothes or if it is money, or—— Ah! I think I heard the click of -that gate,—that will be somebody coming. There is a road by the back of -the house—oh, come with me and I will show you the way!”</p> - -<p>For a moment he seemed inclined to yield; but he saw her extreme -agitation, and his quick perception divined something more than alarm -for him behind.</p> - -<p>“I think,” he said, stretching himself out on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span> bench, “that I prefer -to take the risks and to stay. If I cannot take in a parcel of your -country-folks, I am not good for much. You can say I am a friend of -Rob’s. And that is true, and I bring you news of him—eh? Don’t you want -to hear news of your son?”</p> - -<p>She heard a step on the gravel coming up the slope, slow as it was now, -not springy and swift as Robbie’s once was, and her anguish grew. She -took hold of his arm again, of his hand. “Come with me, come with me,” -she cried, scarcely able to get out the words, “before you are seen! -Come with me before you are seen!”</p> - -<p>He was so carried away by her passion, of which all the same he was very -suspicious, that he permitted her to raise him to his feet, following -her impulse with a curious smile on his face, perhaps touched by the -feeling of the small old soft hand that laid hold upon his—when Janet -with her large solid figure filling the whole framework of the door -suddenly appeared behind him. “Will I bring in the supper, mem?” Janet -said in her tranquil tones, “for I hear Mr Robert coming up the road: -and you’re ower lang out in the night and the falling dew.”</p> - -<p>The stranger threw himself back on the bench with a loud laugh that -seemed to tear the silence and rend it. “So that’s how it is!” he said. -“You’ve got Rob here—that’s how it is! I thought you knew more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> than -you said. Dash you, old woman, I was beginning to believe in you! And -all the time it was for your precious son!”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy took hold of the back of her chair again to support her. Here -was this strange man now in possession of her poor little fortress. And -Robbie would be here also in a moment. Two lawless broken men, and only -she between them, a small old woman, to restrain them, to conceal them, -to feed and care for them, to save their lives it might be. She felt -that if the little support of the chair were taken from her she would -drop. And yet she must stand for them, fight for them, face the world as -their champion. She felt the stranger’s reproach, too, thrill through -her with a pang of compunction over all. Yes, it had been not for his -sake, not for pity or the love of God, but for her son’s sake, for the -love of Robbie. She was the tigress with her cub, after all. Her heart -spoke a word faintly in her own defence, that it was not to betray this -strange man that she had intended, but to save him too: only also to get -him out of her way, out of Robbie’s way; to save her son from the danger -of his company, and from those still more apparent dangers which might -arise from his mere presence here. She did not say a word, however, -except faintly, with a little nod of her head to Janet, “Ay,—and put -another place.” The words were so little distinct that, but for her -mistress’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span> look towards the equally indistinct figure on the bench, -Janet would not have understood. With a little start of surprise and -alarm she disappeared into the house, troubled in her mind, she knew not -why. “Andrew,” she said to her husband when she returned to the kitchen, -“I would just take a turn about the doors, if I were you, in case ye -should be wanted.” “Wha would want me? and what for should I turn about -the doors at this hour of the nicht?” “Oh, I was just thinking——” said -Janet: but she added no more. After all, so long as Mr Robert was there, -nothing could happen to his mother, whoever the strange man might be.</p> - -<p>There was silence between the two outside the door of the Hewan—silence -through which the sound of Robbie’s slow advancing step sounded with -strange significance. He walked slowly nowadays—at least heavily, with -the step of a man who has lost the spring of youth: and to-night he was -tired, no doubt by the long day in Edinburgh, and going from place to -place seeking news which, alas! he would only find very distinct, very -positive, at home. While Mrs Ogilvy, in this suspense, almost counted -her son’s steps as he drew near, the other watcher on the bench, almost -invisible as the soft dimness grew darker and darker, listened too. He -said “Groggy?” with a slight laugh, which was like a knife in her -breast. She thought she smelt the sickening atmosphere<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span> of the whisky -and tobacco come into the pure night air, but said half aloud, “No, no,” -with a sense of the intolerable. No, no, he had never given her that to -bear.</p> - -<p>And then Robbie appeared another shadow in the opening of the road. He -did not quicken his pace, even when he saw his mother waiting for him: -his foot was like lead—not life enough in it to disturb the gravel on -the path.</p> - -<p>“You’re late, Robbie.”</p> - -<p>“I might have been later and no harm done,” he said, sulkily. “Yes, I’m -late, and tired, and with bad news which is the worst of all.”</p> - -<p>“What bad news?” she cried.</p> - -<p>Robbie did not see the vague figure, another shadow, in grey -indistinguishable garments like the night, which lay on the bench. He -came up to her heavily with his slow steps, and then stopped and said, -with an unconscious dramatic distinctness, “That fellow—has come home. -He’s in England, or perhaps even in Scotland, by now: and the peace of -my life’s gone.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie,” cried his mother in anguish, wringing her hands; and then -she put her hands on his shoulders, trying to impart her information by -the thrill of their trembling, which gave a shake to his heavy figure -too. “Be silent, be silent; say no more!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span></p> - -<p>“Why should I say no more? I expected you would feel it as I do: home -was coming over me, the feeling of being here—and you—and Susie. But -now that’s all over. You cannot get away from your fate. That man’s my -fate. He will turn me round his little finger,—he will make me do, not -what I like, but what he likes. It’s my fault. I have put myself in his -power. I would go away again, but I know I would meet him, round the -first corner, outside the door.” And Robert Ogilvy sighed—a profound, -deep breath of hopelessness which seemed to come from the bottom of his -heart. He put his heavy hand on the chair which had supported his -mother. She now stood alone, unsupported even by that slight prop.</p> - -<p>“You will come in now, my dear, and rest. You have had a hard day: and -everything is worse when you are tired. Janet has laid your supper -ready; and when you have rested, then we’ll hear all that has -happened—and think,” she said, with a tremor in her voice, “what to -do.”</p> - -<p>She did not dare to look at the stranger directly, lest Robbie should -discover him; but she gave a glance, a movement, in his direction, an -appeal—which that close observer understood well enough. She had the -thought that her son might escape him yet—at which the other smiled in -his heart, but humoured her so far that he did not say anything yet.</p> - -<p>“It is easy for you,” said Robbie, with another profound<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> sigh, “to -think what you will do—you neither know the man, nor his cleverness, -nor the weak deevil I am. I’ll not go in. That craze of yours for all -your windows open—they’re not shut yet, by George! and it’s ten o’clock -and more—takes off any feeling of safety there might be in the house. I -shall sit here and watch for him. At least I can see him coming, here.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie, oh Robbie! come in, come in, if you would not kill me!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t take so much trouble, old lady,” said the stranger from the -bench, at the sound of whose voice Robbie started so violently, taking -up the chair in his hand, that his mother made a spring and placed -herself between them. “I see what you want to do, but you can’t do it. -It’s fate, as he says; and he’ll calm down when he knows I am here. So, -Bob, you stole a march on me,” he said, raising himself up. He was the -taller man, but Robbie was the heavier. They stood for a moment—two -dark shadows in the night—so near that the whiteness of Mrs Ogilvy’s -shawl brushed them on either side.</p> - -<p>“You’re here, then, already!” Robbie held the chair for a moment like a -weapon of offence, and then pitched it from him. “What’s the good? I -might have known, if there was an unlikely spot on the earth, that’s -where you would be found.”</p> - -<p>“You thought this an unlikely spot? Why, you’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span> told me of it often -enough, old fellow: safety itself and quiet; and your mother that would -feed us like fighting cocks. Where else did you think I would come? The -t’other places are too hot for us both. But I say, old lady, I should -not mind having a look at that supper now: we’ve only been waiting for -Rob, don’t you know?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy, in her anguish, made still another appeal. She said, “For -one moment listen to me. I don’t even know your name; but there’s one -thing I know—that you two are safest apart. I am not, sir, meaning my -son alone,” she said with severity, for the stranger had given vent to a -short laugh, “nor for the evil company that I have heard you are. I am -speaking just of your safety. You are in more danger than he is, and -there’s more chance they will look for you here than elsewhere. If it -was to save your life,” she added, after a pause to recover her voice, -“even for Robbie, no, I would not give up a young man like you to what -you call your fate. But you’re safest apart: if you think a moment you -will see that. I will,” cried the little indistinguishable whiteness -between the two men, “take it in my hands. You shall have meat, you -shall have rest, you shall have whatever you need to take you—wherever -may be best; not for him, but for you. Young man, in the name of God -listen to me—it’s not that I would harm you! The farther off you are -from each other the safer you are—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span>both. And I’ll help—I’ll help you -with all my heart.”</p> - -<p>“There’s reason in what she says, Bob,” said the stranger, in an easy -voice, as if of a quite indifferent matter. “The old lady has a great -deal of sense. You would have been wise to take her advice long ago -while there was time for it.”</p> - -<p>She stood between them, her hands clasped, with a forlorn hope in the -new-comer, who was not contemptuous of her, like Robbie—who listened so -civilly to all she said.</p> - -<p>“But,” he added, with a laugh, “what’s safety after all? It’s death -alive; it’s not for you and me. The time for a meal and a sleep, and -then to face the world again—eh, Bob? that’s all a man wants. Let’s see -that supper. I am half dead for want of food.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Robert</span> had led the way sullenly into the dining-room. He had made as -though he would not sit down at table, where the other placed himself at -once unceremoniously, pulling towards him the dish which Janet had just -placed on the table, and helping himself eagerly—waiting for no grace, -giving no thanks, nor even the tribute of civility to his entertainers, -as Mrs Ogilvy remarked in passing, though her mind was full of other and -more important things. “I’m too tired, I think, to eat; I’ll go to bed, -mother,” Robbie said. Mrs Ogilvy seized the chance of separating him -from the other with rapture. She ventured—it was not always she could -do so—to give him a good-night kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “I -will send you up something,” unwilling that he should suffer by so much -as a spoilt meal.</p> - -<p>“What! are you going to leave me in the lurch, Bob? steal another march -on me, now I’ve thrown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> myself like an innocent on your good faith? -That’s not like a <i>bon camarade</i>. I thought we were to stick to each -other for life or death.”</p> - -<p>“I never bargained—you were to come here and frighten my mother.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” she cried; “no, no,” with her hand on his arm patting it -softly, endeavouring to lead him away.</p> - -<p>“Your mother’s not frightened, old boy. She’s full of pluck, and we’re -the best of friends. It’s you that are frightened. You think I’ve got -hold of you again. So I have, and you’re not going to give me the slip -so soon. Sit down and don’t be uncivil. I never yet got the good of a -dinner by myself.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy held her son’s arm with her hand. She felt the thrill in him -turning towards his old comrade, though he did not move. Perhaps the -pressure of her hand was too strong on his arm. A woman does not know -exactly how far to go. An added hair’s-breadth is sometimes too much.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be uncivil,” said Robbie, after a moment’s hesitation. -“After all, I think I’ll try to eat a morsel, mother; I’m in my own -place. And you asked him in, I suppose; he’s in a manner your guest——”</p> - -<p>“If you think so, Robbie——” Her hand loosened from his arm. Perhaps if -she had been firm at that moment,—but she had already been fighting for -a long time; and when a woman is old she gets tired. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span> legs were -trembling under her. She did not feel as if she could stand many minutes -longer. She did, however; while Robbie, with an air of much sullenness -and reluctance, took his place at the table, and secured the remains of -the dish which his friend had nearly emptied. Robert held his place as -host with an air of offended dignity, which would have touched his -mother with amusement had her mind been more free. But there was no -strength in him; already he was yielding to the stronger personality; -and as he ate and listened, though in spite of himself, it was clear -that one by one the reluctances gave way. Mrs Ogilvy did not pretend to -take part in the meal. It was prepared for Robbie, as was always the -case when he went to Edinburgh and returned late. She remained in the -room for a time, sometimes going to the kitchen to see what more could -be found to replenish the table,—for the stranger ate as if he had -fasted for a twelvemonth, and Robbie on his part had always an excellent -appetite. How it did not choke them even to swallow a morsel in the -situation of danger in which they were, bewildered her. And greater -wonders still arose. As she went and came, the conversation quickened -between them; and when she came back the second time from the kitchen, -Robbie was leaning back in his chair, his mouth open in a great peal of -laughter, his countenance so brightened and smoothed out, that for the -first time since his return Mrs Ogilvy’s heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> bounded with a -recognition of her bright-faced smiling boy as he had been, but was no -more. His face overcast again for a moment at the sight of her, as if -that was enough to damp all pleasurable emotion; and when she had again -looked round the table to see if anything was wanted, the mother, with a -little movement of wounded pride, left them. She went into her parlour, -and sat down in the dark, in the silence, to rest a little. If her -overstrained nerves and the quick sensation of the wound of the moment -brought a tear or two to her eyes, that was nothing. Her mind -immediately began to plan and arrange how this dangerous stranger could -be got away, how his safety could be secured. I presume that Mrs Ogilvy -had forgotten what his crime was. Is it not impossible to believe that a -man who is under your own roof, who is like other men, who has smiled -and spoken, and shown no barbarous tendency, should be a murderer? The -consciousness of that had gone out of her mind. She thought, on the -contrary, that there was good in him: that he was not without -understanding, even of herself, an old woman, which was, Mrs Ogilvy was -aware, unusual among young men. He had no contempt for her, which was -what they generally had, even Robbie: perhaps—it was at least within -the bounds of possibility—he might be got to do what she suggested. She -searched into all the depths to find out what would be the best. To -provide a place for him more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span> private than the Hewan, a room in a -cottage which she knew, where he would be made quite comfortable; and -then, after great thought taken, where would be the best and safest -refuge, to get him to depart thither, with money enough—money which, -with a faint pang to lose it for Robbie, she felt would be well-spent -money to free him for ever from that dangerous companion. Mrs Ogilvy -thought, and better thought, as she herself described the process: where -would be the safest place for him to go? How would one of the Highland -isles do, or the Isle of Man, or perhaps these other islands which she -believed were French, though that would most likely make no -difference—Guernsey or Jersey, or some of these? She was strongly, in -her mind, in favour of an island. It was not so easy to get at, and yet -it was easy to escape from should there be any pursuit. She thought, and -better thought, sitting there in the dark, with the window still open, -and the air of the night blowing in. The wind was cold rather; but her -mind was so taken up that she scarcely felt it. It is when the mind is -quite free that you have time to think of all these little things.</p> - -<p>While she was sitting so quiet the conversation evidently warmed in the -other room, the voices grew louder, there were peals of laughter, sounds -of gaiety which had not been heard there for many a day. Mrs Ogilvy’s -heart rose in spite of herself. She had not heard Robbie laugh like -that—not since he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span> a boy. God bless him! And, oh, might she not -say, God bless the other too, that made him laugh so hearty? He could -not be all bad, that other one: certainly there was good in him. It was -not possible that he could laugh like that, a man hunted for his life, -if he had his conscience against him too. She began to think that there -must be some mistake. And so great are the inconsistencies of human -nature, that this mother who had repulsed the stranger with almost -tragic passion so short a time ago, sat in the dark soothed and almost -happy in his presence—almost glad that her Robbie had a friend. She -heard Janet come and go, with a cheerful word addressed to her, and -giving cheerful words in return and advice to the young men to go to -their beds and not sit up till all the hours of the night. After one of -these colloquies Robbie came into the room where Mrs Ogilvy was. “Are -you here, mother?” he said, “sitting in the dark without a candle—and -the window still open. I think it is your craze to keep these windows -open, whatever I may say.”</p> - -<p>“It can matter little now, Robbie—since he’s here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, since he’s here! and how about those that may come after him? But -you never will see what I mean. There is more need than ever to bar the -doors.” He closed the window himself with vehemence, and the shutters, -leaving her in total darkness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span> “I will tell Janet to bring you a -light,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You need not do that: I will maybe go up-stairs.”</p> - -<p>“To your bed—as Janet has been bidding us to do.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll not promise” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ve many things to think of.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind to-night; but there’s one thing I want of you,—your keys. -Janet says the mistress locks everything up but just what is going. -There is next to nothing in the bottle.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie, my man, it’s neither good for him nor for you! It would be -far better, as Janet says, to go to your beds.”</p> - -<p>“It is a pretty thing,” said Robbie, “that I cannot entertain a friend, -not for once, and he a stranger that has heard me boast of my home; and -that you should grudge me the first pleasant night I have had in this -miserable dull place.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie!” she cried, as if he had given her a blow. And then -trembling she put her keys into his hand, groping to find it in the -dark. He went away with a murmur, whether of thanks or grumbling she -could not tell, and left her thus to feel the full force of that flying -stroke. Then she picked herself up again, and allowed to herself that it -was a dull place for a young man that had been out in the world and had -seen much. And it was natural that he should<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span> be pleased and excited, -with a man to talk to. Almost all women are humble on this point. They -do not hope that their men can be satisfied with their company, but are -glad that they should have other men to add salt and savour to their -life. It gave Mrs Ogilvy a pang to hear her gardevin unlocked, and the -bottles sounding as they were taken out: but yet that he should make -merry with his friend, was not that sanctioned by the very Scripture -itself? She sat there a while trying to resume the course of her -thoughts; but the sound of the talk, the laughing, the clinking of the -glasses, filled the air and disordered all these thoughts. She went -softly up-stairs after a while; but the sounds pursued her there almost -more distinctly, for her room was over the dining-room,—the two voices -in endless conversation, the laughter, the smell of their tobacco. You -would have said two light-hearted laddies to hear them, Mrs Ogilvy said -to herself: and one of them a hunted man, in danger of his life! She did -not sleep much that night, nor even go to bed, but sat up fully dressed, -the early daylight finding her out suddenly in her white shawl and cap -when it came in, oh! so early, revealing the whole familiar world -about,—giving her a surprise, too, to see herself in the glass, with -her candle flickering on the table beside her. It was broad -daylight—but they would not see it, their shutters being closed—before -the sounds ceased, and she heard them stumbling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span> up-stairs, still -talking and making a great noise in the silence, to their rooms; and -then after a while everything was still. And then she could think.</p> - -<p>Then she could think! Oh, her plan was a very simple one, involving -little thought,—first that house down the water, on the very edge of -the river, where Andrew’s brother lived. It was as quiet a place as -heart could desire, and a very nice room, where in her good days, in -Robbie’s boyhood, in the time when there were often visitors at the -Hewan, she had sent any guest she had not room for. Down the steep bank -behind on which the Hewan stood, you could almost have slid down to the -little house in the glen. There would be very little risk there. Robbie -and he could see each other, and nobody the wiser; and then, after he -was well rested, he would see the danger of staying in a place like the -Hewan, where anybody at any moment might walk up to the door. And then -the place must be chosen where he should go. If he would but go quiet to -one of the islands, and be out of danger! Mrs Ogilvy’s mind was very -much set on one of the islands; I cannot tell why. It seemed to her so -much safer to be surrounded by the sea on every side. If he would -consent to go to St Kilda or some place like that, where he would be as -safe as a bird in its nest. Ah! but St Kilda—among the poor -fisher-folk, where he would have no one to speak to. A chill came over -her heart in the middle of her plans.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span> Would he not laugh in her face if -she proposed it? Would he go, however safe it might be? Did he care so -much for his safety as that? She wrung her hands with a sense of -impotence, and that all her fine plans, when she had made them, would -come to nothing. She might plan and plan; but if he would not do it, -what would her planning matter? If she planned for Robbie in the same -way, would he do it? And she had no power over this strange man. Then -after demonstrating to herself the folly of it, she began her planning -all over again.</p> - -<p>In the morning there were the usual pleasant sounds in the house of -natural awakening and new beginning, and Mrs Ogilvy got up at her usual -hour and dressed herself with her usual care. She saw, when she looked -at herself in the glass, that she was paler than usual. But what did -that matter for an old woman? She was not tired—she did not feel her -body at all. She was all life and force and energy, thrilling to her -finger-points with the desire of doing something—the ability to do -whatever might be wanted. She would have gone off to St Kilda straight -without the loss of a moment, if her doing so could have been of any -avail. But of what avail could that have been? The early morning passed -over in its usual occupations, and grew to noon before there was any -stirring up-stairs. Then Janet, who had no responsibility, who had -always kept her old footing with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span> Robbie as his old nurse who might say -anything and do anything—without gravity, laughing with him at herself -and her old domineering ways, yet sometimes influencing him with her -domineering more than his mother’s anxious love could do—Janet went -boldly up-stairs with her jugs of hot water, and knocked at one door -after another. Mrs Ogilvy then heard various stirrings, shouts to know -what was wanted, openings of doors, Robbie, large and heavy, though with -slippered feet, going into his companion’s room, and the loud talk of -last night resumed. Nearly one o’clock, the middle of the day. Alas for -that journey to St Kilda, or anywhere! When the day was half over, how -was any such enterprise to be undertaken? And if the police were after -him—the police! in her honourable, honest, stainless house—how was he -to get away, to have a chance of escape? in his bed and undefended, -sleeping and insensible to any danger, till one of the clock. It must -have been two before Robbie showed down-stairs. He was a little abashed, -not facing his mother—looking, she thought, as if his eyes had been -boiled.</p> - -<p>“We were a little late last night,” he said. “I’m sorry, but it’s -nothing to look so serious about. Lew’s first night.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she said, “it’s nothing. I’m old-fashioned. I have my -prejudices. But it was not that I was thinking of. Is he in danger of -his life or no?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span></p> - -<p>Robbie blanched a little at this, but shook himself with nervous -impatience. “That’s a big word to use,” he said.</p> - -<p>“It was the word he used to me when he came upon me last night. If he is -in danger of his life, he is not safe for a moment here.”</p> - -<p>“Rubbish!” said Robbie; “why is he not safe? It is as out of the way as -anything can be. Not a soul about but your village people, who don’t -know him from Adam, nor anything about us, good or bad. I am just your -son to them, and he is just my friend.”</p> - -<p>“If that were so! It is not a thing I know about: it is only what you -have told me, him and you. He said he was in danger of his life.”</p> - -<p>“He was a fool for his pains; but he always liked a sensation, and to -talk big——”</p> - -<p>“Then it is not true?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him, and he at her. He was pale, too, with the doings of -last night, but a quick colour flashed over his face under her eyes. “I -am not going to be cross-examined,” he said. Then after a pause: “It may -be true, and it mayn’t be true—if they’re on his track. But he doesn’t -think now that they are on his track.”</p> - -<p>“He thought so last night, Robbie.”</p> - -<p>“What does it matter about last night? You’re insufferable—you can -imagine nothing. There is a difference between a man when he’s tired and -fasting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span> and when he’s had a good rest and a square meal. He doesn’t -think so now. He’s quite happy about us both. He says we’ll pull along -here famously for a time. You so motherly (he likes you), and Janet such -a good cook, and the whisky very decent. He’s a connoisseur, I can tell -you!—and nobody here that has half an idea in their heads——”</p> - -<p>“You may be deceived, there,” said Mrs Ogilvy, suddenly resenting what -he said—“you may be deceived in that, both him and you——”</p> - -<p>“Not about the cook and the whisky,” said Robbie, with a laugh. “In -short, we think we can lie on our oars a little and watch events. We can -cut and run at any moment if danger appears.”</p> - -<p>“You say ‘we,’ Robbie?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, with a momentary scowl, “I said ‘we.’ Of course, I’m in -with Lew as soon as he turns up. I always said I was. You forget the -nonsense I’ve talked about him. That’s all being out of sight that -corrupts the mind. Lord, what a difference it makes to have him here!”</p> - -<p>She looked a little wistfully at the young man to whom her own love and -devotion mattered nothing. He calculated on it freely, took advantage of -it, and thought no more of it—which was “quite natural”: she quieted -all possibilities of rebellion in her own mind by this. “But, Robbie,” -she said, “if he is in danger. I’m not one to advise you to be -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span>unfaithful to a friend—oh, not even if—— But his welfare goes before -all. If it’s true all I’ve heard—if there’s been wild work out yonder -in America, and he’s blamed for it——”</p> - -<p>“Who told you that?”</p> - -<p>“Partly Mr Somerville before you came, Robbie, and partly yourself—and -partly it was in a newspaper I read.”</p> - -<p>“A newspaper!” he cried, almost with a shout. “If it has been in the -newspapers here——”</p> - -<p>“I did not say it was a newspaper here.”</p> - -<p>“I know what it was,” said Robbie, with a scornful laugh. “You’ve been -at a woman’s tricks. I thought you were above them. You’ve searched my -pockets, and you’ve found it there.”</p> - -<p>“I found it lying with your coat, in no pocket: and I had seen it before -in Mr Somerville’s hands. You go too far—you go too far!” she said.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said with bravado, “what does a Yankee paper matter?—nobody -reads them here. Anyhow,” he added, “Lew and I, we’re going to face it -out. We’ll stay where we are, and make ourselves as comfortable as we -can. Danger at present there’s none. Oh, you need not answer me with -supposing this or that; I know.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy opened her lips to speak, but said no word. She was perhaps -tempted to suggest that it was her house, her money, her life and -comfort, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span> which these two men were disposing so calmly; but she did -not. After all, she said to herself, it was not hers, but Robbie’s; -everything that was hers was his. She had saved the money which he might -have been spending had he been at home—which he might have been -extravagant with, who could tell?—for him. And should she grudge him -the use of it now? If he was right, if all was safe, if there was no -need for alarm, why, then—— Her peace was gone; but had she not all -these years been ready to sacrifice peace, comfort, life -itself—everything in the world—for Robbie’s sake? And now that he had -been brought back to her as if it were out of the grave,—“this thy son -was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found,”—what was -there more to say? That father who ran out to meet his son, who fell -upon his neck, and clothed him in the best garment, and would not even -listen to his confession and penitence—perhaps when the prodigal had -settled back again into the monotony of home, was not so happy in him as -he had hoped to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">There</span> followed after this a period which was the most terrible of Mrs -Ogilvy’s life. It had not the anguish of that previous time when Robert -had disappeared from his home; but in pain and active distress, and the -horrors of fear and anxiety, it was sometimes almost as bad—sometimes -worse than that. When she looked back on it after, it seemed to her like -a nightmare, the dream of a long fever too dreadful to be true. The -happiness of having her son under her own roof was turned into torture, -though still remaining in its way a kind of terrible happiness; for did -not she see him day by day falling into all that was to her mind most -appalling—the habits of such a life as was odious and terrible to the -poor lady, with all her traditions of decent living, all her prejudices -and delicacies? His very voice had changed; it was more gay and lively -at times than she had ever known, and this gave her a pang of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span> pleasure -often in the midst of her trouble. Indeed there were times when even the -noise of the two young men in the house affected her mind with a certain -pleasure and elation, and gratitude to God that she was there to make -their life possible, to make it comfortable, to give them occasion for -the light-heartedness, though she could not understand it, which they -showed. But these were evanescent moments, and her life day by day was a -kind of horror to her, as if she were herself affected by the careless -ways, the profane words, the self-indulgence, and disregard of -everything lovely and honest and of good report, which she seemed to be -encouraging and keeping up while she looked on and suffered.</p> - -<p>The situation is too poignant to be easily recorded. One has heard of a -wife oppressed and disgusted by a dissipated husband; one has heard of -the horrors of a drunkard’s home. But this was a different thing. So far -as any one in the house was aware, these young men were not drunkards. -There were no dreadful scenes in which they lost control of themselves -or the possession of their senses. Was it almost worse than that? Mrs -Ogilvy felt as if she were being put through the treatment which some -people suppose to be a cure for that terrible weakness, the mixture of -intoxicating spirit with every meal and every dish. Her very cup of tea, -the old lady’s modest indulgence, seemed to be flavoured from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span> -eternal whisky-bottle which was always there, the smell and the sight of -which made her sick, made her frantic with suppressed misery. They meant -no harm, she tried to explain to herself. It was a habit of their rough -life, and the much exercise and fatigue to which they subjected -themselves, for good or for evil, in the far-away place from which they -had come, the outskirts of civilisation. They were not capable of -understanding what it was to her to see her trim dining-room always made -disorderly (as she felt) by that bottle, the atmosphere flavoured with -it, its presence always manifest. The pipes, too: her mantelpiece, -always so nicely arranged with its clock, its flower-vases, its shells -and ornaments, was now encumbered and dusty with pipes, with ashes of -cigars, with cans and papers of tobacco: how they would have laughed had -they known what a vexation this was! or rather Robbie would have been -angry—he would have said it was one of her ridiculous ways—and only -the other would have laughed. It is a little hard to have your son speak -of your ridiculous ways before another man who is indulgent and laughs. -But still the pipes were nothing in comparison with that other -thing—the bottle of whisky always there. What would the grocer in -Eskholm think, from whom she got her supplies, when, instead of the -small discreet bottle at long intervals—for not to have whisky in the -house, the old-fashioned Scotch remedy for so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span> many things, would have -seemed to Mrs Ogilvy almost a crime—there were gallon jars, she did not -like to ask Andrew how many, supplied to the Hewan? The idea that it was -not respectable cut into her like a knife. And it would be thought that -it was Robbie who consumed all that,—Robbie, who was known to be there, -yet never had been seen in Eskholm, or taking his walks like other sober -folk on Eskside.</p> - -<p>And they turned life upside down altogether, both in and out of the -house. They rarely went out in daylight, but would take long walks, -scouring the country in the late evening, and come home very late to sit -down to a supper specially prepared for them, as on the first day of the -stranger’s appearance. He had affected to think it was the ordinary -habit of the house, and approved of it much, he said. And they sat late -after it, always with a new bottle of whisky, and went to bed in the -daylight of the early summer morning, with the natural consequence that -they did not get up till the middle of the day, lacerating Mrs Ogilvy’s -mind, doing everything that she thought most disorderly and wrong. She -never went to bed until they had come in and she had seen them safely -established at their supper. And then she would go quietly up-stairs, -but not to rest—for her room was over the dining-room, as has been -said, and the noise of their talk, their jokes and laughter, kept sleep -from her eyes. She was not a very good sleeper at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span> best. It could -scarcely, she said to herself, be considered their fault. And sometimes -the sound of their cheerful voices brought a sudden sense of strange -happiness with it. Men that are ill men, that have done dreadful things, -could not laugh like that, she would sometimes feel confident—and -Robbie gay and loud, though all that she had once hoped to be refinement -had gone out of his voice: this had something in it that went to her -heart. If he was happy after all, what did anything else matter? His -voice rang like a trumpet. There was no sound in it of depression or -dejection. He had recovered his spirits, his confidence, his freedom. -The heavy dulness, which was his prevailing mood before the stranger -appeared, was gone. Then he had been discontented and miserable, -notwithstanding the thankfulness he expressed to have escaped from the -dominion of his former leader. But now he was, or appeared to be, happy, -hugging his chains, delighted, as it seemed, to return to his bondage. -It was not likely that this change could be a subject of gratification -to his mother; and yet his altered tone, his brightened aspect, the -sound of his laughter, gave her something that was almost like -happiness. But for this, perhaps, she could not have borne as she did -the transformation of her life.</p> - -<p>The two young men sometimes went to Edinburgh, as Robbie had been in the -habit of doing before the other’s arrival. They went in the morning and -returned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span> late at night, the much disturbed and troubled household -sitting up for them to give them their meal and secure their perfect -comfort. After the first time Mrs Ogilvy, though her heart was always -full of anxiety for their safety, thought it best not to appear when -they returned. They had both gibed at her anxiety, at the absurdity and -impossibility of her sitting up for them, and her desire to tie her son -to her apron-strings. Robbie was angry, indignantly accusing her of -making him ridiculous by her foolish anxiety. Poor Mrs Ogilvy had no -desire to tie him to her apron-strings. It was not foolish fondness, but -terror, that was in her heart. She had a fear—almost a certainty—that -one time or other they would not come back,—that they would hear bad -news and not return at all, but depart again into the unknown, leaving -her on the rack.</p> - -<p>But though she did not appear, she sat up in her room at the window, -watching for the click of the gate, the sound of their steps on the -path, the dark figures in the half dark of the summer night. They had -means of getting news, she knew not how, and came back sometimes elated -and noisy, sometimes more quiet, according as these were bad or good. -And then she heard Janet bustling below bringing their supper, asking, -in the peremptory tones which amused them in her, if they wanted -anything more, if they could not just get what they wanted themselves, -and let a poor woman, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span> had to be up in the morning to her work, get -to her bed. Sometimes Janet held forth to them while she put their -supper on the table. “It’s fine for you twa strong buirdly young men, -without a hand’s turn to do, to turn day into nicht and nicht into -day—though, losh me! how ye can pit up with it, just jabbering and -reading idle books a’ the day, and good for nothing, is mair than I can -tell. But me, I’m a hard-working woman. I’ve my man’s breakfast to get -ready at seeven, and the house to clean up, and to keep the whole place -like a new pin. Bless me, if ye were to take a turn at the garden and -save Andrew’s auld bones, that are often very bad with the rheumatism, -or carry in a bucket of coals or a pail of water for me that am old -enough to be your mother, it would set you better. Just twa strong young -men, and never doing a hand’s turn—no a hand’s turn from morning to -nicht.”</p> - -<p>“There’s truth in what she says, Bob—we are a couple of lazy dogs.”</p> - -<p>“I was not just made,” said Robbie, who was less good-humoured than his -friend, “to hew wood and to draw water in my own house.”</p> - -<p>“It would be an honour and a credit to you to do something, Mr Robert,” -said Janet, with a touch of sternness. “Eh, laddie! the thing that’s -maist unbecoming in this world is to eat somebody’s bread and do nothing -for it—no even in the way of civeelity—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span>for here’s the mistress put -out of everything. She has no peace by night or by day. Do you think she -is sleepin’, with you making a’ that fracaw coming in in the middle of -the nicht, and your muckle voices and your muckle steps just making a -babel o’ the house? She’s no more sleepin’ than I am: and my opinion is -that she never sleeps—just lies and ponders and ponders, and thinks -what’s to become of ye. Eh, Mr Robert, if you canna exerceese your ain -business, whatever it may be——”</p> - -<p>Then there was a big laugh from both of the young men. “We have not got -our tools with us, Janet,” said the stranger.</p> - -<p>“I’m no one that holds very much with tools, Mr Lewis,” said Janet. -“Losh! I would take up just the first thing that came, and try if I -couldna do a day’s work with that, if it were me.”</p> - -<p>Mr Lewis was what the household had taken to calling the visitor. He had -never been credited with any name, and Robert spoke to him as Lew. It -was Janet who had first changed this into Mr Lewis. Whether it was his -surname or his Christian name nobody inquired, nor did he give any -information, but answered to Mr Lewis quite pleasantly, as indeed he did -everything. He was, as a matter of fact, far more agreeable in the house -than Robbie, who, quiet enough before he came, was now disposed to be -somewhat imperious and exacting, and show that he was master.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span> The old -servants, it need scarcely be said, were much aggrieved by this. “He -would just like to be cock o’ the walk, our Robbie,” Andrew said.</p> - -<p>“And if he is, it’s his ain mother’s house, and he has the best right,” -said Janet, not disposed to have Robert objected to by any one but -herself. “He was aye one that likit his ain way,” she added on her own -account.</p> - -<p>“That’s the worst o’ weemen wi’ sons,” said Andrew; “they’re spoilt and -pettit till they canna tell if they’re on their heels or their head.”</p> - -<p>“A bonnie one you are to say a word against the mistress,” cried Janet; -“and weemen, says he! I would just like to ken what would have become of -ye, that were just as bad as ony in your young days, if it hadna been -for the mistress and me?”</p> - -<p>But on the particular evening on which Janet had bestowed her advice on -the young men in the dining-room, they continued their conversation -after she was gone in another tone. “That good woman would be a little -startled if she knew what work we had been up to,” said Lewis; “and our -tools, eh, Bob?” They both laughed again, and then he became suddenly -serious. “All the same, there’s justice in what she says. We’ll have to -be doing something to get a little money. Suppose we had to cut and run -all of a sudden, as may happen any day, where should we get the needful, -eh?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span></p> - -<p>“There’s my mother,” said Robert; “she’ll give me whatever I want.”</p> - -<p>“She’s a brick of an old woman; but I don’t suppose, eh, Bob? she’s what -you would call a millionaire.” Lew gave his friend a keen glance under -his eyelids. His eyes were keen and bright, always alive and watchful -like the eyes of a wild animal; whereas Robbie’s were a little heavy and -veiled, rather furtive than watchful, perhaps afraid of approaching -danger, but not keeping a keen look-out for it, like the other’s, on -every side.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Robert, with a curious brag and pride, “not a -millionaire—just what you see—no splendour, but everything -comfortable. She must have saved a lot of money while I was away. A -woman has no expenses. And I’m all she has; she’ll give me whatever I -want.”</p> - -<p>“You are all she has, and she’ll give you—whatever you want.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; is there anything wonderful in that? You say it in a tone——”</p> - -<p>“We’re not on such terms as to question each other’s tones, are we?” -said Lew. “Though I’m idle, as Janet says, I have always an eye to -business, Bob. Never mind your mother; isn’t there some old buffer in -the country that could spare us some of his gold? The nights are pretty -dark now, though they don’t last long—eh, Bob?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span></p> - -<p>There was more a great deal than was open to a listening ear in the tone -of the question. And Robert Ogilvy grew red to his hair. “For God’s -sake,” he cried, “not a word of that here—in my own place, Lew! If -there’s anything in the world you care for——”</p> - -<p>“Is there anything in the world I care for?” said the other. “Not very -much, except myself. I’ve always had a robust regard for that person. -Well—I’m not fond of doing nothing, though your folks think me a lazy -dog. Janet’s eyes are well open, but she’s not so clever as she thinks. -I’m beginning to get very tired, I can tell you, of this do-nothing -life. I’d like to put a little money in my pocket, Rob. I’d like to feel -a little excitement again. We’ll take root like potatoes if we go on -like this.”</p> - -<p>Mr Lewis’s talk was sprinkled with words of a more energetic -description, but they waste a good deal of type and a great many marks -of admiration. The instructed can fill them in for themselves.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think we could be much better off,” said Robbie, with a certain -offence; “plenty of grub, and good of its kind—you said that -yourself—and a safe place to lie low in. I thought that was what you -wanted most.”</p> - -<p>“So it was, if a man happened always to be in the same mind. I want a -little excitement, Bob. I want a good beast under me, and the wind in my -face. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span> want a little fun—which perhaps wouldn’t be just fun, don’t -you know, for the men we might have the pleasure of meeting——”</p> - -<p>“If those detective fellows get on the trail you’ll have fun enough,” -Robert said.</p> - -<p>“I—both of us, if you please, old fellow: we’re in the same box. The -captain—and one of the chief members of the gang. That’s how they’ve -got us down, recollect. You never knew you were a chief member -before—eh, Rob? But I don’t like that sort of fun. I like to hunt, not -to be hunted, my boy. And I’m very tired of lying low. Let’s make a run -somewhere—eh? I like the feeling of the money that should be in another -man’s pocket tumbling into my own.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll not do—it’ll not do, Lew, here; I won’t have it,” cried Robbie, -getting up from his supper and pacing about the room. “I never could -bear that part of it, you know. It seems something different in a wild -country, where you never know whose the money may be—got by gambling, -and cheating, and all that, and kind of lawful to take it back again. -No, not here. I’ll give myself up, and you too, before I consent to -that.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got a bit of a toy here that will have something to say to it if -any fellow turns out a sneak,” said Lew, with that movement towards his -pocket which Mrs Ogilvy did not understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span></p> - -<p>“Does this look like turning out a sneak?” said Robbie, looking round -with a wave of his hand. “You’ve been here nearly a month: has any one -ever said you were not welcome? Keep your toys to yourself, Lew. Two can -play at that game; but toys or no toys, I’m not with you, and I won’t -follow you here. Oh, d—— it, <i>here!</i> where there’s such a thing as -honesty, and a man’s money is his own!”</p> - -<p>“My good fellow,” said the other, “but for information which you haven’t -to give, and which I could get at any little tavern I turned into, what -good are you? You never were any that I know of. You were always shaking -your head. You didn’t mind, so far as I can remember, taking a share of -the profits; but as for doing anything to secure them! I can work -without you, thank you, if I take it into my head.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you won’t take it into your head,” said Robbie, coming back to -the table and resuming his chair. “Why should you, when I tell you I can -get anything out of my mother? And with right too,” he continued, “for I -should have been sure to spend it all had I been at home; and she only -saved it because I was not here. Therefore the money’s justly mine by -all rules. It isn’t that I should like to see you start without me, Lew, -or that I wouldn’t take my share, whatever—whatever you might wish to -do. But what’s the good, when you can get it, and begged to accept it, -all straight and square close at hand?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span></p> - -<p>“For a squeamish fellow you’ve got a good stiff conscience, Bob,” said -Lew, with a laugh. “I like that idea,—that though it’s bad with an old -fogey trotting home from market, it ain’t the same with your mother. In -that way it would be less of a privilege than folks would think to be -near relations to you and me, eh? I’ve got none, heaven be praised! so I -can’t practise upon ’em. But you, my chicken! that the good lady waits -up for at nights, that she would like to tie to her apron-strings——”</p> - -<p>“It’s my own money,” said Rob; “I should have spent it twice over if I -had been at home.”</p> - -<p>And presently they fell into their usual topics of conversation, and -this case of conscience was forgotten.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Mrs Ogilvy fought and struggled with her thoughts up-stairs. -She had all but divined that there had been a quarrel, and had many -thoughts of going down, for she was still dressed, to clear it up. For -if they quarrelled, what could be done? She could not turn Lewis out of -her house—and indeed her heart inclined towards that soft-spoken -ruffian with a most foolish softness. He might perhaps scoff a little -now and then, but he was not unkind. He was always ready to receive her -with a smile when she appeared, which was more than her son was, and had -a way of seeming grateful and deferential whether he was really so or -not, and sometimes said a word to soothe feelings which Robbie had -ruffled, without appearing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span> to see, which would have spoiled all, that -Robbie had wounded them. Of the two, I am afraid that Mrs Ogilvy in her -secret heart, so far down that she was herself unconscious of it, was -most indulgent to Lew. Who could tell how he had been brought up, how he -had been led astray? He might have been an orphan without any one to -look after him, whereas Robbie—— Her heart bled to think how few -excuses Robbie had, and yet excused him with innumerable eager pleas. -But the chief thing was, that life was intolerable under these -conditions: and what could she do, what could she propose, to mend -them?—life turned upside down, a constant panic hanging over it, a -terror of she knew not what, a sensation as of very existence in danger. -What could be done, what could any one do? Nothing, for she dared not -trust any one with the secret. It was heavy upon her own being, but she -dared not share it with any other. She dared not even reveal to Janet -anything of the special misery that overwhelmed her: that it was -possible the police might come—the police!—and watch the innocent -house, and bring a warrant, as if it were a nest of criminals. It made -Mrs Ogilvy jump up from her seat, spring from her bed, whenever this -thought came back to her. And in the meantime she could do nothing, but -only sit still and bear it until some dreadful climax came.</p> - -<p>She had a long struggle with herself before she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span> permitted herself the -indulgence of going in to Edinburgh to see Mr Somerville, who was the -only other person who knew anything about it. After many questions with -herself, and much determined endurance of her burden, it came upon her -like an inspiration that this was the thing to do. It would be a comfort -to be able to speak to some one, to have the support of somebody else’s -judgment. It is true that she was afraid of leaving her own house even -for the little time that was necessary; but she decided that by doing -this early in the morning before the young men were up, she might do it -without risk. She gave Janet great charges to admit no one while she was -away. “Nobody—I would like nobody to come in. Mr Robert is up so late -at night that we cannot expect him to get up early <i>too</i>; but I would -not like strange folk who do not know how late he has to sit up with his -friend, to come in and find him still in his bed at twelve o’clock in -the day. There’s no harm in it; but we have all our prejudices, and I -cannot bide it to be known. You will just make the best excuse you -can——”</p> - -<p>“You may make your mind easy, mem,” said Janet; “I will no be wanting -for an excuse.”</p> - -<p>“So long as you just let nobody in,” said her mistress. Mrs Ogilvy had -never in her life availed herself even of the common and well-understood -fiction, “Not at home,” to turn away an unwelcome visitor; but she did -not inquire now what it was that Janet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> meant to say. She went away with -a little lightening of her heavy heart. To be able to speak to somebody -who was beyond all doubt, and incapable of betraying her, of perhaps -having something suggested to her, some plan that would afford succour, -was for the moment almost as if she had attained a certain relief. It -was July now, the very heat and climax of the year. The favoured fields -of Mid-Lothian were beginning to whiten to the harvest; the people about -were in light dresses, in their summer moods and ways, saying to each -other, “What a beautiful day—was there ever such fine weather?”—for -indeed it was a happy year without rain, without clouds. To see -everybody as usual going about their honest work was at once a pang and -a relief to Mrs Ogilvy. The world, then, was just as before—it was not -turned upside down; most people were busy doing something; there was no -suspension of the usual laws. And yet all the more for this universal -reign of law and order, which it was a refreshment to see—all the more -was it terrible to think of Robbie, lawless, careless of all rules, -wasting his life—of the two young men whom she had left behind her, -both in the strength of their manhood, doing nothing, good for nothing. -These two sensations, which were so different, tore Mrs Ogilvy’s heart -in two.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr Somerville</span> was engaged with another client, and it was a long time -before Mrs Ogilvy could see him. She had to wait, trembling with -impatience, and dismayed by the passage of time, following the hands of -the clock with her eyes, wondering what perhaps might be happening at -home. She was not, perhaps, on the face of things, a very strong -defensive force, but she had got by degrees into the habit of feeling -that safety depended more or less upon her presence. She might have -perhaps a little tendency that way by nature, to think that her little -world depended upon her, and that nothing went quite right when she was -away; but this feeling was doubly strong now. She felt that the little -house was quite undefended in her absence, that all the doors and -windows which she could not bear to have shut were now standing wide -open to let misfortune come in.</p> - -<p>When she did at last succeed in seeing Mr Somerville,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span> however, he was -very comforting to her. It was not that he did not see the gravity of -the situation. He was very grave indeed upon the whole matter. He did -not conceal from her his conviction that Robert stood a much worse -chance if he were found in the company of the other man. “Which is no -doubt unjust,” he said, “for I understood you to say that your son had a -great repugnance to this scoundrel who had led him astray.” Mrs Ogilvy -responded to this by a very faltering and doubtful “Yes.” Yes -indeed—Robbie had said he hated the man; but there was very little -appearance on his part of hating him now—and Mrs Ogilvy herself did not -hate Lew. She hated nobody, so that this perhaps was not wonderful, but -her feeling towards the scoundrel, as Mr Somerville called him, was more -than that abstract one. She felt herself his defender, too, as well as -her son’s. She was eager to save him as well as her son. To ransom -Robbie by giving up his companion was not what she thought of.</p> - -<p>I do not know whether she succeeded in conveying this impression to Mr -Somerville’s mind. But yet it was a relief to her to pour out her heart, -to tell all her trouble; and the old lawyer had a sympathetic ear. They -sat long together, going over the case, and he insisted that she should -share his lunch with him, and not go back to the Hewan fasting after the -long agitating morning. Even that was a relief to Mrs Ogilvy, though she -was scarcely aware of it, and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span> her heart believed that she was very -impatient to get away. But the quiet meal was grateful to her, with her -kind old friend taking an interest in her, persuading her to eat, -pouring out a modest glass of wine, paying all the attention possible in -his old-fashioned old-world way. She was very anxious to get back, and -yet the tranquil reflection gave her a sense of peace and comfort to -which she had been long a stranger. There were still people in the world -who were kind, who were willing to help her, who would listen and -understand what she had to bear, who believed everything that was good -about Robbie,—that he had been “led away,” but was now anxious, very -anxious, to return to righteous ways. Mrs Ogilvy’s heart grew lighter in -spite of herself, even though the news was not good—though she -ascertained that there was certainly an American officer in Edinburgh -whose mission was to track out the fugitives. “He must not stay at the -Hewan—it would be most dangerous for Robert: you must get him to go -away,” the old gentleman said.</p> - -<p>“If I could but get him to do that! but, oh, you know by yourself how -hard it is for the like of me, that never shut my doors in my life to a -stranger, to say to a man, Go!—a man that is a well-spoken man, and has -a great deal of good in him, and has no parents of his own, and never -has had instruction nor even kindness to keep him right.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span></p> - -<p>“Mrs Ogilvy, he is a murderer,” said Mr Somerville, severely.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but are you sure of that? If I were sure! But a man that sits at -your table, that you see every day of his life, that does no harm, nor -is unkind to any one—how is it possible to think he has done anything -like that?”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear lady,” said Mr Somerville, “it is true.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Mrs Ogilvy, “how little do we know, when it comes to that, -what’s true and what’s not true! He’s not what you would call a hardened -criminal,” she said, with a pleading look.</p> - -<p>“It’s not a small matter,” said the lawyer, “to kill a man.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is terrible! I am not excusing him,” said Mrs Ogilvy, humbly.</p> - -<p>These young men had disturbed all the quiet order of her life. They had -turned her house into something like the taverns which, without knowing -them, were Mrs Ogilvy’s horror. Nobody could tell what a depth of shame -and misery there was to her in the noisy nights, the long summer -mornings wasted in sleep; nor how much she suffered from the careless -contempt of the one, the angry criticism of the other. It was her own -boy who was angrily critical, treating her as if she knew nothing, and -made the other laugh. One of these scenes sprang up in her mind as she -spoke,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> with all its accessories of despair. But yet she could not but -excuse the stranger, who had some good in him, who was not a hardened -criminal, and make her fancy picture of Robert, who had been “led -astray.” The sudden realisation of that scene, and the terror lest -something might have happened in the meantime, something from which she -might have protected them, seized upon her once more after her moment of -repose. She accepted with trembling Mr Somerville’s proposal to come out -to the Hewan to see Robbie, and to endeavour to persuade him that his -friend must be got away. “It is just some romantic notion of being -faithful to a friend,” said the old gentleman, “and the prejudice which -is in your mind too, my dear mem, in favour of one that has taken refuge -in your house—but you must get over that, in this case, both him and -you. It is too serious a matter for any sentiment,” said Mr Somerville, -very gravely.</p> - -<p>In the meantime things had been following their usual routine at the -Hewan. The late breakfast had been served; the three o’clock dinner, -arranged at that amazing hour in order to divide the day more or less -satisfactorily for the two young men, had followed. That the mistress -should not have come home was a great trouble and anxiety to Janet, but -not to them, who were perhaps relieved in their turn not to have her -anxious face, trying so hard to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span> approve of them, to laugh at their -jests and mix in their conversation, superintending their meal. “Where’s -your mother having her little spree?” said the stranger. “In Edinburgh, -I suppose,” said Robbie. “Eh! Edinburgh? that’s not very good for our -health, Bob. She might drop a word——” “She will never drop any word -that would involve me,” said Robert. “Well, she’s a brick of an old -girl, and pluck for anything,” said the other. And then the conversation -came to a stop. Their talk was almost unintelligible to Janet, who was -of opinion that Mr Lewis’s speech was too “high English” for any honest -sober faculties to understand. Mrs Ogilvy’s presence, though all that -she felt was their general contempt for her, had in fact a subduing -influence upon them, and the mid-day meal was generally a comparatively -quiet one. But when that little restraint was withdrawn, the afternoon -stillness became as noisy as the night, and their voices and laughter -rose high.</p> - -<p>It was while they were in full enjoyment of their meal that certain -visitors arrived at the Hewan—not unusual or unfamiliar visitors, for -one of them was Susan Logan, whose visits had lately been very few. -Susie had been more wounded than words could say by Robbie’s -indifference. He had been now more than a month at home, but he had -never once found his way to the manse, or showed the slightest -inclination<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span> to renew his “friendship,” as she called it, with his old -playfellow. Susie, whose fortunes and spirits were very low, who was now -aware of what was in store for her, and whose mind was painfully -occupied with the consideration of what her own life was to be when her -father’s second marriage took place, was more than usually susceptible -to such an unkindness and affront, and she had deserted the Hewan and -her dearest friend his mother, though it was the moment in her life when -she wanted support and sympathy most. “He shall never think I am coming -after him, if he does not choose to come after me,” poor Susie had said -proudly to herself. And Mrs Ogilvy, without at all inquiring into it, -was glad and thankful beyond measure that Susan, whom next to her son -she loved best in the world, did not come. She, too, wanted sympathy and -support more than she had ever done in her life, but in her present -fever of existence she was afraid lest the secrets of her house should -be betrayed even to the kindest eye.</p> - -<p>Susie was accompanied on this occasion by Mrs Ainslie, her future -stepmother, a very uncongenial companion. It was not with her own will, -indeed, that she made the visit. It had been forced upon her by this -lady, who thought it “most unnatural” that Susie should see so little of -her friends, and who was anxious in her own person to secure Mrs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> -Ogilvy’s countenance. They did not approach the house in the usual way, -but went up the brae through the garden behind, which was a familiarity -granted to Susie all her life, and which Mrs Ainslie eagerly desired to -share. The way was steep, though it was shorter than the other, and the -elder lady paused when they reached the level of the house to take -breath. “Dear! the old lady must have company to-day. Listen! there must -be half-a-dozen people to make so much noise as that. I never knew she -entertained in this way.”</p> - -<p>“She does not at all entertain, as you call it, Mrs Ainslie: though it -may be some of Robbie’s friends.” Susie spoke with a deeper offence than -ever in her voice; for if Robbie was amusing himself with friends, it -was more marked than ever that he did not come to the manse.</p> - -<p>“Entertain is a very good word, Miss Susie, let me tell you, and I shall -entertain and show you what it means as soon as your dear father brings -me home.”</p> - -<p>“I shall not be there to see, Mrs Ainslie,” said Susie, glad to have -something which justified the irritation and discomfort in her mind.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, you will,” said the lady. “You shan’t make a stolen match to -get rid of me. I have set my heart on marrying you, my dear, like a -daughter of my own.”</p> - -<p>To this Susie made no reply; and Mrs Ainslie<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span> having recovered her -breath, they walked together round the corner, which was the dining-room -corner, with one window opening upon the shrubbery that sheltered that -side of the house. Susie’s rapid glance distinguished only that there -were two figures at table, one of which she knew to be Robbie; but her -companion, who was not shy or proud like Susie, took a more deliberate -view, and received a much stronger sensation. Immediately opposite that -side window, receiving its light full on his face, sat the mysterious -inmate of Mrs Ogilvy’s house, the visitor of whom the gossips in the -village had heard, but who never was seen anywhere nor introduced to any -visitor. Mrs Ainslie uttered a suppressed exclamation and clutched -Susie’s arm; but at the same time hurried her along to the front of the -house, where she dropped upon one of the garden benches with a face -deeply flushed, and panting for breath. The dining-room had another -window on this side, but the blinds were drawn down to keep out the -sunshine. This did not, however, keep out the sound of the voices, to -which she listened with the profoundest attention, still clutching -Susie’s arm. “My goodness gracious! my merciful goodness gracious!” Mrs -Ainslie said.</p> - -<p>Susie was not, it is to be feared, sympathetic or interested. She pulled -her arm away. “Have you lost your breath again?” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span></p> - -<p>Mrs Ainslie remained on the bench for some time, panting and listening. -The voices were quite loud and unrestrained. One of them was telling -stories with names freely mentioned, at which the other laughed, and at -which this lady sitting outside clenched her fist in her light glove. -After a minute Susie left her, saying, “I will go and find Mrs Ogilvy,” -and she remained there alone, with the most extraordinary expressions -going over her face. Her usual little affectations and fine-ladyism were -gone. It must have been an expressive face by nature; for the power with -which it expressed deadly panic, then hatred, then a rising fierceness -of anger, was extraordinary. There came upon her countenance, which was -that of a well-looking, not unamiable, but affected, middle-aged woman -in ordinary life, something of that snarl of mingled terror and ferocity -which one sees in an outraged dog not yet wound up to a spring upon his -offender. She sat and panted, and by some curious gift which belongs to -highly-strained feeling heard every word.</p> - -<p>This would not have happened had Mrs Ogilvy been at home—the voices -would not have been loud enough to be audible so clearly out of doors; -for the respect of things out of doors and of possible listeners, and -all the safeguards of decorum, were always involved in her presence. -Also, that story would not have been told; there was a woman in it who -was not a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span> woman, nor well treated by Lew’s strong speech: -therefore everything that happened afterwards no doubt sprang from that -visit of Mrs Ogilvy’s to Edinburgh; and, indeed, she herself had -foreseen, if not this harm, which she could not have divined, at least -harm of some kind proceeding from the self-indulgence to which for one -afternoon she gave way.</p> - -<p>“No, Miss Susie, the mistress is no in, and I canna understand it. She -went to Edinburgh to see her man of business, but was to be back long -before the dinner. The gentlemen—that is, Mr Robert and his friend—are -just at the end o’t, as ye may hear them talking. I’ll just run ben and -tell Mr Robert you are here.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t do that on any account, Janet. Mrs Ainslie is with me, sitting on -the bench outside, and she has lost her breath coming up the hill. -Probably she would like a glass of water or something. Don’t disturb Mr -Robert. It is of no consequence. I’ll come and see Mrs Ogilvy another -day.”</p> - -<p>“You are a sight for sore een as it is. The mistress misses ye awfu’, -Miss Susie: you’re no kind to her, and her in trouble.”</p> - -<p>“In trouble, Janet! now that Robbie has come home!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Susie, wherever there are men folk there is trouble; but I’ll -get a glass of wine for the lady.”</p> - -<p>Janet’s passage into the dining-room to get the wine was signalised by -an immediate lowering of the tone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span> of the conversation going on within. -She came out carrying a glass of sherry, and was reluctantly followed by -Robert, who came into the drawing-room, somewhat down-looked and -shamefaced, to see his old companion and playmate. Janet, for her part, -took the sherry to Mrs Ainslie, who had drawn her veil, a white one, -over her face, concealing a little her agitated and excited countenance. -The lady was profuse in her thanks, swallowed the wine hastily, and gave -back the glass to Janet, almost pushing her away. “Thanks, thanks very -much; that will do. Now leave me quiet a little to recover myself.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you would like to lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room out of -the sun. The mistress is no in, but Mr Robert is there with Miss Susie.”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks; I am very well where I am,” said Mrs Ainslie, with a wave -of her hand. The conversation inside had ceased, and from the other side -of the house there came a small murmur of voices. Mrs Ainslie waited -until Janet had disappeared, and then she moved cautiously, making no -sound with her feet upon the gravel, round the corner once more to the -end window. Cautiously she stooped down to the window ledge and looked -in. He was still seated opposite to the window, stretching out his long -legs, and laying back his head as if after his dinner he was inclined -for a nap. His eyes were closed. He was most perfectly at the mercy of -the spy, who gazed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span> upon him with a fierce eagerness, noting his -dress, his thickly grown beard, all the peculiarities of his appearance. -She even noticed with an experienced eye the heaviness of his pocket, -betraying something within that pocket to which he had moved his hand -without conveying any knowledge to Mrs Ogilvy. All of these things this -woman knew. She devoured his face with her keen eyes, and there came -from her a little unconscious sound of excitement which, though it was -not loud, conveyed itself to his watchful ear. He opened his eyes -drowsily, said something, and then closed them again, taking no more -notice. Lew had dined well and drank well; he was very nearly asleep.</p> - -<p>She crept round again to the front and took her seat on the bench, again -pulling down and arranging the white veil, which was almost like a mask -over her face. Susie and Robert came out to her a few minutes after, she -leading, he following. “If you will come in and rest,” said Robert, “my -mother will probably be back very soon.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, it is best for us to get home,” said Mrs Ainslie. “Tell your -dear mother we were so sorry to miss her. You were very merry with your -friend, Mr Robert, when we came up to the house.”</p> - -<p>“My friend?” said Robbie, startled. “Yes—I have a friend in the house.”</p> - -<p>“All the village knows that,” said the lady, “but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span> not who he is. Now I -have the advantage of the rest, for I saw him through the window.”</p> - -<p>Robert was still more startled and disturbed. “We’re—not fond of -society—neither he nor I. I was trying to explain to Susie; but it -sounds disagreeable. I—can’t leave him, and he knows nobody, so he -won’t come with me.”</p> - -<p>“Tell him he has an acquaintance now. You will come to see me, won’t -you? I’ve been a great deal about the world, and I’ve met almost -everybody—perhaps you, Mr Robert, I thought so the other day, and -certainly—most other people: you can come to see me when you go out for -your night walks that people talk of so. Oh, I like night walks. I might -perhaps go out a bit with you. Dark is very long of coming these Scotch -nights, ain’t it? But one of these evenings I’ll look out for you.” She -paused here, and gave him a malicious look through her veil. “I’ll look -for you, Mr Robert—and Lew.”</p> - -<p>Robert stood thunderstruck as the ladies went away. Susie’s eyes had -sought his with a wistful look, a sort of appeal for a word to herself, -a something to be said which should not be merely formal. But Robbie was -far too much concerned to have a thought to spare for Susie. She had not -heard Mrs Ainslie’s last words: if she had heard them, she would have -cared nothing, nor thought anything of them. What could this woman be to -Robbie? was she trying to charm him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span> as she had charmed the innocent -unconscious minister? Susie turned away indignantly, and with a sore -heart. She saw that she was nothing to her old comrade, her early lover; -but yet she did not know how entirely she was nothing to him, and how -full his mind was of another interest. He hurried back into the -dining-room with panic in his soul. Lew lay stretched out on his chair -as Mrs Ainslie had seen him; the warm afternoon and the heavy meal had -overcome him; his long legs stretched half across the room; his head was -thrown back on the high back of his chair. His eyes were shut, his mouth -a little open. More complete rest never enveloped and soothed any fat -and greasy citizen after dinner. Robert looked at him with mingled -irritation and admiration. It is true that there was no thought of peril -in the outlaw’s mind—this long interval of quiet had put all his alarms -to sleep—but he would have been equally reckless, equally ready to take -his rest and his pleasure, had he been consciously in the midst of his -foes.</p> - -<p>“Lew,” said Robert, shaking him by the shoulder, and speaking in a -subdued voice very different from the noisy tones which had betrayed -them,—“Lew, wake up—there’s spies about—there’s danger at hand.”</p> - -<p>“Eh!” cried the other. He regarded his friend for an instant with the -half-conscious smile of an abruptly awakened sleeper. The next moment he -had shaken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span> himself, and sat up in his chair awake and intelligent to -his very finger-points. “Spies—danger—what did you say?”</p> - -<p>His hand stole to his pocket instinctively once more.</p> - -<p>“Oh, there’s no occasion for that,” said Robert. “All that has happened -is this,—there is a woman here—that knows you, Lew——”</p> - -<p>“A woman—that knows me!” Perhaps it was genuine relief, perhaps only -bravado to reassure his comrade—“Well, Bob, the question is, is she a -pretty one?”</p> - -<p>“For heaven’s sake,” cried Robert, “be done with nonsense—this is -serious. She’s—not a young woman. I’ve heard of her: she’s a stranger, -but has got some influence in the place. She saw you as she passed that -window.”</p> - -<p>“I thought I saw some one pass that window—it’s a devil of a window, a -complete spy-hole.”</p> - -<p>“And she must have recognised you. She invited me to come to see her -when we were out on one of our night walks,—and to bring Lew.”</p> - -<p>Lew gave a long whistle: the colour rose slightly on his cheek. “We’ll -take her challenge, Bob, my fine fellow, and see what she knows. Jove! -I’ve been getting bored with all this quiet. A start’s a fine thing. -We’ll go and look after her to-night.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">If</span> Mrs Ogilvy had been at home, it is almost certain that none of these -things could have happened—if she had not been kept so long, if Mr -Somerville’s other client had not detained him, and, worst of all, if -she had not been beguiled by the unaccustomed relief of a sympathetic -listener, a friendly hand held out to help her, to waste that precious -hour in taking her luncheon with her old friend. That was pure waste—to -please him, and in a foolish yielding to those claims of nature which -Mrs Ogilvy, like so many women, thought she could defy. To-day, in the -temporary relief of her mind after pouring out all her troubles—a -process which for the moment felt almost like the removal of them—she -had become aware of her own exhaustion and need of refreshment and rest. -And thus she had thrown away voluntarily a precious hour.</p> - -<p>She met Susie and Mrs Ainslie at her own gate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span> and though tired with -her walk from the station, stopped to speak to them. “We found the -gentlemen at their dinner,” Mrs Ainslie said, her usual jaunty air -increased by a sort of triumphant excitement, “and therefore of course -we did not go in; but I rested a little outside, and the sound of their -jolly voices quite did me good. They don’t speak between their teeth, -like all you people here.”</p> - -<p>“My son—has a friend with him,—for a very short time,” Mrs Ogilvy -said.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, I know—the friend with whom he takes long walks late in the -evening. I have often heard of them in the village,” Mrs Ainslie said.</p> - -<p>“His visit is almost over—he is just going away,” said Mrs Ogilvy, -faintly. “I am just a little tired with my walk. Susie, you would -perhaps see—my son?”</p> - -<p>“I saw Robbie—for a minute. We had no time to say anything. I—could -not keep him from his dinner—and his friend,” Susie said, with a flush. -It hurt her to speak of Robbie, who had not cared to see her, who had -nothing to say to her. “We are keeping you, and you are tired: and me, I -have much to do—and perhaps soon going away altogether,” said Susie, -not able to keep a complaint which was almost an appeal out of her -voice.</p> - -<p>“She will go to her own house, I hope,” cried Mrs Ainslie; “and I hope -you who are a friend of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span> family will advise her for her good, Mrs -Ogilvy. A good husband waiting for her—and she threatens to go away -altogether, as if we were driving her out. Was there ever anything so -silly—and cruel to her father—not to speak of me——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear Susie! if I were not so faint—and tired,” Mrs Ogilvy said.</p> - -<p>And Susie, full of tender compunction and interest, but daring to ask -nothing except with her eyes, hurried her companion away.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy went up with a slow step to her own house. She was in haste -to get there—yet would have liked to linger, to leave herself a little -more time before she confronted again those two who were so strong -against her in their combination, so careless of what she said or felt. -She thought, with a sickness at her heart, of those “jolly voices” which -that woman had heard. She knew exactly what they were—the noise, the -laughter, which at first she had been so glad to hear as a sign that -Robbie’s heart had recovered the cheerfulness of youth, but which -sometimes made her sick with misery and the sense of helplessness. She -would find them so now, rattling away with their disjointed talk, and in -her fatigue and trouble it would “turn her heart.” She went up slowly, -saying to herself, as a sort of excuse, that she could not walk as she -once could, that her breath was short and her foot uncertain and -tremulous, so that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span> she could not be sure of not stumbling even in the -approach to her own house.</p> - -<p>It was a great surprise to her to see that Robbie was looking out for -her at the door. Her alarm jumped at once to the other side. Something -had happened. She was wanted. The fact that she was being looked for, -instead of pleasing her, as it might have done in other circumstances, -alarmed her now. She hurried on, not lingering any more, and reached the -door out of breath. “Is anything wrong? has anything happened?” she -cried.</p> - -<p>“What should have happened?” he answered, fretfully; “only that you have -been so long away. What have you been doing in Edinburgh? We thought, of -course, you would be back for dinner.”</p> - -<p>“I could not help it, Robbie. I had to wait till I saw—the person I -went to see.”</p> - -<p>“And who was the person you went to see?” he said, in that tone -half-contemptuous, as if no one she wished to see could be of the -slightest importance, and yet with an excited curiosity lest she might -have been doing something prejudicial and was not to be trusted. These -inferences of voice jarred on Mrs Ogilvy’s nerves in the weariness and -over-strain.</p> - -<p>“It is of no consequence,” she said. “Let me in, Robbie—let me come in -at my own door: I am so wearied that I must rest.”</p> - -<p>“Who was keeping you out of your own door?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span> he cried, making way for -her resentfully. “You tell me one moment that everything is mine—and -then you remind me for ever that it’s yours and not mine, with this talk -about your own door.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy looked up at him for a moment in dismay, feeling as if there -was justice, something she had not thought of, in his remark; and then, -being overwhelmed with fatigue and the conflict of so many feelings, -went into her parlour, and sat down to recover herself in her chair. -There were no “jolly voices” about, no sound of the other whose -movements were always noisier than those of Robbie; and Robbie himself, -as he hung about, had less colour and energy than usual—or perhaps it -was only because she was tired, and everything around took colour from -her own mood.</p> - -<p>“Is he not with you to-day?” she said faintly.</p> - -<p>“Is he not with me?—you mean Lew, I suppose: where else should he be? -He’s up-stairs, I think, in his room.”</p> - -<p>“You say where else should he be, Robbie? Is he always to be here? I’m -wishing him no harm—far, far from that; but it would be better for -himself as well as for you if he were not here. Where you are, oh -Robbie, my dear, there’s always a clue to him: and they will come -looking for him—and they will find him—and you too—and you too!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span></p> - -<p>“What’s the meaning of all this fuss, mother—me too, as you say?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “it is perhaps not extraordinary—my only son; -but I’ve no wish that harm should come to him—oh, not in this house, -not in this house! If he would but take warning and go away where he -would be safer than here! I’ve been in Edinburgh to ask my old friend, -and your father’s friend, and your friend too, Robbie, what could be -done—if there was anything that could be done.”</p> - -<p>“You have gone and betrayed us, mother!”</p> - -<p>“I have done no such thing!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, raising herself up with a -flush of indignation—“no such thing! It was Mr Somerville who brought -me the news first, before you appeared at all. He was to hurry out to -that weary America to defend you—or send a better than himself: that -was before you came back, when we thought you were there still, and to -be tried for your life. I was going—myself,” she said, suddenly -faltering and breaking down.</p> - -<p>“You would not have gone, mother,” said Robbie, with a certain flash of -self-appreciation and bitter consciousness.</p> - -<p>“Ay, that I would to the ends of the earth! You are my Robbie, my son, -whatever you are—and oh, laddie, you might be yet—everything that you -might have been.”</p> - -<p>“Not very likely,” he said, with a half groan and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span> half sneer. “And what -might I have been? A respectable clod, tramping to kirk and market—not -a thought in my head nor a feeling in my heart—all just habit and -jog-trot. I’m better as I am.”</p> - -<p>“You are not better as you are. You are just good for nothing in this -bonnie world that God has made—except to put good meat into you that -other folk have laboured to get ready, and to kill the blessed days He -has given you to serve Him in, with your old books, and your cards, and -any silly things that come into your head. I have seen you throwing -sticks at a bit of wood for hours together, and been thankful sometimes -that you were diverting yourselves like two bairns, and no just lying -and lounging about like two dogs in the warmth of the fire. Oh, Robbie, -what it is to me to say that to my son! and all the time the sword -hanging over your heads that any day, any day may come down!”</p> - -<p>“By Jove, the old girl’s right, Bob!” said a voice behind. Lew had -become curious as to the soft murmur of Mrs Ogilvy’s voice, which he -could hear running on faintly, not much interrupted by Robbie’s deeper -tones. It was not often she “preached,” as they said—indeed she had -seldom been allowed to go further than the mildest beginning; but Rob -had been this time caught unprepared, and his mother had taken the -advantage. Lew came in softly, with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span> lips framed to whistle, and his -hands in his pockets. He had already picked his comrade out of a sudden -Slough of Despond, caused by alarm at the declaration of the visitor, -which, to tell the truth, had made himself very uneasy. It would not do -to let the mother complete the discouragement: but this adventurer from -the wilds had a candid soul; and while Robert stood sullen, beat down by -what his mother said, yet resisting it, the other came in with a look -and word of acquiescence. “Yes, by Jove, she was right!” It did not cost -him much to acknowledge this theoretical justice of reproof.</p> - -<p>“The difficulty is,” he added calmly, “to know what to do in strange -diggings like these. They’re out of our line, don’t you know. I was -talking seriously to him there the other day about doing a stroke of -work: but he wouldn’t hear of it—not here, he said, not in his own -country. Ask him; he’ll tell you. I don’t understand the reason why.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy, startled, looked from one to another: she did not know what -to think. What was the stroke of work which the leader had proposed, -which the follower would not consent to? Was it something for which to -applaud Robbie, or to blame him? Her heart longed to believe that it was -the first—that he had done well to refuse: but she could only look -blankly from one to another, uninformed by the malicious gleam in Lew’s -eyes, or by the spark of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span> indignant alarm in those of Robbie. Their -meaning was quite beyond her ken.</p> - -<p>“If you will sit down,” she said, “both of you, and have a moment’s -patience while I speak. Mr Lew, I am in no way your unfriend.”</p> - -<p>“I never thought so,” he said: “on the contrary, mother. You have always -been very good to me.”</p> - -<p>He called her mother, as another man might have called her madam, as a -simple title of courtesy; and sometimes it made her angry, and sometimes -touched her heart.</p> - -<p>“But I have something to say that maybe I have said before, and -something else that is new that you must both hear. This is not a safe -place for you, Mr Lew—it is not safe for you both. For Robbie, I am -told nobody would meddle with him—alone; but his home here gives a -clue, and is a danger to you—and to have you here is a danger for him, -who would not be meddled with by himself, but who would be taken (alack, -that I should have to say it!) with you.”</p> - -<p>“I think, Bob,” said Lew, “that we have heard something like this, -though perhaps not so clearly stated, before.”</p> - -<p>He had seated himself quite comfortably in the great chair which had -been brought to the parlour for Robbie on his first arrival,—and was, -as he always was, perfectly calm, unruffled, and smiling. Robbie stood -opposite in no such amiable mood. His shaggy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>{262}</span> eyebrows were drawn down -over his eyes: his whole attitude, down-looking, shifting from one foot -to the other, with his shoulders up to his ears, betrayed his -perturbation and disquiet. Robbie had been brought to a sudden stop in -the fascination of careless and reckless life which swept his slower -nature along in its strong current. Such a thing had happened to him -before in his intercourse with Lew, and always came uppermost the moment -they were parted. It was the sudden shock of Mrs Ainslie’s announcement, -and his friend’s apparently careless reception of it, which had jarred -him first: and then there was something in the name of mother, addressed -to his own mother by a stranger—which he had heard often with quite -different feelings, sometimes half flattered by it—which added to his -troubled sense of awakening resistance and disgust. Was he to endure -this man for ever, to give up everything for him, even his closest -relationship? All rebellious, all unquiet and miserable in the sudden -strain against his bonds, he stood listening sullenly, shuffling now and -then as he changed from one foot to another, otherwise quite silent, -meeting no one’s eye.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs Ogilvy, her voice trembling a little, “I am perhaps not -so very clear; but this other thing I have to say is something that is -clear enough and new too, and you will know the meaning of it better -than me. I have been to-day to the gentleman<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a>{263}</span> who was the first to tell -me about all this—and who was to have sent out—to defend my son, and -clear him, if it was possible he should be cleared. Listen to me, -Robbie! That gentleman has told me to-day—that there is an American -officer come over express to inquire—— It will not be about -Robbie—they will leave him quiet—think, Mr Lew!—it will be for——”</p> - -<p>“For me, of course,” he said, lightly. “Well! if there’s danger we’ll -meet it. I like it, on the whole—it stirs a fellow’s blood. We were -getting too comfortable, Bob, settling down, making ourselves too much -at home. The next step would have been to be bored—eh? won’t say that -process hadn’t begun.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “you will not say I have been inhospitable, or -grudged you whatever I could give——”</p> - -<p>“Never, mother,” he said. “You’ve been as good as gold.” He had risen -from his seat, and begun to walk about with an alert light step. The -news had roused him; it had stirred his blood, as he said. “We must see -about this exit of yours—subterraneous is it?—out of the Castle of -Giant Despair—no, no, out of the good fairy’s castle, down into the -wilds. You must show me this at once, Bob. If there’s a Yank on the -trail there’s no time to be lost.”</p> - -<p>“There is perhaps no time to be lost—but not for him, only for you. My -words are not kind, but my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a>{264}</span> meaning is,” cried Mrs Ogilvy. “It is safest -for you not to be with him, and for him not to be with you. Oh, do not -wait here till you’re traced to the house, till ye have to run and break -your neck down that terrible road, but go while everything is peaceable! -Mr Lew, you shall have whatever money you want, and what clothes we can -furnish, and—and my blessing—God’s blessing.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think,” he said, turning upon her, “you are undertaking a -little too much? God’s blessing upon a fellow like me—that has -committed every sin and repented of none, that have sent other sinners -to their account, and wronged the orphan, and all that. God’s -blessing——!”</p> - -<p>He was standing in the middle of the room, in which he was so -inappropriate a figure, with his back to the end window, which was -towards the west. It was now late in the afternoon, and the level rays -pouring in made a broad bar across the carpet, and fell upon one side of -his form, which partially intercepted its light and cut it with his tall -outline. Mrs Ogilvy put her hands together with a cry.</p> - -<p>“What is that? What is it? Is it not just the blessed sun that He sends -upon the just and the unjust—never stopping, whatever you have -done—His sign held out to you that He has all His blessings in His -hand, ready to give, more ready than me, that am a poor creature, no fit -to judge? Oh, laddie—for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a>{265}</span> you’re little more—see to Him holding out -His hand!”</p> - -<p>He had turned round, with a vague disturbed motion, not knowing what he -did, and stood for a moment looking at the sunshine on the carpet, and -his own figure which intercepted it and received the glory instead. For -a moment his lip quivered; the lines of his face moved as if a wind had -blown over them; his eyes fixed on the light, as if he expected to see -some miraculous sight. And then he gave a harsh laugh, and turned round -with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s pretty,” he said, “mother, as you -put it: but there’s no time to enter into all that. I’ve perhaps got too -much to clear up with God, don’t you know, to do it at a sitting; but -I’ll remember, for your sake, when I’ve time. Eh? where were we before -this little picturesque incident? You were saying I should have -money—to pay my fare, &c. Well, that’s fair enough. Make it enough for -two, and we’ll be off, eh, Bob? and trouble her no more.”</p> - -<p>But Robbie did not say a word. It was not any wise resolution taken; it -was rather a fit of temper, which the other, used to his moods, knew -would pass away. Lew gave another shrug of his shoulders, and even a -glance of confidential criticism to the mother, as if she were in the -secret too. “One of his moods,” he said, nodding at her. “But, bless -you! when one knows how to take him, they don’t last.” He touched<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a>{266}</span> her -shoulder with a half caress. “You go and lie down a bit and rest. You’re -too tired for any more. We’ll have it all out to-night, or at another -time.”</p> - -<p>“I am quite ready now—I am quite ready,” she cried, terrified to let -the opportunity slip. He nodded at her again, and waved his hand with a -smile. “Come along, Bob, come along; let us leave her in quiet. To-night -will be soon enough to settle all that—to-night or—another time.” He -took Rob by the arm, and pushed his reluctant and half-resisting figure -out of the room. Robert was sullen and indisposed to his usual -submission.</p> - -<p>“Let me go,” he said, shaking off the hand on his arm; “do you think I’m -going to be pushed about like a go-cart?”</p> - -<p>“If you’re a go-cart, I wish you’d let me slip into you,” said the -other. It was not a very great joke, but Robert at another moment would -have hailed it with a shout of laughter. He received it only with a -shrug of his shoulders now.</p> - -<p>“I wish you’d make up your mind and do something,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I have: the first thing is to see who that woman is——”</p> - -<p>“A woman! when you’ve got to run for your life.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think I mean any nonsense, you fool? She’s not a woman, she’s a -danger. Man alive, can’t you see? She’ll have to be squared somehow. -And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a>{267}</span> look here, Bob,” he said suddenly, putting his arm through that of -his friend’s, who retained his reluctant attitude—“don’t sulk, you ass: -ain’t we in the same boat—get all you can out of the old girl. We’ll -have to make tracks, I suppose—and a lot of money runs away in that. -Get everything you can out of her. She may cool down and repent, don’t -you see? Strike, Bob, while the iron’s hot. The old girl——”</p> - -<p>“Look here, I’ll not have her called names; neither mother, as if you -had any right to her—nor—nor any other. We’ve had enough of that. I’ll -not take any more of it from you, Lew!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s how it is!” said the other coolly, with a sneer. “Then I beg -to suggest to you, my friend Bob, that the respectable lady we’re -talking of may repent; and that if you’re not a fool, and won’t take -more energetic measures, you’ll strike, don’t you see, while the iron is -hot.”</p> - -<p>Rob gave his friend a look of sullen wrath, and then disengaged his arm -and turned away.</p> - -<p>“You’ll find me in Andrew’s bower, among the flower-pots,” Lew called -after him, and whistling a tune, went off behind the house to the -garden, where in the shade Andrew kept his tools and all the accessories -of his calling. He had no good of his ain tool-house, since thae two -were about, Andrew complained every day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a>{268}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Hewan was very quiet and silent that afternoon. Mrs Ogilvy perhaps -would not have recognised the crisis of exhaustion at which she had -arrived, had it not been for the remarks of the stranger within her -doors, the unwelcome guest whom she was so anxious to send away, and who -yet had an eye for the changes of her countenance which her son had not. -He took more interest in her fatigue than Robbie, who did not remark it -even now, and to whom it had not at all occurred that his mother should -want care or tenderness. She had always given it, in his experience; it -did not come into his mind. But, tutored by Lew, Mrs Ogilvy felt that -she could do no more. She went to her room, and even, for a wonder, lay -down on her bed, half apologising to herself that it was just for once, -and only for half an hour. But the house was very quiet. There was no -noise below to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>{269}</span> her watchful. If there were any voices at all, they -came in a subdued murmur from the garden behind, where perhaps Robbie -was showing to his friend the breakneck path down the brae to the Esk, -which nobody had remembered during the many years of his absence. It had -been his little mystery which he had delighted in as a boy. There was no -gate opening on it, nor visible mode of getting at it. The little gap in -the hedge through which as a boy he had squeezed himself so often was -all concealed by subsequent growth, but Robert’s eyes could still -distinguish it. Mrs Ogilvy said to herself, “He will be showing him that -awful road—and how to push himself through.” She felt herself repeat -vaguely “to push himself through, to push himself through,” and then she -ceased to go on with her thoughts. She had fallen asleep; so many times -she had not got her rest at night—and she was very tired. She fell -asleep. She would never have permitted herself to do so but for these -words of Lew. He was not at all bad. They said he had taken away a man’s -life—God forgive him!—but he saw when a woman was tired—an old -woman—that was not his mother: may be—if he had ever had a mother—— -And here even these broken half-words, that floated through her brain, -failed. She fell asleep—more soundly than she had slept perhaps for -years.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a>{270}</span>The thoughts that passed through the mind of the adventurer in his -retreat in Andrew’s tool-house could not have been agreeable ones, but -they are out of my power to trace or follow. Women are perhaps more -ready to see their disabilities in this way than men. A man will -sometimes set forth in much detail, as if he knew, the fancies, -evanescent and changeful as a dream, of a girl’s dawning mind, putting -them all into rigid lines of black and white. Perhaps he thinks the -greater comprehends the less: but how to tell you what was the course of -reflections and endless breaks and takings up of thought in the mind of -a man who had a career to look back upon, such as that of Lew, is not in -my power. I might represent them as caused by sudden pangs of remorse, -by dreadful questions whether, if he had not done this or that——! by -haunting recollections of the look of a victim, or of the circumstances -of the scenes in which a crime had been committed: by a horrible -crushing sense that nothing could recall those moments in which haste -and passion had overcome all that was better in him. I do not believe -that Lew thought of any of these things: he had said he repented of -nothing—he thought of nothing, I well believe, but of the present, -which was hard enough for any man, and how he was to get through it. It -was a situation much worse than that of yesterday. Then he had still -continued to wonder at his absolute safety, at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a>{271}</span> extraordinary, -almost absurd fact, that he was in a place where nobody had ever heard -of him, where his name did not convey the smallest thrill of terror to -the feeblest. He had laughed at this, even when he was alone, not -without a sense of injury, and conviction that the people around must be -“born fools”: but yet a comfortable assurance of safety all the -same—safety which had half begun to bore him, as he said. But now that -situation had altogether changed. There was a woman in this place, even -in this place, who knew him, to whose mind it had conveyed a thrill that -he should be here. And there was a man in Scotland who had arrived to -hunt him down. His being had roused up to these two keen points of -stimulation. They seemed to a certain degree to set him right with -himself, a man not accustomed to feel himself nobody: and in the second -place, they roused him to fight, to that prodigious excitement, superior -perhaps to any other kind, which flames up when you have to fight for -your life. I suggest with diffidence that these were probably the -thoughts that went through him, broken with many admixtures which I -cannot divine. I believe that at that moment less than at any other was -he sorry for the crimes that he had committed. He had no time for -anything in (what he would have called) the way of sentiment. He had -quite enough to do thinking how to get out of this strait, to get again<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a>{272}</span> -into safety, and safety of a kind in which he should be less hampered -than here. There was the old woman, for instance, who had been kind to -him, whom he did not want to shock above measure or to get into trouble. -He resolved he would not take refuge in any place where there was an old -woman again, unless she were an old woman of a very different kind. Mrs -Ogilvy was quite right in her conviction that there was good in him. He -did not want to hurt her, even to hurt her feelings. In short, he would -not have anything done to vex her, unless there was no other way.</p> - -<p>But though I cannot throw much light on his thoughts, I can tell you how -he spent the afternoon, to outward sight and consciousness. Robert -Ogilvy, before the arrival of this companion, had discovered that he -could arrange himself a rude sort of a lounging-place by means of an old -chair with a broken seat, and some of the rough wooden boxes, once -filled with groceries, &c., which had been placed in the tool-house to -be out of the way, and in which Andrew sometimes placed his seedlings, -and sometimes his strips of cloth and nails and sticks for tying up his -flowers. Lew had naturally edged his friend out of this comfortable -place. The seat of the chair was of cane-work, and still afforded -support to the sitter, though it was not in good repair; and the boxes -were of various heights, so that a variety of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a>{273}</span> levels could be procured -when he tired of one. His meditations were promoted by smoke, and also -by a great deal of whisky-and-water, for which he took the trouble to -disarrange himself periodically to obtain a fresh supply from the bottle -which it disturbed Mrs Ogilvy to see so continually on the table in the -dining-room. It would have been more convenient to have it here—and it -was seldom that Lew subjected himself to an inconvenience; but he did in -this case, I am unable to tell why. It must be added that this constant -refreshing had no more effect upon him than as much water would have had -on many other people. And those little pilgrimages into the dining-room -were the only sound he made in the quiet of the house.</p> - -<p>Robbie had gone out, to chew his cud of very bitter fancy. His thoughts -were not so uncomplicated, so distinguishable, as those of his -stronger-minded friend. He had been seized quite suddenly, as he had -been at intervals ever since he fell under Lew’s influence, with a -revulsion of feeling against this man, to whom he had been for this -month past, as for years, with broken intervals, before, the chose, the -chattel, the shadow and echo. It was perhaps the nature of poor Robbie -to be the chose of somebody, of any one who would take possession of him -except his natural guides: but there was a strain of the fantastic in -his spirit, as well as an instinct for what was lawful and right, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a>{274}</span> -had made him insufferable among the strange comrades to whom he had -drifted, yet never was strong enough to sever him from their lawless -company. He had never himself done any violent or dishonest act, though -he was one of the band who did, and had doubtless indirectly profited by -their ill-gotten gains. Perhaps refraining himself from every practical -breach of law, it gave him a pleasure, an excitement, to see the others -breaking it constantly, and to study the strange phenomena of it? I -suggest this possible explanation to minds more philosophical than mine. -Certainly Robbie was not philosophical, and if he was moved by so subtle -a principle, was quite unaware of it. He was in a tumult of disgust on -this occasion with Lew, and everything connected with him—with all the -trouble of hiding him, of securing his escape, of keeping watch and ward -for his sake, and of getting money for him out of the little store which -his mother had saved for him, Robbie, and not for any stranger. This -piquant touch of personal loss perhaps did more than anything else to -intensify his sudden ill-humour, offence, and rebellion. He strayed out -to see if the gap could be passed, if the deep precipitous gully down -the side of the hill gave shelter enough for a hurried escape. As he -wandered down towards the little stream, his eyes suddenly became -suspicious, and he saw a pursuer behind every tree and bush. He thought -he saw a man’s hat in the distance always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a>{275}</span> disappearing as he followed -it: he thought even that the little girls playing beyond in the open -looked at him with significant glances, pointing him out to each -other—and this indeed was not a fancy; but there was nothing dangerous -in the indication—“Eh, see yon man! that’s the lady’s son at the -Hewan”—which these young persons, not at all conspirators, gave.</p> - -<p>In the evening, as it began to grown dark, the two men as usual went out -together. It means almost more than a deadly quarrel, and the -substitution of hate for love or liking, to break a habit even of recent -date; and Robert had hated Lew, and longed to be delivered from him, a -dozen times at least, “without anything following. They went out very -silent at first, very watchful, not missing a single living creature -that went past them, though these were not many. They had both the -highly educated eyes of men who knew what it was to be hunted, and were -quick to discover every trace of a pursuer or an enemy. But the innocent -country road was innocent as ever, with very few passengers, and not one -of them likely to awaken alarm in the most nervous bosom. The silence -between them, however, continued so long, and it was so difficult to -make Robbie say anything, that his companion began at last to ask -questions, already half answered in previous conversations, about the -visitor who had recognised him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a>{276}</span> ‘Somebody who has not been very long -here—a stranger (like myself), but likely to form permanent relations -in the place (<i>not</i> like me there, alas!),” said Lew. “Not to put too -fine a point upon it, she’s going to marry the minister. That’s so, -ain’t it?” Lew said.</p> - -<p>“That’s what it is, so far as I know.”</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he went on, “there’s several things in that to take away -its importance. In the first place, it could not be in the first society -of Colorado—the <i>crême de la crême</i>, you know—that she’d meet me.”</p> - -<p>To this Robert assented merely with a sort of groan.</p> - -<p>“From which it follows, that if she is setting up here in the odour of -sanctity, it’s not for her interests to make a fuss about my -acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>“She might give you up, to get rid of you,” Robert said, curtly.</p> - -<p>“Come now,” said his companion; “human nature’s bad enough, but hanged -if it’s so bad as that.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I thought you were of opinion that nothing was too bad——”</p> - -<p>“Hold hard!” said Lew. “If you mean to carry on any longer like a bear -with a sore head, I propose we go home.”</p> - -<p>“It’s as you like,” Robert said.</p> - -<p>“Bob,” said the other, “mutual danger draws fellows together: it’s drawn -you and me together scores<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a>{277}</span> of times. We’re lost, or at all events I’m -lost, if it turns out different now.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think I’m going to give you up?” said Rob, almost with a sneer.</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t,” said Lew, calmly. “You haven’t the spirit. Your mammy -would do it like a shot, if it wasn’t for—other things.”</p> - -<p>“What other things?” cried Rob, fiercely.</p> - -<p>“Well, because she’s got a heart—rather bigger than her spirit, and -that’s saying a great deal: and because she believes like an Arab—and -that’s saying a great deal too—in her bread and salt.”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” cried Rob, looking about him for a reason, “I don’t mean to -stand any longer the way you speak of my mother. Whatever she is, she is -my mother, and I’ll not listen to any gibes on that subject—least of -all from you.”</p> - -<p>“What gibes? I say her heart is greater even than her spirit. I might -say that”—and here Lew made something like the sign of the Cross, for -he had queer fragments of religion in him, and sometimes thought he was -a Roman Catholic—“of the Queen of heaven.”</p> - -<p>“You call her mother,” cried Bob, angrily.</p> - -<p>“I should like to know,” said his companion, whose temper was -invulnerable, “where I could find a better name.”</p> - -<p>“And old girl,” cried Rob, working himself into a sort of fury, -“and—other names.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a>{278}</span></p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, old fellow; there I was wrong. It don’t mean -anything, you know. It means dear old lady; but I know it’s an ugly -style, and comes from bad breeding, and I’ll never do it again.”</p> - -<p>A sort of grunt, half satisfied, half sullen, came from Rob, and his -companion knew the worst was over. “Let’s think a little,” he -said—“you’re grand at describing—tell me a bit what that woman is -like.”</p> - -<p>Rob hesitated for some minutes, and then his pride gave way.</p> - -<p>“She’s what you might call all in the air,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“But looks at you to see if you think her so.”</p> - -<p>“That’s capital, Bob.”</p> - -<p>“She has a lot of fair hair—dull-looking, it might be false, but I -don’t think somehow it is—and no colour to speak of, but might put on -some, I should say. She looks like that.”</p> - -<p>Lew put his arm within Rob’s as if accidentally, and gave forth a low -whistle. “If that’s <i>her</i>,” he said, “and she’s going to marry a -minister—I should just think she would like to get me out of the way.”</p> - -<p>“But why, then, should she ask you to come and see her?—for she had -seen you on the sly, and that was enough.”</p> - -<p>“There’s where the mystery comes in: but you never know that kind of -woman. There’s always a screw loose in them somewhere. She repents it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a>{279}</span> -perhaps, by now. Let’s make a round by her house, wherever it is, and -perhaps we’ll see her through a window, as she saw me.”</p> - -<p>“It’s close to the village—it’s dangerous—don’t think of it,” said -Rob.</p> - -<p>“Dangerous!” cried the other: “what’s a man for but to face danger—when -it comes? I’m twice the man I was last night. I smell the smell of -gunpowder in the air. I feel as if I could face the worst road, ten -minutes’ start, and fifty mile an hour.”</p> - -<p>If this trumpet-note was intended to rouse Rob, it was successful. His -duller spirit caught the spark of excitement, which moved it only to the -point of exhilaration and drove the last mist away. They went on, always -with caution, always watchful, through a corner of the little town where -the houses were almost all closed, and the good people in bed. No two -innocent persons, however observant, were they the finest naturalists or -scientific observers in the world, ever saw so much in a dark road as -these two broken men. They saw the very footsteps of the few people who -came towards them in the darkness, darker here with the shadow of the -houses than in the open country, but not important enough to have -lights: and could tell what manner of people they were—honest, meaning -no harm, or stealthy and prepared for mischief—though they never saw -the faces that belonged to them. “There’s one that means no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a>{280}</span> good,” Lew -said. There was no man in the world who had a greater contempt for a -petty thief. “I’ve half a mind to warn some one of him.”</p> - -<p>“For goodness’ sake, make no disturbance,” said the (for once) more -prudent Rob.</p> - -<p>Presently they came to Mrs Ainslie’s house, a little square house, with -its door close to the road, but a considerable garden behind. There was -light in the windows still, but no chance of seeing into the interior -behind the closed blinds. “Let’s risk it, Bob; let’s go and pay our call -like gentlemen,” said Lew.</p> - -<p>“You don’t think of such a thing!” cried Robert, holding him back. This -was perhaps one of the things that bound Lew’s followers to him most. -Sometimes the excitement of risk and daring got into his veins like -wine, and then the youngest and least guarded of them had to change -<i>rôles</i> with the captain and restrain him. But whether Rob could have -succeeded in doing so can never be known, for at the moment there were -sounds in the house, and the door was opened, and a conversation, begun -inside, was carried on for a minute or two there. The pair who appeared -were the minister and Mrs Ainslie. He all dark, his face shaded by his -hat: she in a light dress, and with a candle in her hand, which threw -its light upon her face. She was saying good-night, and bidding her -visitor take care of the corner where it was so dark. “There is what -your people call a dub there,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a>{281}</span> she said, with one of those shrill -laughs which cut the air—and she held the candle high to guide her -visitor’s parting steps. He answered, in a voice very dull and -low-pitched after hers, that he was bound to know every dub in the -place; and so went off, bidding her, if she went to Edinburgh in the -morning, be sure to be back in good time.</p> - -<p>She stood there for a moment after he was gone, and held up her candle -again, as if that could pierce instead of increasing the darkness around -her, and looked first in one direction, then in the other. Then she -stood for a second minute as if listening, and then slightly shaking her -head, turned and went in again. If she could have seen the two set faces -watching her out of the darkness, within the deep shadow of the opposite -wall! Lew grasped Rob’s arm as in a vice, and with the other hand sought -that pocket to which he turned so naturally: while Rob followed the -movement in a panic, and got his hand upon that which already had half -seized the revolver. “You wouldn’t be such an idiot, Lew!”</p> - -<p>“If I gave her a bullet,” said the other in the darkness, “it would be -the least of her deserts, and the cheapest for the world.” Their voices -could not have been audible to Mrs Ainslie, turning to shut her door, -but something must have thrilled the air, for she came out and looked up -and down again. Was she as fearless as the others, and fired with -excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a>{282}</span> too? And then the closing of the door echoed out into the -stillness,—not the report of the revolver, thank heaven! She had shown -no signs of alarm: but the two men, as they went away, trembled in every -limb—Rob with alarm and excitement, and the sense that murder had been -in the air; his companion with other feelings still.</p> - -<p>It was very late when Mrs Ogilvy woke, and then not of herself, but by -Robbie’s call, whom she suddenly roused herself to see standing in the -dark by her bedside. It was quite dark, not any lingering of light in -the sky, which showed how far on in the night it was. She sprang up from -her bed, crying out, “What has happened—what have I been doing?” with -something like shame. “Have I been sleeping all this time?” she cried -with dismay.</p> - -<p>“Don’t hurry, mother—you were tired out. I’m very glad you have slept. -Nothing’s wrong. Don’t get up in a hurry. I should like to speak to you -here. I’ve—got something to say.”</p> - -<p>“What is it, Robbie?—whatever it is, my dear, would you not like a -light?”</p> - -<p>“No; I like this best. I used to creep into your room in the dark, if -you remember, when I had something to confess. I had always plenty to -confess, mother.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my Robbie, my dear, my dear!”</p> - -<p>She stretched out her hands to him to touch his, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a>{283}</span> draw him near: but -he still hung at a little distance, a tall shadow in the dark.</p> - -<p>“It is not for myself this time. It is Lew: he was very much touched -with what you said to-day. He’ll go, I believe—whether with me or not. -I might see him away, and then come back. But the chief thing after all, -you know, is the money. You said you would give him——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie, God be praised!—whatever he required for his passage, and -to give him a new beginning; but you’ll not leave me again, not you, not -you!”</p> - -<p>“I did not say I would,” he said, with a querulous tone in his voice. -“His passage! He wouldn’t go back to America, you know.”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear, I did not suppose he would. I thought—one of the -islands,” said Mrs Ogilvy, in subdued tones.</p> - -<p>“One of the islands! I don’t know what you mean” (and, indeed, neither -did she), “unless it were New Zealand, perhaps—that’s an island: but -you would not banish him there, mother. Lew thinks he might go to India. -He might begin again, and do better there.”</p> - -<p>“India—that is far, far away—and a dear passage, and all the luxuries -you want there. Robbie, I would not grudge it for myself—it is for you, -my dear.”</p> - -<p>“If he had plenty of money, it would be his best chance.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a>{284}</span></p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy slid softly off the bed, where she had been listening. She -was as generous as a princess—as princesses used to be in the time of -the fairy tales; but it startled her that this stranger should expect -“plenty of money” from her hands. “How could we give him that?” she -said: “and whatever went to him, it would be taken from you, Robbie. If -you will fix on a sum, I will do everything I can. I do not grudge -him—no, no. My heart is wae for him. But to despoil my only son, my one -bairn, for a stranger. It is not just, it is not what I should do——”</p> - -<p>“Would you give him a thousand pounds, mother?”</p> - -<p>“A thousand pounds!” she cried with a shriek. “Laddie, are ye wild?—the -greatest part of what you will have—the half, or near the half, of all. -I think one of us is out of our senses, either you or me!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a>{285}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs Ainslie,</span> who is a person with whom this history is little concerned, -and whose character and antecedents I have no desire to set forth, had -been moved, by the suddenness and unexpectedness of her vision through -the dining-room window of the Hewan, to commit what she afterwards felt -to be a great mistake. Hitherto, after the experience gained in a -hundred adventures, she had found the <i>rôle</i> which she had chosen to -play in the rustic innocence of Eskholm not a difficult one. No one -suspected her of anything but a little affectation, a little absurdity, -and a desire to be believed a fine lady, which, if it did not deceive -the better instructed, yet harmed nobody. Society, even in its most -obscure developments—and especially village society—is suspicious, -people say. If so—of which I am doubtful—then it is generally -suspicious in the wrong way; and there was nobody in Eskholm who had the -least suspicion of Mrs Ainslie’s antecedents,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a>{286}</span> or imagined that she -could be anything but what she professed to be, an officer’s widow. -Military ladies are allowed to be like their profession, a little -pushing and forward, not meek and mild like the model woman. She knew -herself, of course, how much cause for suspicion there was; and she saw -discovery in people’s eyes who had never even supposed any inquiry into -the truth of her statements to be called for: and thus she was usually -very much on her guard, notwithstanding the apparent freedom of her -manners and lightness of her heart. But the sudden sight of an old -comrade in the very midst of this changed and wonderful life of -respectability which she was living, had startled her quite out of -herself. Lew! in the midst of respectability even greater than her own, -in the Hewan, the abode of all that was most looked up to and esteemed! -The surprise took away her breath; and with the surprise there came a -flood of recollections, of remembered scenes—oh! very much more piquant -than anything known on Eskside; of gay revelry, movement, and adventure, -fun and freedom. That life which is called “wild” and “gay” and “fast,” -and so many other misnomers, and which looks in general so miserable to -the lookers-on, has no doubt its charms like another, and the -excitements of the past look all pure dash and delight to the people who -have forgotten what deadliest of all ennui lay behind them. There -flashed upon this woman a sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a>{287}</span> thought of a gay meeting like those of -old, full of reminiscence, and mutual inquiry, what has become of Jack -and what has happened to Jill, and of laughter over many a sport and -feat that were past. It did not occur to her at the moment that to hear -what had happened to Jack and Jill would probably be dismal enough. She -thought only, amid the restraints of the present life in which no fun -was, what fun to see one of the old set again, and to ask after -everybody, and hear all that had been going on, all at her ease, and -without fear of discovery in the middle of the night. She divined -without difficulty that Lew was here in hiding for no innocent cause, -and that Mrs Ogilvy’s long-vanished son, who was mysteriously known to -have returned, but who had never showed himself openly, was in some -compromising way involved with him, and keeping him out of sight. She -understood now the stories about the long night-walks of the two -gentlemen at the Hewan of which she had heard: and her well-worn heart -gave a jump to think of a jovial meeting so unexpected, so refreshing, -in which she could renew her spirit a little more than with all the -preparations necessary for her future part of the minister’s wife. It -would be a farewell to the past which she could never have dared to -anticipate, and the thought gave an extraordinary exhilaration, as well -as half-panic which was part of the exhilaration, to her mind. It was as -if a stream of life had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a>{288}</span> been poured into her veins—life, which was not -always enjoyable, but yet was living, according to the formula of those -to whom life has probably more moments of complete dulness and -self-disgust than to the dullest of those half-lives which they despise.</p> - -<p>But when Mrs Ainslie got home, and began to reflect on the matter, she -saw how great a mistake she had made. If she knew him, so did he also -know her and all her antecedents. It had given her a thrill of pleasure -to think of meeting him, and talking over the past; but it was equally -possible to her to betray him, in her new rôle as a respectable member -of society: and she knew that she would not hesitate to do so, should it -prove necessary. But it was equally possible that he might betray her. -It did not take her more than five minutes’ serious thinking, when the -first excitement of the discovery was over, to show her that to disclose -herself to Lew, and put in his hands a means of ruining her, or of -holding her in terror at least, was the last thing that was to be -desired. Lew in Colorado, or as a chance exile from that paradise, ready -to disappear again into the unknown, was little dangerous, and a chance -meeting with him the most amusing accident that was likely to befall -her. But Lew in England, or, still worse, Scotland, at her very door, -ready on any occasion to inform her new friends who she was or had been, -was a very different matter. She owned to herself that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a>{289}</span> she had never -done anything so mad or foolish in her life. On the eve of becoming Mr -Logan’s wife, of being provided for for the rest of her life, of being -looked up to and respected, and an authority in the place—and by one -foolish word to throw all this, which was almost certainty, into the -chaos of risk and daily danger, at the mercy of a man who could spoil -everything if he pleased, or could at least hold the sword over her head -and make her existence a burden to her! What a thing was this which she -had done! When she saw Mr Logan to the door on that evening, her aspect -was more animated and bright than ever, but her heart in reality was -quaking. It was foolish of her to take the candle; but it was her habit, -and it would have been remarked, she thought in her terror, if she had -not done it: and then she stood and looked up and down, still with that -light in her hand—thankful that at least the minister was gone, that he -would not meet these visitors if they came: then with relief making up -her mind that they would not come—that Lew, if he were in hiding, would -be as much afraid of her as she of him.</p> - -<p>She had a disturbed night, full of alarm and much planning and thinking, -sitting up till it was almost daylight, in terror that the visit which -she had been so foolish as to invite might be paid at any unlawful hour. -And when the next morning came, it was apparent to her that she must do -something at once<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a>{290}</span> to provide against such a danger, to save herself -from the consequences of her foolishness. How it had been that an -adventuress like this had managed to secure for her daughter the most -respectable of marriages in respectable Edinburgh, is a question into -which I cannot enter. It had not been, indeed, Mrs Ainslie’s doing at -all. The girl, who knew none of her mother’s disreputable secrets, had -made acquaintance in a foreign hotel with some girls of her own age, who -had afterwards invited her to visit them in Edinburgh. Such things are -done every day, and come to harm so seldom that it is scarcely worth -taking the adverse chances into consideration. And there, in the shelter -of a most respectable family, the most respectable of men had fallen in -love with Sophie. It was all so rapid that examination into the position -of the Ainslies was impossible. Sophie had no money: her father had been -killed in some campaign in India which happened to coincide with the -date of her birth. She was pretty, and not anything but good so far as -her up-bringing had permitted. I give this brief sketch in hot haste, as -indeed the matter was done—for Mrs Ainslie had announced that she had -only come to Eskholm for a few weeks, and was going “abroad” again -immediately. Perhaps it was the acquisition of a son-in-law so -absolutely correct as Mr Thomas Blair—dear Tom, as his mother-in-law -always called him—that put into her head the possibility of becoming<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a>{291}</span> -herself an exceptionable member of society, furnished with all possible -certificates by marrying Mr Logan. At all events, it was her son-in-law -to whom she now betook herself after many thoughts, with that skill of -the long-experienced schemer which is capable of using truth as an -instrument often more effectual than falsehood. She went to him (he was -a lawyer) with all the candour of a woman who has made, with grief for -her neighbour, a dreadful discovery, and who in the interests of her -neighbour, not in her own—for what could she have to do with anything -so wicked and terrible?—thinks it necessary to reveal what she has -seen. In this way she made Mr Blair aware of the circumstances of her -visit at the Hewan, and the man she had seen there. She told him that -she had been present at the trial of this man in America—it was one of -her frank and simple statements, which were so perfectly candid and -above board, that she had lived in various parts of America after her -husband’s death—for various terrible crimes. She had seen him in court -for days together, and could not be mistaken in him: and the idea that -so excellent a person as Mrs Ogilvy had such a man in her house was too -dreadful to think of. What should she do? Should she warn Mrs Ogilvy? -But then no doubt he was in some way mixed up with Mrs Ogilvy’s son, who -had lately returned home in a mysterious and unexpected way. Mr Blair -was much interested by the story.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a>{292}</span> He sympathised fully in the dreadful -dilemma in which the poor lady found herself. He, too, knew Mrs Ogilvy, -and remembered Robbie in his youth perfectly well. He was always a weak -fellow, ready to be led away by any one. No doubt her idea was quite -right. And then he smote his hand upon his leg, and gave vent to a -whistle. “What if it should turn out to be this Lew Smith or Lew Wallace -or something, for whom there was a warrant out, and a detective from -America on the search!”</p> - -<p>“Lew—that is exactly the name—I had forgotten—his other name I don’t -remember. He was spoken of as Lew——”</p> - -<p>“And you could swear to this fellow? You are sure you could swear to -him?”</p> - -<p>“Swear! oh, with a clear conscience! But don’t ask me to, dear Tom. -Think what it is for a delicate woman—the publicity, the notoriety! Oh, -don’t make me appear in a court: I should never, never survive it!” she -cried.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense, mamma!” The respectable son-in-law was so completely -innocent of all suspicion that he had adopted his wife’s name for her -mother. “But I allow it’s not pleasant for a lady,” he said: “perhaps -you won’t be wanted—but you could on an emergency swear to him.”</p> - -<p>“If it was of the last necessity,” she said, trembling, and her -trembling was very real. She said to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a>{293}</span> herself at the same moment, No! -never! appear in an open court with Lew opposite to me,—never! never! -She was one of the many people in the world who think, after they have -put the match to the gunpowder, that there is still time to do something -to make it miss fire.</p> - -<p>Tom Blair was very sympathetic with the woman’s tremors who could not -appear in a public court, and yet would do so if it was absolutely -necessary. He bade her go home to Sophie and have some lunch, and that -he would himself return as early as he could, and tell her if he heard -anything. And Mrs Ainslie went to the Royal Crescent, where the pair -were established, and admired the nice new furniture, and the man in -livery of whom Sophie was so proud. But she did not wait to hear what -news dear Tom would bring home. She left all sorts of messages for him, -telling of engagements she had, and things to be done for Mr Logan. She -could not face him again: and it began to appear a danger for her, -though she had great confidence in her powers of invention, to be -questioned too closely by any one accustomed to evidence, who might turn -her inside out before she knew. And, indeed, her mind was very busy -working, now that she had put that match to the gunpowder, to prevent it -going off. She went into a stationer’s shop on the way to the station, -and got paper and an envelope, and wrote, disguising her hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a>{294}</span> an -anonymous letter to Mrs Ogilvy, bidding her get her guest off at once, -for the police were after him. This was a work of art with which Mrs -Ainslie was not at all unacquainted, and she flattered herself that the -post-mark “Edinburgh” would quench all suggestions of herself as its -author. If he only could get away safe without compromising any one, -that would be so much better. She did not want to be hard upon him. Oh, -not at all. She had been silly, very silly, to think of a meeting: but -she bore him no malice. If he had the sense to steal away before any one -went after him, that would be far the best and the safest of all.</p> - -<p>She went home to her house, and there proceeded with her preparations -for her marriage, which had been going on merrily. She spent the -afternoon with her dressmaker, an occupation which pleased her very -much. She was not a needlewoman, she could not make anything that was -wanted for herself—but she could stand for hours like a lay figure to -be “tried on.” That did not weary her at all; and this process made the -time pass as perhaps nothing else could have done. Mr Logan once more -spent the evening with her, and she had again a time of dreadful -anxiety, in the fear that still Lew might appear, might meet the -minister at the door, and rouse a thousand questions. For the first time -it began to appear possible to her that her marriage might not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a>{295}</span> come off -after all. She might never wear these new dresses—all dove-colour and -the softest semi-religious tints—as Mr Logan’s wife. She might have to -set out on the world again, and get her living somehow, instead of being -safe for the rest of her days. Instinctively she began to scheme for -that, as well as for the direct contrary of that, and in the same breath -arranged, in her mind, for the packing of the new dresses and their -transfer to the capacious cupboards in the manse, and for sending them -back to the dressmaker if she should have to turn her back on the manse -and fly. She did not feel sure now which thing would come to pass.</p> - -<p>But once more the evening passed and nobody came. She stood for some -time at her door after the minister left: but this time in the darkness, -without any candle, listening earnestly for any step or movement in the -night; but no one came. Had he taken fright and gone away at once? That -was the thing most to be desired, but from that very fact the most -unlikely to have happened. It was too good to be true; and Lew was not -the man to be challenged and not to accept the challenge—unless he were -arrested already! That was always possible, but that too was almost too -good to be true. And then there was the chance that he might say -something about her, that he might spoil her fortune without doing any -good to his own. If she harmed him, it was for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a>{296}</span> good reasons, to save -herself; and also, a plea not to be despised, to save poor good old Mrs -Ogilvy: but he, if he did so, would do it only out of revenge, and -without knowing even that it was she who had betrayed him. All that -night and the next day she was in a great state of nervous excitement, -not able to keep quiet. She went to the manse, and she came back again, -and could not rest anywhere. Apparently nothing had happened; for if -there had been a raid of the police, however private, and an arrest -effected at the Hewan—and she knew Lew would not tamely allow himself -to be taken—some news of it must have oozed out. It would be strange if -it passed off without bloodshed, she said to herself. She would have -understood very well that movement of his hand to his pocket which Mrs -Ogilvy beheld so quietly without knowing at all what it meant. However -carefully he might be entrapped, however sudden the rush might be upon -him, Lew, who always had his wits perfectly about him, would have time -to get at his revolver. She knew so much better than any one what must -happen, and yet here she was a mile off and knowing nothing. She -fluttered out and in of the manse in the afternoon in her excitement, -very gay to all appearance, and talking a great deal.</p> - -<p>“You are in excellent spirits to-day, my dear,” said the minister, who -was delighted with her gaiety. “But I hope the leddy be-na fey,” was -what his old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a>{297}</span> experienced cook, who, not able to tolerate a new -mistress, was leaving, said.</p> - -<p>“You used to pay visits in the evening before I came on the scene,” she -said to her elderly lover. “You used to go and see your ladies: now -confess—I know you did.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean by my ladies,” said the minister, who was, -however, flattered by the imputation. “I have never had any lady, my -dear, till I met you.”</p> - -<p>“That is all very well,” she replied, “but we know what pastoral visits -mean. You don’t go and see the men like that. Now there is Mrs Ogilvy, -who was, you told me, your oldest friend. You never go near her now. You -used to go there at all times—in the afternoons, and in the evenings, -and sometimes to supper——”</p> - -<p>“My dear, I have wanted to see nobody but you for a couple of months -past,” the minister said.</p> - -<p>“Let us go back to the old customs,” she said. “I want a bit of change -to-night. I have got the fidgets or something. I can’t sit still. I -want, if you understand what that is, or if you won’t be shocked, a bit -of a spree.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I understand what it is,” said Mr Logan, with a laugh; “but I am -much shocked, and when you come to the manse you must not speak any more -of a bit of a spree.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a>{298}</span></p> - -<p>“I shan’t want it then perhaps,” she said, with a look that flattered -the foolish man. “But, for the present moment, what do you say to -walking up to the Hewan after supper?—and then perhaps we shall see -something of Mrs Ogilvy’s two mysterious men.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll not do that, surely you’ll not do that, papa!” cried Susie. “Mrs -Ogilvy’s men are just her son Robbie, whom we all know, and some friend -of his. They are not mysterious—there is nothing at all to find -out—and it would vex her if we tried to find out,” she cried in a -troubled tone.</p> - -<p>“You shall just come too, to punish you for your objections, Susie. -Come, come! I have taken one of my turns to-night. I can’t keep still. -Let us go. The walk will be delightful, and then it will amuse me to -find out the mysterious men. I shouldn’t wonder if I knew one of them. I -always know somebody wherever I go. Now, are you going to humour me, -James, or are you not? I shall take the last train to Edinburgh, and go -to a theatre or somewhere to blow away my fidgets, if you won’t come.”</p> - -<p>“We must just humour her, Susie,” said the minister.</p> - -<p>“Do so if you like, papa,” said Susie; “but not me. I have plenty to do -at home.”</p> - -<p>“She thinks Mr Maitland may perhaps look in,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a>{299}</span> to ask for the hundredth -time if she will fix the day. That’s always amusing—a man after you -like that; but make her come, James, make her come. I want her to come -with us to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you we will just have to humour her, Susie,” Mr Logan said. He -was charmed, and yet he was a little troubled too by the vivacity of his -betrothed. When she was “at the manse,” as he said, she must be made to -understand that nocturnal expeditions like this were not in an elderly -bridegroom’s way. But at all events, for once she must be humoured -to-night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a>{300}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs Ogilvy</span> rose from her bed after the little conversation which had -roused her more effectually than anything else could have done, more -than half ashamed of having slept, and a little feverish with her sudden -awakening and Robbie’s strange demand: and though it was late—more -like, indeed, the proper and lawful moment for going to bed than for -getting up and making an unnecessary toilet in the middle of the -night—put on her cap again, and her pretty white shawl, and went -down-stairs. She had put on one of the fine embroidered China -crape-shawls which were for the evening, and, to correspond with that, a -clean cap with perfectly fresh ribbons, which gave her the air of being -in her best, more carefully dressed than usual. And her long sleep had -refreshed her. When she went into the dining-room, where Janet was -removing the remains of the supper from the table, she was like an image -of peace and whiteness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a>{301}</span> brightness coming into the room, to which, -however, carefully Janet might arrange it, the two men always gave a -certain aspect of disorder. Mrs Ogilvy had tried to dismiss from her -face every semblance of agitation. She would not remember the request -Robbie had made to her, nor think of it at all save as a sudden impulse -of reckless generosity on his part to his friend. The two young men, -however, were not equally successful in composing their faces. Robbie -had his pipe in his hand, which he had crammed with tobacco, pushing it -down with his thumb, as if to try how much it would contain; but he did -not light it: and even Lew, usually so careless and smiling, looked -grave. He it was who jumped up to place a chair for her. Janet had so -far improved matters that the remains of the meal were all cleared away, -and only the white tablecloth left on the table.</p> - -<p>“I think shame of myself,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “to have been overtaken by -sleep in this way: but it is very seldom I go in to Edinburgh, and the -hot streets and the glaring sun are not what I am used to. However, -perhaps I am all the better of it, and my head clearer. I doubt if, when -it’s at its clearest, it would be of much service to you—men that both -know the world better than I do, though you are but laddies to me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I think we know the world better than you do,” said Lew. “We’ve -been a bit more about. This is a sweet little place, but you don’t see -much of life;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a>{302}</span> and then you’re too good, mother, to understand it if you -saw it,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You are mistaken, Mr Lew, in thinking there is little life to be seen -here: everywhere there is life, in every place where God’s creatures -are. Many a story have I seen working out, many a thing that might have -been acted on the stage, many a tragedy, too, though you mightn’t think -it. The heart and the mind are the same wherever you find them—and -love, that is the grandest and most terrible thing on this earth, and -death, and trouble. Oh, I could not tell you in a long summer day the -things I have seen!”</p> - -<p>“Very different from our kind of things, mother,” said Lew, with a -laugh. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything like the fix we’re in at -present, for instance: the police on our heels, and not a penny to get -out of the way with—and in this blessed old country, where you’ve to go -by the railway and pay for all your meals. These ain’t the things that -suit us, are they, Bob?”</p> - -<p>Robert was standing up, leaning against the securely closed and -curtained window. The night was very warm, and the windows being closed, -it was hot inside. His face was completely in shade, and he made no -reply, but stood like a shadow, moving only his hand occasionally, -pressing down the tobacco in the over-charged pipe.</p> - -<p>“I have told you, Mr Lew,” Mrs Ogilvy said, with a slight quiver in her -voice, “that whatever money<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a>{303}</span> you may want for your journey, and -something to give you a new start wherever you go, you should have, and -most welcome—oh, most welcome! I say, not for my Robbie’s sake, but out -of my own heart. Oh, laddie, you are but young yet! I have said it -before, and I will say it again—whatever you may have done in the past, -life is always your own to change it now.”</p> - -<p>“We will consider all that as said,” said Lew, with the movement of -concealing a slight yawn. “You’ve been very kind in that as in -everything else, putting my duty before me; but there’s something more -urgent just at present. This money—we must go far, Bob and I, if we’re -to be safe——”</p> - -<p>“Not Robbie, not Robbie!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“We must go far if we’re to be safe, not back where we were. It’s a pity -when a place becomes too hot to hold you, especially when it’s the place -that suits you best. We’ll have to go far. I have my ideas on that -point; but it’s better not to tell them to you: for then when you are -questioned you can’t answer, don’t you see.”</p> - -<p>“But Robbie—is not pursued. Robbie, Robbie! you will never leave me! -Oh, you will not leave me again, and break my heart!”</p> - -<p>Robbie did not say a word: his face was completely in the shadow, and -nothing could be read there any more than from his silent lips.</p> - -<p>“Going far means a deal of money; setting up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a>{304}</span> again means a deal of -money. If we were to open a bank, for instance,” said Lew, with a short -laugh—“a respectable profession, and just in our way. That’s probably -what we shall do—we shall open a bank; but it wants money, a deal of -money—a great deal of money. You would like to see your son a -respectable banker, eh? Then, old lady, you must draw your -purse-strings.”</p> - -<p>“I do not think,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “that Robbie would do much as a -banker—nor you either, Mr Lew. You would have to be at office-desks -every day and all the day. To me it would seem natural, but to you that -have used yourselves, alack! to such different things—— And then it is -not what you call just money that is wanted. It is capital; and where -are you to find it? Oh, my dear laddies, in this you know less, not -more, than me. You must get folk to trust in you by degrees when you -have showed yourselves trustworthy. But a bank at once, without either -character—alack, that I should say it!—or capital. Oh no, my dears, -oh, not a bank, not a bank, whatever you do!”</p> - -<p>“You must trust us, mother—we know what we’re talking about: a -bank—which is perhaps not just exactly the kind of thing you are -thinking of—is the only thing for Bob and me; but we must have money, -money, money,” he said, tapping with his hand upon the table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a>{305}</span></p> - -<p>“Capital,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a confident air of having suggested -something quite different.</p> - -<p>“It’s the same thing, only more of it; and as that lies with you to -furnish, we shall not quarrel about the word.”</p> - -<p>“There is some mistake,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with dignity. “I have never -said, I have never promised. Mr Lew, I found out to-day what was the -passage-money of the farthest place you could go to, and I have got the -siller here in the house.”</p> - -<p>The dark figure at the window stirred a little, raising a hand as if in -warning: the other listened with a sudden, eager gleam in his eyes, -leaning forward. It made his face shine to hear of the money in the -house.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, joyfully, “that’s something like speaking. I love a -practical mind. You have got it here in the house?” There came a certain -tigerish keenness into his look, as if he might have snatched at her, -torn it from her. The shadow against the window stirred a little, but -whether in sympathy with the keen desire of the one, or touched by the -aspect of the other, it was impossible to tell. Meanwhile Mrs Ogilvy, -suspecting nothing, saw nothing to fear.</p> - -<p>“It is in the house. I got it even in English notes, that you might have -no trouble. There will be a hundred pounds,” said Mrs Ogilvy. She spoke -with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a>{306}</span> little pride, as of one announcing a great thing, a donation -almost unparalleled, but which yet she gave like a princess, not -grudging. “And thirty besides,” she added, with a little sigh, “that -when you get there you may not be without a pound in your pocket. I give -it you with all my heart, Mr Lew. Oh, if the money, the poor miserable -siller, might maybe be the means of calling you back to a steady and to -an honest life!”</p> - -<p>Lew said nothing in reply: his hungry eyes, lighted up by such a gleam -of covetousness, gave one fiery glance at Robbie standing, as it seemed, -imperturbable, immovable, in the shade. Then he began to beat out a tune -on the table with his fingers: but he made no other answer, to Mrs -Ogilvy’s great surprise.</p> - -<p>“I believe,” she said, with hesitation, “that will pay a passage even to -India; but if you should find that it will need more——”</p> - -<p>He went on with his tune, beating on the table, half whistling to -accompany the beats of his fingers. Something of the aspect of a fierce -animal, lashing its tail, working itself up into fury, had come into his -usually smiling pleasant looks, though the smile was still on his face.</p> - -<p>“I fear,” he said, with the gleam in his eyes which she began to -perceive with wonder, “that it is not enough. They will be of no use to -us, these few shillings. I thought you would have done anything for your -son; but I find, mother, that you’re like all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a>{307}</span> the mothers, good for -everything in words, but for a little less in money. You will have to -give us more than that——”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy was much surprised, but would not believe her ears. She said -mildly, “I have told you, Mr Lew: it is not for my son, but chiefly out -of a great feeling I have for yourself, poor laddie, that have nobody to -advise you or lead you in a better way.”</p> - -<p>“You may preach if you like,” he said, with a laugh, “if you’re ready to -pay; but no preaching without paying, old lady. Come, let’s look at it a -little closer. Here are you rolling in money, and he there, your only -son, sent out into the world——”</p> - -<p>“Not Robbie,” she cried, with a gasp, “not Robbie! I said it was for -you——”</p> - -<p>“We do not mean to be parted, however,” he said. “You must double your -allowance, mother, and then see how much you can add to that.”</p> - -<p>She looked at her son, clasping her hands together, her face, amid the -whiteness of her dress, whiter still, its only colour the eyes, so -bright and trustful by nature, looking at him with a supreme but -voiceless appeal. Whether it touched him or not, could not be seen: he -stirred a little, but probably only as a relief from his attitude of -stillness—and his face was too deep in the shade to betray any -expression for good or for evil.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308"></a>{308}</span></p> - -<p>Then Mrs Ogilvy rose up trembling to her feet. She said, clasping her -hands again as if to strengthen herself, “I have been very wishful to do -all to please you—to treat you, Mr Lew, as if you were—what can I -say?—not my own son, for he is but one—but like the son of my friend. -But I have a duty—I am not my own woman, to do just what I please. I -have a charge of my son before the Lord. I will give you this money to -take you away, for this is not your place or your home, and you have -nothing ado here. But my son: Robbie, all I have is yours—you can have -it all when you like and how you like, my own boy. But not to go away -with this man. If you will forsake your home, let it be well considered -and at another time. To take you away with this man, fleeing before the -pursuer, taking upon you a shame and a sin that is not yours—— No! I -will not give you a penny of your father’s money and my savings for -that. No, no!—all, when you will, in sobriety and judgment, but nothing -now.”</p> - -<p>Her smallness, her weakness, her trembling, were emphasised by the fact -that she seemed to tower over Lew where he sat, and to stand like a rock -between the two strong men.</p> - -<p>“You’re a plucky old girl,” said her antagonist, with a laugh—“I always -said so—game to the last: but we can’t stand jabbering all night, don’t -you know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309"></a>{309}</span> Business is business. You must fork out if you were the -Queen, my fine old lady. Sit down, for there’s a good deal to say.”</p> - -<p>“I can hear what you have to say as I am, if it is anything reasonable,” -Mrs Ogilvy said. She felt, though she could scarcely keep that upright -position by reason of agitation and fear, that she had an advantage over -him as she stood.</p> - -<p>He sprang to his feet before she knew what was going to happen, and with -two heavy hands upon her shoulders replaced her in her chair. I will not -say forced her back into it, though indeed that was how it was. She -leaned back panting and astonished, and looked at him, but did not rise -or subject herself to that violence again.</p> - -<p>“I hope I did not hurt you—I didn’t intend to hurt you,” he said: “but -you must remember, mother, though you treat us as boys, that we’re a -pair of not too amiable men—and could crush you with a touch, with a -little finger,” he added, looking half fiercely, half with a jest, into -her eyes.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said very softly, “you could not crush me—not with all your -power.”</p> - -<p>“Give that paper here, Bob,” said his chief.</p> - -<p>Robert scarcely moved, did not reveal himself in any way to the light, -but with a faint stir of his large shadow produced a folded paper which -had been within the breast of his coat. Lew took it and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310"></a>{310}</span> played with it -somewhat nervously, the line of white like a wand of light in his hands.</p> - -<p>“You are rolling in wealth,” he said.</p> - -<p>She made as if she had said “No!” shaking her head, but took no other -notice of the question.</p> - -<p>“We have reason to suppose you are well off, at least. You have got your -income, which can’t be touched, and you have got a lot of money well -invested.”</p> - -<p>She did not make any reply, but looked at him steadily, marking every -gesture.</p> - -<p>“It is this,” he said, “to which Bob has a natural right. I think we are -very reasonable. We don’t want to rob you, notwithstanding our great -need of money: you can see that we wish to use no violence, only to set -before you what you ought to do.”</p> - -<p>“I will not do it,” said Mrs Ogilvy.</p> - -<p>“We’ll see about that. I have been thinking about this for some time, -and I have taken my measures. Here is a list which we got from your -man—the old fogey you threatened us with—or at least from <i>his</i> man. -And here is a letter directing everything to be realised, and the money -paid over to your son. You will sign this——”</p> - -<p>“From my man—you are meaning Mr Somerville?” Mrs Ogilvy looked at the -paper which had been thrust into her hand, bewildered. “And he never -said a word of it to me!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311"></a>{311}</span></p> - -<p>“Don’t let us lay the blame where it isn’t due,” said the other, -lightly: “from his man. Probably the respectable old fogey never -knew——”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” she cried, “the clerk that was Robbie’s friend! Then it was Robbie -himself——”</p> - -<p>“Robbie himself,” said Lew, in the easiest tone, “as it was he who had -the best, the only, right to find out. Now, mother, come! execute -yourself as bravely as you have done the other things. Sign, and we’ll -have a glass all round, and part the best friends in the world. When you -wake in the morning you’ll find we’ve cleared out.”</p> - -<p>“It was Robbie,” she said to herself, murmuring, scarcely audible to the -others, “it was Robbie—Robbie himself.” She took no notice of the paper -which was placed before her. All her mind seemed occupied by this. -“Robbie—it was Robbie, my son.”</p> - -<p>“Who should it be but Bob? Do you think that information would have been -furnished to me? What did I know about it? It was Bob, of course; and -don’t you think he was quite right? Come! here’s pen and ink ready. -Sign, and then it will be all over. It goes against me, mother, to ask -anything you don’t like—it does, though you mayn’t believe me. Now, one -moment, and the thing will be done.”</p> - -<p>He spoke to her, coaxing her, as to a child, but there was a kindling -devil in his eye. Robbie never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312"></a>{312}</span> raised his head or opened his mouth, but -he made to his comrade an imperative gesture with his hand. The tension -was becoming too much to bear.</p> - -<p>“Come, mother,” said Lew, “sign—sign!”</p> - -<p>This time she did not rise up as before. She had a faint physical dread -of provoking his touch upon her person again; but she lifted her head, -and looking at him, said steadily, “No.”</p> - -<p>“No?—you say this to us who could—kill you with a touch?”</p> - -<p>“I will not do it,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what you are saying, old woman?—tempting me, tempting him, -to murder? You needn’t look to the door: there is not a soul that could -hear you—Andrew’s fast asleep, and you wouldn’t call him, to bear -witness against your son.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, “I would not call him to bear witness—against—my son.”</p> - -<p>“Sign! sign! sign!” cried Lew; “do you think we’ll wait for you all -night?”</p> - -<p>“I will not sign.”</p> - -<p>“Old woman! you wretched old fool, trusting, I suppose, to that fellow -there! Better trust me than him. Look here, no more of this. You shall -sign whether you will or not.” He seized her hand as he spoke, thrust -the pen into it, and forced it upon the paper. Her little wrist seemed -to crush together in his big hand. She gave a faint cry, but no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a>{313}</span> -Her fingers remained motionless in his hold. He was growing red with -impatience and fury, his eyes fierce, his mouth set. She looked up at -him for a moment, but said not a word.</p> - -<p>“Will you do it? will you do it?—at once!—when I tell you.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>He let her hand go and seized her by the shoulders. He had by this time -forgotten everything except that he was crossed and resisted by a feeble -creature in his power. And in this state he was appalling, murder in his -eye, and an ungovernable impulse in his mind. He seized her by her -shoulders, the white shawl crumpling in soft folds not much less strong -to resist than the flesh beneath in his hands, and shook her, violently, -furiously, like a dog rather than a man.</p> - -<p>“Do what I tell you, woman! Sign!”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>She thought that she was dead. She thought it was death, her breath -going from her, her eyes turning in their sockets. Next moment a roar of -rage seemed to pass over her head, she was pushed aside like a straw -flung out of the fiery centre of the commotion, the grip gone from her -shoulders, and she herself suddenly turned as it were into nothing, like -the chair at which she clutched to support herself, not knowing what it -was. She had a vision for a moment of Robbie, her son, standing where -she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a>{314}</span> stood, tearing and tearing again in a hundred pieces a paper in -his hands, while Lew against the opposite wall, as if he too had been -dashed out of the way like herself, stood breathing hard, his eyes -glaring, his arm up. Next moment she was pushed suddenly, not without -violence, thrust out of the room, and the door closed upon her. All was -dark outside, and she helpless, broken, bleeding she thought, a wounded, -lacerated creature, not able to stand, far more unable in the tumult and -trouble of body and soul to go away, to seek any help or shelter. She -dropped down trembling upon her knees, with her head against that closed -door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a>{315}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">How</span> this night passed over, this dreadful night, under the once peaceful -roof of the Hewan, was never known. It must have been dawn, though it -seemed to her so dark, when Mrs Ogilvy dropped on her knees by the -dining-room door—and how she got to her own room she did not know. She -came to herself with the brilliant summer morning pervading all things, -her room full of light, her body full of pain, her mind, as soon as she -was conscious, coming back with a dull spring to the knowledge of -catastrophe and disaster, though for the first moment she could not tell -what it was. She was lying upon her bed fully dressed, her white shawl, -which she had been wearing last night, flung, all crumpled, upon the -floor, but nothing else changed. A thicker shawl had been thrown over -her. Who was it that had carried her up-stairs? This became an awful -question as her mind grew clearer. Who was it? who was it?—the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a>{316}</span>victor—perhaps the survivor—— She was aching from head to foot, -feeling as if her bones were broken, and she could never stand on her -feet again; but when this thought entered her mind she sprang up from -her bed like a young girl. The survivor!—perhaps Robbie, Robbie, her -once innocent boy, with the stain of blood on his hands: perhaps—— Mrs -Ogilvy snatched at the shawl on the floor, which looked almost as if -something dead might lie hidden under it, and wrapped herself in it, not -knowing why, and stole down-stairs in the brightness of that early -morning before even Janet was stirring. She hurried into the -dining-room, from which she had been shut out only a few hours ago, with -her heart leaping in her throat, not knowing what awful scene she might -see. But there was nothing there. A chair had been knocked down, and lay -in the middle of the floor in a sort of grotesque helplessness, as if in -mockery of the mother’s fears. Nothing else. She stood for a moment, -rendered weak again by sudden relief, asking herself if that awful -vision of the night had been merely a dream, until suddenly a little -heap of torn paper flung upon the ornaments in the grate brought it back -again so vividly that all her fears awoke once more. Then she stole away -again to the bedrooms, in which, if all was well, they should be lying -asleep. There was no sound from Robbie’s, or she could hear none from -the beating of her heart. She stole in very softly, as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a>{317}</span> had not -ventured to do since the first morning after his return. There he lay, -one arm over his head like a child, breathing that soft breath of -absolute rest which is almost inaudible, so deep and so quiet. What -fountains of love and tenderness burst forth in the old mother’s breast, -softening it, healing it, filling its dryness with heavenly dew. Oh, -Robbie, God bless him! God bless him! who at the last had stood for his -mother—who would not let her be hurt—who would rather lose everything. -And she had perhaps been hard upon him! There was no blood on the hand -of one who slept like <i>that</i>. She went to the other door and listened -there with her heart lightened; and the breathing there was not -inaudible. She retired to her own room almost with a smile on her face.</p> - -<p>When Mrs Ogilvy came into the room in which the two young men awaited -her for the only meal they shared, the early dinner, she was startled to -see a person who seemed a stranger to her in Lew’s place. He wore Lew’s -clothes, and spoke with Lew’s voice, but seemed another man. He turned -to Robert as she drew back bewildered, and burst into a laugh. “There’s -a triumph for me; she doesn’t know me,” he said. Then he approached her -with a deprecating look. “I am the man that was so rude to you last -night. Forget there was ever such a person. You see I have thrown off -all semblance of him.” He spoke gravely and with a sort of dignity, -standing in the same place in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a>{318}</span> Mrs Ogilvy remembered in a flash of -sudden vision he had almost shaken the life out of her last night, -glaring at her with murderous eyes. There was a gleam in them still -which was not reassuring; but his aspect was everything that was -penitent and respectful. The change in his appearance was made by the -removal of the beard which had covered his face. He had suddenly grown -many degrees lighter in colour, it seemed, by the removal of that forest -of dark hair; and the man had beautiful features, a fine mouth, that -rare beauty either in man or woman. His expression had always been -good-humoured and agreeable. It was more so, a look in which there -seemed no guile, but for that newly awakened tigerish expression in his -eyes. Mrs Ogilvy felt a thrill of terror such as had not moved her -through all the horrors of the previous night, when Robbie for a moment -left the room. She felt that the handsome smiling man before her would -have strangled her without a moment’s hesitation had there been any -possibility of getting the money for which he had struggled in another -way, in what was for her fortunately the only possible way. She felt his -grip upon her shoulders, and a shiver ran through her in spite of -herself. She could not help a glance towards the door, where, indeed, -Janet was at the moment about to come in, pushing it open before her. -There was no danger to-day, with everybody about—but another night—who -could tell?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a>{319}</span></p> - -<p>When the dinner was over, Lew addressed her again. “This,” he said, -putting up his hand to his chin, “is my <i>toilette de voyage</i>. You are -going to be free of us soon. We shall make no flourish of trumpets, but -go suddenly as we came.”</p> - -<p>“If it doesn’t prove too late,” said Robert, gruffly.</p> - -<p>“Listen to the croaker! It isn’t, and it shan’t be, too late. I don’t -admit the possibility—so long as your mother, to whom we behaved so -badly last night——”</p> - -<p>“You,” Mrs Ogilvy breathed forth in spite of herself.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he was in it just as much as I was,” said the other, lightly; “but -he’s a canny Scot, Bob; he knows when to stop. I, when I am in a good -way, don’t.”</p> - -<p>There was a savage meaning in the lightness of this speech and the smile -that accompanied it. Mrs Ogilvy, terrified, felt herself again shaking -like a leaf, like a rag in these tremendous hands. And Robbie, who only -knew when to stop—oh, no, no—oh, no, no—she would not believe that: -though he had stood still long and looked on.</p> - -<p>“You shall see that I will keep my word,” she said, and hurried out of -the room to fetch the money which she had brought from Edinburgh with so -many precautions. She who had been above all fear felt it now -penetrating to her very soul. She locked her door<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a>{320}</span> when she went into -her room, a precaution she had probably never taken in her life before. -She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she passed, and saw -that her countenance was blanched, and her eyes wide with fright. Two -men, perhaps—at least one in the fulness of his strength—and she such -a little old feeble woman. Had the money she possessed been more easily -got at, she knew that she would have had short shrift. And, indeed, if -he killed her, there would have been no need of making her sign anything -first. It would all go to Robbie naturally—provided she could be sure -that Robbie would be free of any share of the guilt. Oh, he would be -free! he would not stand by and see her ill-used—he had not been able -to bear it last night. Robbie would stand by her whatever happened. But -her bosom panted and her heart beat in her very throat. She had to go -down again into the room where red murder was in the thoughts of one, -and perhaps—God forbid it! God forbid it! Oh, no, no, no!—it was not -in nature: not on his mother, not on any one to kill or hurt would -Robbie ever lay a hand.</p> - -<p>She went down-stairs after a very short interval, and as she reached the -dining-room door heard the voice of Lew talking to Janet in the most -genial tones. He was so cheerful, so friendly, that it was a pleasure to -hear so pleasant a voice; and Robbie, very silent behind backs, was -altogether eclipsed by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a>{321}</span> his friend, although to Janet too that often -sullen Robbie was “my ain laddie,” dear in spite of all. But there was -no drawback in her opinion of Mr Lewis, as she called him, “Aye canty -and pleasant, aye with a good word in his head; no pride about him; just -as pleasant with me as if I were the Duchess hersel’.” She held up her -hands in expressive horror as she met her mistress at the door. “He -carries it off wi’ his pleasant ways; but oh, he has just made an objeck -of himself,” Janet said.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy went in, feeling as if she were going to her doom. She took -her little packet to the table, and put it down before him. The room was -filled with clouds of smoke; and that bottle, which was so great a trial -to her, stood on the table; but these details had sunk into absolute -insignificance. She had taken the trouble to get the money in English -notes and gold—the latter an unusual sight in the Hewan, where -one-pound notes were the circulating medium. In the tremor of her nerves -and commotion of her feelings she had added twenty pounds which were in -the house, of what she called “her own money,” the money for the -housekeeping, to the sum which she had told him was to be for him. It -was thus a hundred and fifty pounds which she put before him—hastily -laying it down as if it burned her, and yet with a certain reluctance -too.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he said, and threw a look across the table to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a>{322}</span> Robbie; “another -twenty pounds—and more where that came from, mother, eh?”</p> - -<p>“I have no more—not a farthing,” she said, hastily; “this was my money -for my house. I thought I would add it to the other: since you were not -pleased—last night.”</p> - -<p>It was evidently an unfortunate movement on her part. “You will perhaps -find some more still,” he said, with a laugh, “before this night. It’s -not very much for two, and one your only son; but there will be plenty -of time to settle that to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she said, breathlessly, “is not going—he is not going: it is -for you.”</p> - -<p>“Are you not going, Bob?”</p> - -<p>Robert said not a word in reply—he sat with his head supported on his -hands, his elbows on the table: and his countenance was invisible—he -made no movement or indication of what he meant to do.</p> - -<p>“I have no more,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a trembling voice; for she was -afraid of the look, half fierce, half mocking, with which he met her -eyes. “It would perhaps have been better if I had—money in the bank, -and could draw a cheque like most people now; but I have always followed -the old-fashioned way, and all I have is in the hands of——”</p> - -<p>She broke off with a quavering, broken sound—seeing over again the -scene of last night, and the paper with Mr Somerville’s name upon -it,—she remembered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a>{323}</span> now, suddenly, that Mr Somerville’s name was upon -the paper which they had wanted her to sign. What had become of Mr -Somerville that he had not come, as he promised, to speak to Robbie, to -persuade the other one to go away? It was difficult to recall to herself -the fact that it was only two days since she had gone to Edinburgh and -poured her trouble into his sympathetic ears. Perhaps it would have been -better if she had not done this, or opened her heart to any one. Mr -Somerville would never betray them, he would not betray Robbie; but -still it seemed that something had happened between that time and this, -a greater sense of insecurity, the feeling that something was going to -happen. Things had been better before, when that strange life which she -had felt to be insupportable was going on: now it was more than -insupportable, it was almost over, and after——? A great chasm seemed -to have opened at her feet, and she felt herself hurrying towards it, -but could not tell what was below. After? what was to happen after, if -Robbie drifted away again, and she saw his face no more?</p> - -<p>He avoided her all day, while she watched for him at every corner, eager -only to get a word, to ask a question, to put forth a single prayer. The -afternoon was terribly long: it went over, one sunny hour after another, -hot, breathless, terrible. It was clear by all those signs that a -thunderstorm was coming, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a>{324}</span> most appalling roll of thunder would -have been a relief; but even that delayed its coming, and a dead -stillness hung over heaven and earth. There was not a breath of air, the -flowers languished in the borders, the leaves hung their heads, and all -was still indoors. She did not know what the young men were doing, but -they made no sound. Perhaps the weather affected them too—perhaps, -another storm coming, which they had been long looking for, had overcome -their spirits. Perhaps they were making preparations for their -departure. But what preparations could they make, unless it were a -bundle on the end of a stick like the tramps? She said to herself -<i>they</i>, and then with anguish changed it in her mind to <i>he</i>, but did -not believe it even while she did so. No! she had a conviction in her -heart that Robbie would go. What was there to keep him back? Nothing but -dulness and the society of an old woman. What was that to keep a man at -home? She was not angry with him, nor intolerant, but simply miserable. -What was there in her to make a young man happy at home? to keep him -contented without society or any amusement? No, no, she could not blame -Robbie. He wanted movement, he wanted life at his age. He was not even -like a young lad who sometimes has a great feeling for his mother. She -could not expect it of him that he should stay here for his mother. Even -the flight, the excitement of being pursued, the difficulty<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a>{325}</span> of getting -away—Mrs Ogilvy had heard that such things were more attractive than -quietness and safety at home. It was natural—and, what was the chief -thing above all other, Robbie was not so much, not so very much, to -blame.</p> - -<p>She was still wandering about when the day began to wane into evening, -like an unquiet soul. Where were they? what were they doing? The quiet -of the house became dreadful to her. She who had loved her quiet so, who -had felt it so insupportable to have her calm solitude so spoiled and -broken!—but now she would have given much only to hear the scuffle of -their feet, the roar of their loud laughter. She went about the house -from one room to another, avoiding only the bedrooms where she supposed -they were. She would not drive them out of that last refuge. She would -not interfere there, be importunate, disturb them, if, perhaps, it was -the last day.</p> - -<p>And then she went outside and gazed right and left for she knew not -what. She was looking for no one—or was it the storm she was looking -for? Everything was grey, the sky, like some deep solid lid for the -panting breathless world, stealing down upon the earth, closely hiding -the heavens: it seemed to come closer and closer down, as if to smother -the universe and all the terrified creatures on it. The birds flew low, -making little agitated flights, as if they thought the end of the world -was at hand. So did she, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a>{326}</span> whom, as far as she knew, everything was -hastening to a conclusion—her son about to disappear again into the -unknown, if he had not already done so, and her life about to be wound -up for ever. For she knew well there would be no second coming back. Oh! -never, never again would she sit at her door, and listen and hope for -his step on the path. If he left her now, it would be for ever. It might -be that for the sake of the money he would have seen some violence done -to his mother; but no money, if it were ten times as much, would bring -him back again—none! none! not if it were ten times as much. If he went -now, he would never come back; and how could she keep him from going -now?</p> - -<p>About seven o’clock the windows of heaven were opened, and torrents of -rain fell—not the storm for which everybody had been looking, but only -the tail of the storm, which sounded all round the horizon in distant -dull reports, like a battle going on a dozen miles away, and the -tremendous downpour of rain. She said to herself, “In such a night they -can never go,” with a mingled happiness and despair—happiness to put -off the inevitable, to gain perhaps a propitious moment, and supplicate -her son not to go; and despair in the prospect of another twenty-four -hours of misery like this, the dreadful suspense, the terror of she knew -not what. When the first darkening of the twilight began, Mrs Ogilvy -began to think of another night to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a>{327}</span> go through, and Lew’s laughing -threats, and the devil in his eyes. He had said there would be time to -talk of that to-night. Perhaps he would murder her to-night; and all the -country-side would believe it was her son, and curse him, though it -would not be Robbie—not Robbie, who had saved her once, but perhaps -might not again. She asked herself whether it would not be better to go -away somewhere, to save herself and, above all, them, from such a -dreadful temptation. But where could she go, exposing the misery of her -house? and how did she know that something might not happen which would -make her presence a protection to them? She gazed out from the window -through the rain, and it occurred to her that she could always run out -there and hide herself among the trees. They would not think of looking -for her there. She would be safe there, or at least—— This idea gave -her a little comfort. How could he find her in the dark, in the heavy -rain, among her own trees?</p> - -<p>The rain had driven her indoors, and in the parlour where she was, she -heard them overhead. They seemed to be moving about softly, and -sometimes crossed the passage, as if going from one room to another. -They had shared the clothes with which Robbie had liberally provided -himself on his return—and the thought that they were busied only with -so homely an occupation as packing brought back a little comfort to her. -A man does not fash about<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a>{328}</span> his clothes, she thought, who has murder in -his head. She shook off her terror with a heat of shame flaming over -her. Shame to have done injustice to her neighbour, how much more to her -son! They were thinking of no such dreadful things: it was only the -panic of her own imagination which was in fault. She said to herself -that if it must be so, if Robbie left her, she would get from him a sure -address, and there she would send him the money he wanted, or whatever -he wanted—for was it not all his? This was what she would do: she had -nothing to give him now. Perhaps, perhaps he might be deterred by that -and wait till she could get it for him, while his friend went on. What a -thing this would be, to get him alone, to talk to him, to represent to -him how much better to take a little time, to think, to give himself a -chance. She thought over all this, and shook her head while she thought; -for, alas! this was what Robbie would never do.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, it seemed in a moment, the rain stopped, the distant thunder -came to an end, the battle in the skies was over. And after all the -tumult and commotion of the elements, the clouds, which had poured -themselves out, dispersed in rags and fragments of vapour, and let the -sky look through—the most serene evening sky, with the stars faintly -visible through the wistful lingering daylight—the sweetest evening, -with that clearness as of weeping, and radiance as of hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a>{329}</span> returned, -which is in the skies after the relief of the rain, and in a human -countenance sometimes when all its tears have been shed, and there are -no more to come. Was it a good omen, or was it only the resignation of -despair which shone upon her out of that evening sky?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a>{330}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs Ogilvy</span> went wearily up-stairs after the suspense and alarm of this -long, long day. It was all that she could do to drag one foot after -another, to keep upright; her brain was in a confusion of misery, out of -which she now could distinguish no distinct sentiment—terror and grief -and suspense, and the vague wild apprehension of some unintelligible -catastrophe, all mingling together. When she reached the head of the -stairs she met Robbie, who told her, not looking at her, that he had -bidden Janet prepare the supper earlier than usual, “for we’ll have to -make a start to-night,” he said.</p> - -<p>She seized his hand in her frail ones, which could scarcely hold it. -“Robbie, will you go?—will you go, and break my heart?”</p> - -<p>“It’s of no use speaking, mother; let me be free of you at least, for -God’s sake! You will drive me mad—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a>{331}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“Robbie! Robbie! my only son—my only child! I’ll be dead and gone -before ever you could come back.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll live the longest of the two of us, mother.”</p> - -<p>“God forbid!” she said; “God forbid! But why will ye go out into the -jaws of death and the mouth of hell? If the pursuers of blood are after -him, they are not after you. Oh, Robbie, stay with your mother. Dinna -forsake me for a strange man.”</p> - -<p>“Mother,” he said, with a hoarse voice, “when your friend is in deadly -danger, is that the time, think you, to forsake him?”</p> - -<p>And Mrs Ogilvy was silent. She looked at him with a gasp in her throat. -All her old teachings, the tenets of her life, came back upon her and -choked her. When your friend is in deadly danger! Was it not she who had -taught her son that of all the moments of life that was the last to -choose to abandon a friend. She could make him no answer; she only -stared at him with troubled failing eyes.</p> - -<p>“But once he is in safety,” Robbie said, with a stammer of hesitation -and confusion, “once I can feel sure that—— Mother, I promise you, if -I can help it, I will not go—where he is going. I—promise you.” He -cast a look behind him. There was no one there, but Lew’s door was open, -and it was possible he might hear. Robbie bent forward hastily to his -mother’s ear. “I cannot stand against him,” he said; “I cannot: I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a>{332}</span> told -you—he is my master,—didn’t I tell you? But I will come back—I will -come back—as soon as I am free.”</p> - -<p>He trembled, too, throughout his big bulk, with agitation and -excitement—more than she ever did in her weakness. If this was so, was -it not now her business to be strong to support her boy? She went on to -her room to put on her other cap, to prepare for the evening, and the -last meal they were to eat together. The habits of life are so strong; -her heart was breaking, and yet she knew that it was time to put on her -evening cap. She went into her room, too, with the feeling that there no -new agitation could come near her, that she might kneel down a moment by -her bedside, and get a little calm and strength. But not to-night. To -her astonishment and horror, the tall figure of Lew raised itself from -the old-fashioned escritoire in which she kept her papers and did her -writing. He turned round, and faced her with a laugh. “Oh, it is you!” -he said. “I thought it was your good son Bob. You surprised us when we -were making a little examination by ourselves. It is always better to -examine for yourself, don’t you know——”</p> - -<p>“To examine—what?”</p> - -<p>“Where the money is, mother,” he said, with another laugh.</p> - -<p>She had herself closed the door before she had seen him. She was at his -mercy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a>{333}</span></p> - -<p>“You think, then,” she said, “that I’ve told you a lie—about money?”</p> - -<p>“Everybody tells lies about money, mother. I never knew one yet who did -not declare he had none—until it was taken out of his pockets, or out -of his boxes, or out of a nice little piece of furniture like this, -which an old lady can keep in her bedroom—locked.”</p> - -<p>She took her keys out of her pocket, a neat little bunch, shining like -silver, and handed them to him without a word. He received them with a -somewhat startled look. It was something like the sensation of having -the other cheek turned to you, after having struck the first. He had -been examining the lock with a view to opening by other methods. The -keys put into his hand startled him; but again he carried it off with a -laugh. “Plucky old girl!” he said. And then he turned round and -proceeded to open the well-worn old secretary which had enclosed all Mrs -Ogilvy’s little valuables, and the records of her thoughts since she was -a girl. It opened as easily as any door, and gave up its little -treasures, her letters, her little memorials, the records of an innocent -woman’s evanescent joys and lasting sorrows. The rough adventurer, whose -very presence here was a kind of sacrilege, stooped over the little -writing-board, the dainty little drawers, like a bear examining a -beehive. He pulled out a drawer or two, in which there were bundles of -old letters, all neatly tied up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a>{334}</span> touching them as if his hands were too -big for the little ivory knobs; and then he suddenly turned round upon -her, shutting the drawers again hurriedly, and flung the keys into her -lap.</p> - -<p>“Hang it all! I cannot do it. I’ve not come to that. Rob a rogue by day -or night; that’s fair enough: but turn to picking and stealing. No! take -back your keys—you may have millions for me. I can’t look up your -little drawers, d—n you!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“No, laddie!” said Mrs Ogilvy, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, -“you’re fit for better things.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her strangely. She sat quite still beside him, not moving, -not even taking up her keys, which lay in her lap.</p> - -<p>“You think so, do you?” he said. “And yet I would have killed you last -night.”</p> - -<p>“Thank the Lord,” said the old lady, “that delivered you from that -temptation.”</p> - -<p>“That saved your life, you mean. But it wasn’t the Lord. It was Bob, -your son, who couldn’t stand and see it after all.”</p> - -<p>“Thank the Lord still more,” she said, “that wakened the old heart, his -own natural heart, in my boy.”</p> - -<p>“Well that is one view to take of it,” said Lew. “I should have thought -it more sensible, however, to thank the Lord, as you say, for your own -life.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy rose up. The keys of her treasures fell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a>{335}</span> to the ground. What -were they to her at this moment? “And what is my life to me,” she said, -“that I should think of it instead of better things? Do you think it -matters much to me, left here alone an auld wreck on the shore, without -a son, without a companion, without a hope for this world, whether I -live or die? Man!” she cried, laying a hand on his arm, “it’s not that I -would give it for my Robbie, my own son, over and over and over! but I -would give it for you. Oh, dinna think that I am making a false -pretence! For you, laddie, that are none of mine, that would have killed -me last night, that would kill me now for ever so little that I stood in -your way.”</p> - -<p>“No!” he said in a hoarse murmur, “no!”—but she saw still the gleam of -the devil in his eye, that murderous sense of power—that he had but to -put forth a hand.</p> - -<p>“If it would not be for the sin on your soul—you that are taking my son -from me—you might take my life too, and welcome,” she said.</p> - -<p>She could not stand. She was restless, too, and could not bear one -position. She sank upon her chair again, and, lifting up the keys, laid -them down upon the open escritoire, where they lay shining between the -two, neither of use nor consequence to either. Lew began to pace up and -down the room, half abashed at his own weakness, half furious at his -failure. She might have millions—but he could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a>{336}</span> fish them out of her -drawers, not he. That was no man’s work. He could have killed her last -night, and he could, she divined, kill her now, with a sort of -satisfaction, but not rob her escritoire.</p> - -<p>“Mr Lew, will you leave me my son?” she said.</p> - -<p>“No: I have nothing to do with it; he comes of his own will,” cried the -other. “You make yourself a fine idea of your son. Do you know he has -been in with me in everything? Ah! he has his own scruples; he has not -mine. He interfered last night; but he’d turn out your drawers as soon -as look at you. It’s a pity he’s not here to do it.”</p> - -<p>“Will you leave me my son?” she repeated again; “he is all I have in the -world.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got less,” cried Lew; “I haven’t even a son, and don’t want one. -You are a deal better without him. Whatever he might be when he was a -boy, Bob’s a rover now. He never would settle down. He would do you a -great deal more harm than good.”</p> - -<p>“Will you leave me my son?” she said again.</p> - -<p>“No! I can say No as well as you, mother; but I’ve nothing to do with -it. Ask himself, not me. Do you think this is a place for a man? What -can he do? Who would he see? Nobody. It is not living—it is making -believe to live. No; he won’t stay here if he will be guided by me.”</p> - -<p>The door opened suddenly, and Robbie looked in. “Are you going to stay -all night?” he said, gruffly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a>{337}</span> “There’s supper waiting, and no time to -be lost, if——”</p> - -<p>“If—we take that long run we were thinking of to-night. Well, let’s go. -Mrs Ogilvy, you’re going to keep us company to-night.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the last time,” said her son.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie, Robbie!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Stop that, mother. I’ve said all I’m going to say.”</p> - -<p>To sit down round the table with the dishes served as usual, the lamp -shining, the men eating largely, even it seemed with enjoyment, a little -conversation going on—was to go from one dreadful dream to another with -scarcely a pause between. Was it real that they were sitting there -to-day and would be far away to-morrow? That this was her son, whom she -could touch, and to-morrow he would have disappeared again into the -unseen? Love is the most obdurate, the most unreasoning thing in the -world. Mrs Ogilvy knew now very well what her Robbie was. There were few -revelations which could have been made to her on the subject. -Perhaps—oh, horrible thing to think or say!—it was better for her -before he came back, when she had thought that his absence was the great -sorrow of her life: she had learnt many other things since then. Perhaps -in his heart the father of the prodigal learned this lesson too, and -knew that, even with the best robe upon him, and the ring on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a>{338}</span> his finger -and the shoes on his feet, he was still hankering after the husks which -the swine eat, and their company. How much easier would life be, and how -many problems would disappear or be solved, if we could love only those -whom we approved! But how little, how very little difference does this -make. Mrs Ogilvy knew everything, divined everything, and yet the -thought that he was going away made heaven and earth blank to her. She -could not reconcile herself to the dreadful thought. And he, for his -part, said very little. He showed no regret, but neither did he show -that eagerness to take the next step which began to appear in Lew. He -sat very silent, chiefly in the shade, saying nothing. Perhaps after all -he was sorry; but his mother, watching him in her anguish, could not -make sure even of that. Janet was, next to Lew himself, the most -cheerful person in the room. She pulled her mistress’s sleeve, and -showed her two shining pieces of gold in her hand, with a little nod of -her head towards Lew. “And Andrew has one,” she whispered. “I aye said -he was a real gentleman! Three golden sovereigns between us—and what -have we ever done? I’ll just put them by for curiosities. It’s no often -you see the like o’ them here.” The mistress looked at them with a -rueful smile. Gold is not very common in rural Scotland. She had taken -so much trouble to get those golden sovereigns for her departing guest! -but it did not displease<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a>{339}</span> her that he had been generous to her old -servants. There was good in him—oh, there was good in him!—he had been -made for better things.</p> - -<p>Janet had been in this radiant mood when she cleared the table; but a -few minutes after she came in again with a scared face, and beckoned to -her mistress at the door. Mrs Ogilvy hurried out, afraid she knew not of -what, fearing some catastrophe. Andrew stood behind Janet in the hall. -“What is it, what is it?” the mistress cried.</p> - -<p>“Have you siller in the house, mem? is it known that you have siller in -the house?”</p> - -<p>“Me—siller? are you out of your senses? I have no siller in the -house—nothing beyond the ordinary,” Mrs Ogilvy cried.</p> - -<p>“It’s just this,” said Janet, “there’s a heap of waiff characters -creeping up about the house. I canna think it’s just for the spoons and -the tea-service and that, that are aye here; but I thought if you had -been sending for money, and thae burglars had got wit of it——”</p> - -<p>“What kind of waiff characters?” said Mrs Ogilvy, trembling.</p> - -<p>“They are both back and front. Andrew he was going to supper Sandy, and -a man started up at his lug. The doors and the windows are all weel -fastened, but Andrew he said I should let you ken.”</p> - -<p>“The gentlemen,” said Andrew, “will maybe know—they will maybe -know—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a>{340}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“How should the gentlemen know, poor laddies, mair than any one of us?” -cried Janet.</p> - -<p>It was a great thing for Andrew all his life after that the mistress -approved his suggestion. “I will go and tell them,” she said; “and you -two go ben to your kitchen and keep very quiet, but if ye hear anything -more let me know.”</p> - -<p>She went back into the lighted room, trembling, but ready for -everything. The two men were seated at the table. They were not talking -as usual, but sat like men full of thought, saying nothing to each -other. They looked up both—Lew with much attention, Rob with a sort of -sulky indifference. “It appears,” said Mrs Ogilvy, speaking in a broken -voice, “that there are men—all round the house.”</p> - -<p>“Men! all round the house.” There was a moment of consternation, and -then Lew sprang to his feet. “It has come, Bob; the hour has come, -sooner than we thought.”</p> - -<p>Rob rose too, slowly; an oath, which in this terrible moment affected -his mother more than all the rest, came from his lips. “I told you—you -would let them take you by surprise.”</p> - -<p>“Fool again! I don’t deny it,” the other said, with a sort of gaiety. -“Now for your gulley and Eskside, and a run for it. We’ll beat them -yet.”</p> - -<p>“If they’ve not stopped us up like blind moles,” cried Robbie. “Mother, -keep them in parley as long<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a>{341}</span> as you can; every moment’s worth an hour. -You’ll have to open the door, but not till the very last.”</p> - -<p>She answered only with a little movement of her head, and stood looking -without a word, while they caught up without another glance at -her—Robbie the cloak which he had brought with him, and Lew a loose -coat, in which he enveloped himself. Their movements were very quiet, -very still, as of men absorbed in what they were doing, thinking of -nothing else. They hurried out of the room, Robbie first, leading the -way, and his mother’s eyes following him as if they would have burst out -of the sockets. He was far too much preoccupied to think of her, to give -her even a look. And this was their farewell, and she might never see -him more. She stood there motionless, conscious of nothing but that -acute and poignant anguish that she had taken her last look of her son, -when suddenly the air, which was trembling and quivering with excitement -and expectation, like the air that thrills and shimmers over a blazing -furnace, was penetrated by the sound for which the whole world seemed to -have been waiting—a heavy ominous loud knock at the outer door. Mrs -Ogilvy recovered all her faculties in a moment. She went to the open -door of the dining-room, where Andrew and Janet, one on the heels of the -other, were arriving in commotion, Andrew about to stride with a heavy -step to the door. She silenced them, and kept them back<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a>{342}</span> with a movement -of her hands, stamping her impatient foot at Andrew and his unnecessary -haste. She thought it would look like expectation if she responded too -soon—and had they not told her to parley, to gain time? She stood at -the dining-room door and waited till the summons should be repeated. And -after an interval it came again, with a sound of several voices. She put -herself in motion now, coming out into the hall, pretending to call upon -Andrew, as she would have done in former days if so disturbed. “Bless -me!” she cried; “who will that be making such a noise at the door?”</p> - -<p>“Will I open it, mem?” Andrew said.</p> - -<p>“No, no; let me speak to them first. Who is it?” Mrs Ogilvy said, -raising her calm voice; “who is making such a disturbance at my door at -this hour of the night?”</p> - -<p>“Open in the Queen’s name,” cried somebody outside.</p> - -<p>“Ay, that would I willingly,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “but who are ye that are -taking her sacred Majesty’s name? None of her servants, I’m sure, or you -would not disturb an honest family at this hour of the night.”</p> - -<p>“Open to the police, at your peril,” said another voice.</p> - -<p>“The police—in this house? No, no,” she cried, standing white and -trembling, but holding out like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a>{343}</span> lion. “You will not deceive me with -that—in this house.”</p> - -<p>“Open the door, or we’ll break it in. Here, you speak to her!”—“Mem,” -said a new voice, very tremulous but familiar, “it is me, Peter Young, -with the men from Edinburgh. It’s maybe some awfu’ mistake; but you must -let us in—you maun open the door.”</p> - -<p>“You, Peter Young!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, “you are not the man to disturb my -house in the middle of the night. It ill becomes you after all you’ve -got from the Hewan. Just tell these idle folk there is nothing to be -gotten here, and bid them go away.”</p> - -<p>“This is folly,” said a more imperative voice. “Break in the door if she -will not open it. We can’t stand all the night parleying here.”</p> - -<p>Then Mrs Ogilvy heard, her ears preternaturally sharp in the crisis, a -sound as of women’s voices, which gave her a momentary hope. Was it a -trick that was being played upon her after all? for if it was for life -or death why should there be women’s voices there?</p> - -<p>And then another voice arose which was even more reassuring. It was the -minister who spoke. The minister dragged hither against his will, but -beginning to feel piously that it was the hand of providence, and that -he had been directed not by Mrs Ainslie, but by some special messenger -from heaven—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a>{344}</span>if indeed she was not one. “Mrs Ogilvy,” the minister -said, “it must be, as Peter says, some dreadful mistake—but it -certainly is the police from Edinburgh, and you must let them in.”</p> - -<p>“Who is that that is speaking? is it the minister that is speaking? are -ye all in a plot to disturb the rest of a quiet family? No,” with a -sudden exclamation, “ye will not break in my door. I will open it, since -ye force me to open it. I am coming, I am coming.”</p> - -<p>Andrew rushed forward, to pull back with all expedition the bolts and -bars. But his mistress stamped her foot at him once more, and dismissed -him behind backs with a look—from which he did not recover for many a -long day—and coming forward herself, began to draw back with difficulty -and very slowly the innocent bolts and bars. They might have been the -fastenings of a fortress from the manner in which she laboured at them, -with her unaccustomed hands. “And me ready to do it in a moment,” Andrew -said, aggrieved, while she kept asking herself, the words buzzing in her -ears, like flies coming and going, “Have I kept them long enough? have I -given my lads their time? Oh, if they got out that quiet they should be -safe by now.” There was the bolt at the bottom and the top, and there -was the chain, and then the key to turn. The door was driven in upon her -at last by the sudden entrance of a number of impatient<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a>{345}</span> men, a great -gust of fresh air, a ray of moonlight straight from the skies: and Mr -Logan and his companions, Susie pale and crying, and Mrs Ainslie pale -too—but with eyes sparkling and all the keen enjoyment of an exciting -catastrophe in her face.</p> - -<p>“We have a warrant for the arrest of Lew or Lewis Winterman, <i>alias</i>, -&c., &c., accused of murder,” said the leader of the party, “who we have -reason to believe has been for some weeks harboured here.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy disengaged herself from the man whose sudden push inwards had -almost carried her away. She came forward into the midst in her white -cap and shawl, a wonderful centre to all these dark figures. “There is -no such person in my house,” she said.</p> - -<p>And then there came a cry and tumult from behind, and through the door -of the dining-room, which stood wide open, making it a part of the -scene, there suddenly appeared another group of whirling struggling -figures, steadily pushing back before them the two fugitives, who had -crept their way out, only to be met and overpowered, and brought back to -answer as they could for themselves. Then, and only then, Mrs Ogilvy’s -strength failed her. The light for a moment went out of her eyes. All -that she had done had been in vain, in vain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a>{346}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> two men stood with the background of dark figures behind, while the -inspector who was at the head of the party advanced towards them. -Robbie, with his long beard and his cloak over his shoulder, was the one -upon whom all eyes were fixed. One of the policemen held him firm by the -arm. His countenance was dark, his air sullen, like a wild beast taken -in the toils. The other by his side, almost spruce in his loose coat, -his clean-shaven face seeking no shadow, facing the enemy with a -half-smile upon it, easy, careless, fearing no evil—produced an effect -quite contrary to that which the dark and bearded brigand made upon the -officers of the law. Who could doubt that it was he who was the son of -the house, “led away” by the truculent ruffian by his side? There was no -mention of Robbie’s name in the warrant. And the sight of Robbie’s -mother, and her defence of her threshold, had touched the hearts<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a>{347}</span> even -of the police. To take away this ruffian, to leave her her son in peace, -poor old lady, relieving her poor little quiet house of the horror that -had stolen into it—the inspector certainly felt that he would be doing -a good service to his neighbour as well as obeying the orders of the -law.</p> - -<p>“The one with the beard,” he said, looking at a paper which he held in -his hand—“that is him. Secure him, Green. Stand by, men; be on your -guard; he knows what he’s about—— ah!” The inspector breathed more -freely when the handcuffs clicked on Robert Ogilvy’s wrists, who for his -part neither resisted nor answered, but stood looking almost stupidly at -the scene, and then down upon his hands when they were secured. The -other by his side put up a hand to his face, as if overwhelmed by the -catastrophe, and fell a little backward, overcome it seemed with -distress—as Robbie ought to have done, had this and not the ruffian in -the beard been he.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy had been leaning on Susie’s shoulder, incapable of more, her -heart almost ceasing to beat, all her strength gone; but when the words, -“the one with the beard,” reached dully and slowly to her comprehension, -she made but one bound, pushing with both arms every one away from her, -and with a shriek appeared in the midst of the group. “It is my son,” -she cried, “my son, my son! It is Robbie Ogilvy and no one else. It is -my son, my son, my son!” She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a>{348}</span> flung herself upon him, raving as if she -had suddenly gone mad in her misery, and tried to pluck off with her -weak hands the iron bands from his wrists. Her cries rang out, silencing -every other sound. “It is my son, my son, my son!—--”</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, madam; it may be your son, and still it may be the man -we want,” the inspector said.</p> - -<p>And then another shrill woman’s voice burst forth from behind. “You -fools, he’s escaping! Don’t you see?”—the speaker clapped her hands -with a sound that rang over their heads. “Don’t you see! It’s easy to -take off a beard. If you waste another moment, he’ll be gone!”</p> - -<p>He had almost got beyond the last of the men, retreating very softly -backwards, while all the attention was concentrated upon Robbie and his -mother. But he allowed himself to be pushed forward again at the sound -of this voice, as if he had had no such intention. A snarl like that of -a furious dog curled up his lip at the side for a moment; but he did not -change his aspect—the game was not yet lost.</p> - -<p>“There are folk here,” cried Mrs Ogilvy, still plucking at the -handcuffs, while Robbie stood silent, saying nothing—“there are folk -here who have known him from his cradle, that will tell you he’s Robert -Ogilvy: there are my servants—there is the minister, here present God -knows why or wherefore: they know—he’s been absent from his home many a -day; but he’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a>{349}</span> Robert Ogilvy: no the other. If he’s Robert Ogilvy he is -not the other: if he’s my son he’s not that man. And he is my son, my -son, my son! I swear it to you—and the minister. Mr Logan, tell -them——”</p> - -<p>Mr Logan’s mind was much disturbed. He felt that providence itself had -sent him here; but he was slow to make up his mind what to say. He -wanted time to speak and to explain. “I have every reason to think that -is Robert Ogilvy,” he said; “but I never saw him with a beard; and what -he may have been doing all these years——”</p> - -<p>“Mr Inspector,” cried Mrs Ainslie, panting with excitement, close to the -officer’s side. “Listen to me: as it chances, I know the man. There is -no one here but I who knows the man. It shows how little you know if you -think that idiot is Lew. I’m a respectable lady of this place, but I’ve -been in America, and I know the man. I’ve seen him—I’ve seen him tried -for his life and get off; and if you drivel on like that, he’ll get off -again. <i>That</i> Lew!” she cried, with a hysterical laugh,—“Lew the devil, -Lew the road-agent! That man’s like a sheep. Do you hear me, do you hear -me? You’ll let him escape again.”</p> - -<p>Now was the time for Robbie to speak, for his mother to speak, and say, -“That is the man!” But Mrs Ogilvy was absorbed tearing in vain at the -handcuffs, repeating unconsciously her exclamation, “My son, my son!” -And he stood looking down upon her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a>{350}</span> and her vain struggle, and upon his -own imprisoned hands. I doubt whether she knew what was passing, or was -conscious of anything but of one thing—which was Robbie in those -disgraceful bonds. But he in his dull soul, forced into enlightenment by -the catastrophe, was very conscious of everything, and especially that -he was betrayed—that he himself was being left to bear the brunt, and -that his friend in his character was stealing away.</p> - -<p>Janet had been kept back, partly by fright and astonishment, partly by -the police and Andrew, the last of whom had a fast hold upon her gown, -and bade her under his breath to “Keep out o’t—keep out o’t; we can do -nothing:” but this restraint she could no longer bear. Her desire to be -in the midst of everything, to be by her mistress’s side, to have her -share of what was going on, would have been enough for her, even if she -felt, as Andrew did, that she could do no good. But Janet was of no such -opinion. Was she not appealed to, as one whose testimony would put all -right? She pushed her way from among the men, pulling her cotton gown, -which tore audibly, out of Andrew’s hand. “Sir, here am I: let me -speak,” she said. “This is Mr Robert Ogilvy, that I’ve known since ever -he was born. He came home the 15th of June, the same day many weary -years before as he ran away. The other gentleman is Mr Lewis, his -friend, that followed him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a>{351}</span> here about a month ago at the most, a real -fine good-hearted gentleman, too, if maybe he has been a little wild. -Our gentleman is just as he was when he came out of the deserts and -wildernesses. We’re not a family that cares a great deal for -appearances. But Mr Lewis, he’s of another way of thinking, and we’ve -had a great laughing all day at his shaving off of his beard.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I told you!” said Mrs Ainslie, in her excitement pulling -the inspector’s arm. “I told you so! What’s a beard? it is as easy to -take off as a bonnet. And he would have got clean off—look at him, look -at him!—if it hadn’t been for me.”</p> - -<p>“Look after that man, you fellows there,” said the inspector’s deep -voice. “Don’t let him get away. Secure them both.”</p> - -<p>No one had put handcuffs on Lew’s wrists; no policeman had touched him; -he had been free, with all his wits about him, noting everything, alert, -all conscious, self-possessed. Twice he had almost got away: the first -time before Mrs Ainslie had interfered; the second when Janet with her -evidence had come forward, directing all attention once more to -Robbie—during which moment he had made his way backward again in the -most cautious way, endeavouring to get behind the backs of the men and -make a dash for the door. Almost! but what a difference was that! The -policemen, roused and startled,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a>{352}</span> hustled him forward to his “mate’s” -side, but still without laying a hand upon him. All their suspicions and -observation were for the handcuffed criminal standing silent and gloomy -on the other side. Lew maintained his careless attitude well, nodding at -the inspector, with a “Well, well, officer,” as if he yielded easily but -half-contemptuously to punctilio. But when he saw another constable draw -from his pocket another pair of handcuffs, he changed colour; his eyes -lighted up with a wild fire. Mrs Ainslie, who had got beyond her own -control, followed his movements with the closest inspection. She burst -into a laugh as he grew pale. Her nerves were excited far beyond her -control. She cried out, without knowing, without intending, “Ah, Lew! -You have had more than you meant. You’ve found more than you wanted. -Caught! caught at last. And you will not get off this time,” she cried, -with the wild laugh which she was quite unable to quench, or even to -restrain.</p> - -<p>Whether he saw what no doubt was true, that every hope was over, and -that, once conveyed to Edinburgh, no further mistake was possible, and -his fate sealed; or whether he was moved by a swift wave of passion, as -happened to him from time to time—and the exasperation of the woman’s -voice, which worked him to madness—can never be known. He was still -quite free, untouched by any one; but the handcuffs approaching which -would make an end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_353" id="page_353"></a>{353}</span> every independent act. His tall figure, and -clean-shaven, unveiled face seemed suddenly to rise and tower over every -other in the heat and pale glow of passion. “You viper, Liz!” he -thundered out. “Music-hall Liz!” with a fierce laugh, “here’s for -you—the traitor’s pay!” And before any one could breathe or speak, -before a hand could be lifted, there was a sudden flash and report, and -in a moment he had flung himself forward upon the two or three startled -men in front of him, with a rush for the open door, and the pistol still -smoking in his hand. Two steps more, and he would have been out in the -open, in the fresh air that breathed like heaven upon him, among the -dark trees that give hiding and shelter, and make a man, with his wits -about him, a match for any dozen. Two steps more! But rapid as he was, -there were too many of them to make such an escape possible. Before he -had reached that open way, half-a-dozen men were upon him. The struggle -was but for a moment—a wild sudden tumult of stamping feet and loud -voices; then there was again a sudden flash and report and fall. The -whole band seemed to fall together—the men who had grappled with him -being dragged with him to the ground. They gathered themselves up one by -one—everybody who could move: and left the one on the ground who would -never move again.</p> - -<p>He had so far succeeded in his rush that his head<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_354" id="page_354"></a>{354}</span> fell outside the open -door of the Hewan, where his face caught the calm line of the moonlight -streaming in. The strange white radiance enveloped him, separating him -from everything round—from the men who, struggling up to their feet, -suddenly hushed and awe-stricken, stood hastily aside in the shadow, -looking down upon the prisoner who had thus escaped from their hands. He -lay right across the threshold in all his length and strength of -limb,—motionless now, no struggle in him, quenched every resistance and -alarm. It was so instantaneous, that the terrible event—that sudden, -incalculable change of death, which is of all things in the world the -most interesting and tremendous to all lookers-on—became doubly awful, -falling, with a solemn chill and horror which paralysed them, upon the -astonished men around. Dead! Yet a moment since flinging off the -strongest, struggling against half-a-dozen, almost escaping from their -hands. He had escaped now. None of them would willingly have laid a -finger on him. They stood trembling round, who had been grappling him a -minute before, keen for his subjugation. The curious moon, too still and -cold for any ironical meaning, streamed on him from head to foot in the -opening of the doorway, displaying him as if to the regard of men and -angels, with a white blaze upon his upturned face, and here and there a -strong silver line where an edge of his clothing caught the whiteness in -relief. Everything else was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_355" id="page_355"></a>{355}</span> shadow, or in the trembling uncertainty -of the indoor light. The pistol, still with a little smoke from it, -which curled for a moment into the shining light and disappeared, was -still in his hand.</p> - -<p>This was the end of that strange visit to the little tranquil house, -where he had introduced so much disturbance, so strange an overturning -of every habit. He had taken it for his rest and refuge, like a master -in a place where every custom of the tranquil life, and every principle -and sentiment, cried out against him. He had made the son his slave, but -yet had not made the mother his enemy. And yet a more wonderful thing -had happened to Lew. He, whom nobody had loved in his life, save those -whose vile affections can be bought for pay, and who dishonour the -name—and for whom nobody would have wept had he not strayed into this -peaceful abode and all but ruined and destroyed it—had tears shed for -him here. Had he never come to the Hewan—to shed misery and terror -around him, to kill and ruin, to rob and slay, as for some time at least -he had intended—there would have been no lament made for the -adventurer. But kind nature gained him this much in his end, though he -no way deserved it. And the moonlight made him look like a hero slain in -its defence upon the threshold of the outraged house,—the only house in -the world where prayer had ever been said for this abandoned soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_356" id="page_356"></a>{356}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> was only when that extraordinary momentary tragedy was over, and the -hush of silence, overawed and thunder-stricken, had taken the place of -the tumult, that it became apparent to most of the spectators that all -was not over, that there was yet something to be done. “Let some one go -for the nearest doctor,” the inspector said quickly.</p> - -<p>“No need for any doctors here, sir,” said the men in concert.</p> - -<p>“Go at once; you, Young, that know where to find one: and some of you go -with him, to lose no time. There’s a woman shot beside,” said the -officer in his curt tones of command.</p> - -<p>But the woman shot was not Mrs Ainslie, at whom the pistol was levelled. -These three visitors, so strangely mixed up in the <i>mêlée</i> and in the -confusion of events, had been hustled about among the policemen, to the -consternation of the father and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_357" id="page_357"></a>{357}</span> daughter, who could not explain to -themselves at first what was going on, nor what their companion had to -do with it. As the course of the affair advanced, Mr Logan began to -perceive, as has been said, that it was a special providence which had -brought him here; but Susie, troubled and full of anguish, her whole -heart absorbed in Robbie and his mother, and the mysterious trouble -which she did not understand, which was hanging over them, stood alone, -pressed back against the wall, following every movement of her friends, -suffering with them. A sharp cry had come out of her very heart when the -handcuffs—those dreadful signs of shame—were put upon his hands. She -saw nothing, thought of nothing, but these two figures—what was any -other to her?—and all that she understood or divined was that some -dreadful trouble had happened to Robbie, and that she could not help -him. She took no notice of her future step-mother’s strange proceedings, -nor of the extraordinary fact that she had forced herself into the midst -of it—she, a stranger—and was adding her foolish shrill opinion to the -discussion. If Susie thought of Mrs Ainslie at all, it was with a -passing reflection that she loved to be in the midst of everything, -which was far too trifling a thought to occupy Susie in the deep -distress of sympathy in which she was. Her father moved about helplessly -among the men. He thought he had been brought there by a special -providence, but he did not know what to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_358" id="page_358"></a>{358}</span> Mrs Ogilvy had turned upon -him almost fiercely, when he had hesitated in giving his testimony for -Robbie—which was not from any lack of kindness, but solely because he -wanted to say a great deal on the subject. Mrs Ogilvy by this time had -come a little to herself, she had given up the foolish struggle with the -handcuffs; and when Janet’s over-frankness had drawn attention again to -Lew, the mistress withdrew for a moment her own anxious looks from her -son, and turned to the other, of whom she had said nothing, protecting -him instinctively, even in the face of Robbie’s danger. But when she -looked at Lew’s face, she trembled. The horror of last night came over -her once more. Was that murder that was in it, the fire of hell? She had -learned now what it meant when he put his hand to his pocket, and hers, -perhaps, was the only eye that saw that gesture. He was looking at some -one: was it at her, was it at some one behind her? Mrs Ogilvy -instinctively made a step back, whether to escape in her own person, or -to protect that other, she knew not, her eyes fixed on him with a -fascination of terror. She stretched out her arms, with her shawl -covering them like wings, facing him always, stretching forth what was -like a white shield between him in his fury and all the unarmed -defenceless people. She seemed to feel nothing but the sharp sound of -the report, which rang through and through her. She did not know why she -fell. There came a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_359" id="page_359"></a>{359}</span> shriek from the woman behind her, at whom that -bullet was aimed; but the real victim fell softly without a cry, with a -murmur of bewilderment, and the sharp sound still ringing, ringing in -her ears. The man seemed to spring over her where she lay; but she knew -no more of what had happened, except that soft arms came suddenly round -her, and her head was raised on some one’s breast, and Susie’s voice -began to sound over her, calling her name, asking where was she hurt. -She did not know she was hurt. It all seemed to become natural again -with the sound of Susie’s voice. She did not lose consciousness, though -she fell, and though it was evident now that the white shawl was all -dabbled with red. It was hard to tell what it all meant, but yet there -seemed some apology wanted. “He did not mean it,” she said; “he did not -mean it. There is—good in him.” She laid her head back on Susie’s bosom -with a soft look of content. “It is maybe—not so bad as you think,” she -said.</p> - -<p>The shot was in the shoulder, and the wound bled a great deal. No -ambulance classes nor amateur doctoring had reached so far as Eskholm; -but Susie by the light of nature did all that was possible to stop the -bleeding until the doctor came. She sent Janet off for cushions and -pillows, to make so far as she could an impromptu bed, that the sufferer -might rest more easily. Most of the police party had been ordered -outside, though two of them still stood, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_360" id="page_360"></a>{360}</span> living screen, between the -group round the wounded woman and that figure lying in the doorway, -which was not to be disturbed till the doctor came, some one having -found or fancied a faint flutter in the heart. Mrs Ainslie, to do her -justice, had been totally overwhelmed for the moment. She had flung -herself down on her knees by Mrs Ogilvy’s side, weeping violently, her -face hidden in her hands. She was of no help in the dreadful strait; but -at least she was in a condition of excitement and shattered nerves from -which no help could be expected. Mr Logan had not taken any notice of -her, though he was not yet aroused to any questions as to her behaviour -and position here. He was moving about with soft suppressed steps from -one side to another, in an agony of desire to do his duty, and -consciousness of having been brought by a special providence. But the -minister was appalled by the dead face in the moonlight, the great -figure fallen like a tower. When it was said there was still life in -him, he knelt down heroically by Lew’s side, and tried to whisper into -his ear an entreaty that still at the eleventh hour he should prepare to -meet his God. And then he came round and looked over his daughter’s head -at Mrs Ogilvy. Ought he to recall to her mind the things that concerned -her peace as long as she was able to hear? But the words died on the -minister’s lips. He was a good man, though he was not quick to -understand, or able to divine. His lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_361" id="page_361"></a>{361}</span> moved with the conventional -phrases which belonged to his profession, which it was his duty to say; -but he could not utter any of them. He felt with a curious stupefied -sense of reality that most likely after all God was here, and knew more -perfectly all about it than he.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, the chief person in this scene lay quite still, not suffering -as appeared, very quiet and tranquil in her mind, Susie’s arm supporting -her, and her head on Susie’s breast. The bleeding had almost stopped, -partly because of the complete peace, partly from Susie’s expedients. -Mrs Ogilvy, no doubt, thought she was dying; but it did not disturb her. -The loss of blood had reduced her to that state of weakness in which -there is no struggle. Impressions passed lightly over her brain in its -confusion. Sometimes she asked a question, and then forgot what it was, -and the answer to it together. She was aware of a coming and going in -the place, a sense of movement, the strange voices and steps of the men -about; but they were all part of the turmoil, and she paid no attention -to them. Only she roused a little when Robbie stood near: he looked so -large, when one looked up at him lying stretched out on the floor. He -was talking to some one gravely, standing up, a free man, talking and -moving like the master of the house. She smiled and held out a feeble -hand to him, and he came immediately and knelt down by her side. “He did -not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_362" id="page_362"></a>{362}</span> mean it,” she said. And then, “It is maybe not so bad as you -think.” These were the little phrases which she had got by heart.</p> - -<p>He patted her on the sound shoulder with a large trembling hand, and -bade her be quiet, very quiet, till the doctor came.</p> - -<p>“You have not left me, Robbie?”</p> - -<p>“No, mother.” His voice trembled very much, and he stooped and kissed -her. “Never, never any more!”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him, lying there contented, with her head on Susie’s -breast—joyful, but not surprised by this news, for nothing could -surprise her now—and then she motioned to him to come closer, and -whispered, “Has he got away?”</p> - -<p>The appearance of the doctor, notwithstanding his pause and exclamation -of horror at the door, was an unspeakable relief. That cry conveyed no -information to the patient within, who did not seem even to require an -answer to her question. There was no question any longer of any -fluttering of Lew’s heart. The slight shake of the doctor’s head, the -look on his face, his rapid, low-spoken directions for the removal of -the dead man, renewed the dreadful commotion of the night for a moment. -And then he had Mrs Ogilvy removed on the mattress which his skilled -hands helped to place her on, into her own parlour, where he examined -her wound. She was still quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_363" id="page_363"></a>{363}</span> conscious, and told him over again her -old phrases. “He did not mean it,”—and “Maybe it will not be so ill as -you think,”—with a smile which wavered between consciousness and -unconsciousness. Her troubled brain had got those words as it were by -heart. She said them many times over during the course of the long and -feverish night, during which she saw many visions, glimpses of her son -bending over her, smoothing her pillow, touching her with ignorant -tender hands, glimpses of Susie sitting beside her, coming and going. -They were all dreams, she knew—but sometimes dreams are sweet. She was -ill somehow—but oh, how immeasurably content!</p> - -<p>This catastrophe made Robert Ogilvy a man—at least it gave him the -courage and sense which since his arrival at home he seemed to have -lost. He gave the police inspector an account of the man who was dead, -who could no longer be extradited or tried, in Scotland or elsewhere. He -did not conceal that he himself had been more or else connected with the -troop which Lew had led. The inspector nodded. “We know all about that,” -he said; “we know you didn’t count,” which pricked Robbie all the more, -half with the sense of injured pride, to prove that now at least he did -count. His story filled up all that the authorities had wanted to know. -What Lew’s antecedents were, what his history had been, mattered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_364" id="page_364"></a>{364}</span> -nothing in this country. They mattered very little even in that from -which he came; and where already his adventures had dropped into the -legends of the road which we still hear from America with wonder, as if -the days of Turpin were not over. No one doubted Robert Ogilvy’s word. -He felt for the first time, on this night, when for a brief and terrible -moment he had worn handcuffs, and borne the brand of shame—and when he -had felt that he was about to be left to stand in another man’s name for -his life—that he was now a known person, the master, at least in a -secondary sense, of a house which “counted,” though it was not a great -house: and that he had, what he had never been conscious before of -having, a local habitation and a name. Robbie was very much overpowered -by this discovery, as well as by the other incidents of the night. He -was not perhaps deeply moved by grief for his friend. The man had not -been his friend; he had been his master, capable of fascinating and -holding him, with an influence which he could not resist. But whenever -he was removed from that influence, his mind and spirit had rebelled -against it. Now it seemed impossible, too wonderful to believe, that he -was free, that Lew’s voice would never call him back, nor Lew’s will -rule him again. But neither was he glad. Lew had led him very far in -these few days—almost to the robbing, almost to the killing, of his -mother—his mother, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_365" id="page_365"></a>{365}</span> had fought for them both like a lion, who had -done everything and dared everything for their sakes. But the slave, the -bondsman, though he felt the thrill of his freedom in his veins, did not -rejoice in the death of his taskmaster. It was too recent, too terrible, -too tragical for that. The sight of that familiar face lying in the -moonlight was always before him—he could not get it out of his eyes. He -did not attempt to go to bed, but walked up and down, sometimes going -into the drawing-room where his mother lay, with a wonderful tenderness -towards her, altogether new to his consciousness, and understanding of -the part she had played. He had never thought of this before. It had -seemed to him merely the course of nature, what was to be expected, the -sort of thing women did, and were glad and proud to be permitted to do. -To have a son to do everything for was her delight. Why should not the -son take it as such?—she was pleasing herself. That was what he had -always thought,—he awakened to a different sense, another appreciation, -not perhaps very vivid, but yet genuine. She had almost been killed for -her love—surely there was something in it after all, more than the -course of nature. He was very sorry for her, to see her lying there with -little spots of blood upon her white night-dress, and the shawl all -covered with blood laid aside in the corner. Poor mother! She was old -and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_366" id="page_366"></a>{366}</span> was weak, and most likely she would die of it. And it was Lew’s -doing, and all for his own sake.</p> - -<p>The house had once more become still. The crowd of people who had so -suddenly taken possession of it had surged away. No one knew how it was -that Mr Logan and his daughter and the lady who was going to be his wife -had appeared in that strange scene, and no one noted how at least the -last-named person disappeared. One moment she was kneeling on the floor, -in wild fits of convulsive weeping, her hat pushed back from her head, -her light hair hanging loose, wholly lost in trouble and distress: the -next she was gone. She had indeed stolen away in the commotion caused by -the arrival of the doctor, when Mrs Ogilvy was taken away, and that -tragic obstruction removed from the doorway. It is to be supposed that -she had come to herself by that time. She managed to steal out unseen, -though with a shudder crossing the threshold where Lew had lain. It was -she doubly, both in her betrayal of him, and in her exasperation of him, -who was the cause of all; but probably she did not realise that. She -found her way somehow through the moonlight and the black shadows, along -the road all slippery with the recent rain, to her own house, and there -spent the night as best she might, packing up many things which she -prized, clothes and trinkets, and the <i>bibelots</i>, which in their fashion -and hers, she loved like her betters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_367" id="page_367"></a>{367}</span> And early in the morning, by the -first train, she went away—to Edinburgh, in the first place, and -Eskholm saw her no more.</p> - -<p>When the doctor’s ministrations were over, for which Mr Logan waited to -hear the result, the minister went into all the rooms looking for her. -He had thought she was helping Susie at first; then, that she had -retired somewhere in the excess of her feelings, which were more -exquisite and delicate than those of common folk. He had in the -excitement of the time never thought of as yet, or even begun to wonder -at, the position she had assumed here, and the part she had taken. He -knew that if his Elizabeth had a fault, it was that she liked to be -always in the front, taking a foremost place in everything. He waited as -long as he could, looking about everywhere; and then, when he was quite -sure she was not to be found, and saw the doctor starting on his walk -home, took his hat and went also. “You think it will not be fatal, -doctor?”</p> - -<p>“It may not be—I cannot answer for anything. She’s very quiet, which is -much in her favour. But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, did I -find a dead man, whom I never saw in life, lying across the doorsteps of -the Hewan, and a quiet old lady like Mrs Ogilvy struck almost to death -with a pistol-shot?”</p> - -<p>“It is a wonder indeed,” said the minister. “I, if<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_368" id="page_368"></a>{368}</span> ye will believe me, -was led there, I cannot tell ye how, with the idea of a common call—and -found the police all about the house. It is just the most extraordinary -special providence,” said Mr Logan with solemnity, “that I ever -encountered in the course of my life.” He began by this time to feel -that he had been of great use. But he was a little troubled, poor man, -by the thought of his Elizabeth running home by herself, as she must -have done in the night. He passed her house on his way to the manse, and -was relieved to find that there was a light in her bedroom window; but -though he knocked and knocked again, and even went so far as to throw up -gravel at the window, he could obtain no response. He went home full of -thought. There began to rise into his mind recollections of things which -he was not conscious of having noticed at the time—of the energy with -which she had rushed to the front (but that was her way, he reflected, -with a faint smile) and insisted with the inspector: and then some one -had called her Liz—Liz!—who was it that had called her Liz?</p> - -<p>Mr Logan’s thoughts grew, through a night that was not very comfortable -to him more than to the other persons involved. The absence of Susie -made things worse. He would not have spoken to Susie on such a delicate -subject, especially as she was already hostile; but still, if Susie had -been there—in her absence there was an usual tumult in the house, and -he had no one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_369" id="page_369"></a>{369}</span> to save him from it. And his mind was sorely troubled. -She had taken a part last night that would not have been becoming in a -minister’s wife. He would speak to her about it: and was it—could it -be—surely it was that robber villain, the suicide, the murderer, who -had called her Liz? It added to all his troubles, that when he had -finally made up his mind to go to her—she not coming to him, as was her -habit in the morning—he found her gone. Away to Edinburgh with the -first train, leaving her boxes packed, and a message that they would be -sent for, her bewildered maid said. Mr Logan returned home, a sorely -disturbed man. But he never saw more the woman who had so nearly been -his wife. There was truth in the story she told her daughter and -son-in-law in Edinburgh, that the scene she had witnessed had completely -shattered her nerves, and that she did not think she could ever face the -associations of that dreadful place again. She did not cheat anybody or -rob anybody, but left her little affairs at Eskholm in Tom Blair’s -hands, who paid everything scrupulously. I don’t know that he ever was -repaid; but he saw very little of his mother-in-law after this -extraordinary overturn of her fate.</p> - -<p>Mrs Ogilvy’s wound took a long time to heal, but it did heal in the end. -She was very weak, but had for a long time that wonderful exemption from -care which is usually the privilege of the dying, though she did not -die. Perhaps there was no time of her life when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_370" id="page_370"></a>{370}</span> she was happier than -during these weeks of illness. Susie was by her bedside night and day. -Robbie came in continually, a large shadow standing over her, staying -but a moment at first, then longer, sitting by her, talking to her, -answering her questions. I do not know that there was soon or -fundamentally a great moral improvement in Robbie; but he had been -startled into anxiety and kindness, and a little went a long way with -those two women, who loved him. For there was little doubt in any mind, -except perhaps in his own, that Susie loved him too, with something of -the same tolerant, all-explaining, all-pardoning love which was in his -mother’s heart. She had done so all her life, waiting for him all those -years, through which he never thought of her: that did not matter to -Susie,—nobody had ever touched her faithful simple heart but he. She -would not perhaps have been an unhappy woman had he never come back: she -would have gone on looking for him with a vague and visionary hope, -which would have lent a grace to her gentle being, maiden-mother as she -had been born. And even this wild episode, which she never quite -understood, which she never desired to understand, made no difference to -Susie. She forgave it all to the man who was dead, and shed tears over -the horror of his fate; but she put easily all the blame upon him. -Robbie had been faithful to the death for him, would have gone away -instead of him to save him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_371" id="page_371"></a>{371}</span> It covered Lew with a shining mantle of -charity that he called forth so much that was noble in his friend.</p> - -<p>The minister, who was shamed to the heart, and wounded in his <i>amour -propre</i> beyond expression by the desertion of Mrs Ainslie, and by the -conviction, slowly forced upon him, that she had deceived him, and was -no exquisite English lady of high pretensions but an adventuress—felt -that the only amends he could make to himself and the world was to carry -out his intention of marrying, and that as quickly as possible. -Providence, as he piously said, directed his eyes to one of those kind -old maids who fill up the crevices of the world, and who are often so -humbly ready to take that position of nurse-housekeeper-wife, in which -perhaps they can be of more use to their generation than in their -solitude, and which satisfies, I suppose, the wish to belong to -somebody, and be the first in some life, as well as the mother-yearning -in their hearts. Such a blessed solution of the difficulty enchanted the -parish, and satisfied the boys and the little girls, who had now -unlimited petting to look forward to—and set Susie free. She married -Robert Ogilvy soon after his mother’s recovery. Fortunately Mrs Ogilvy -was never conscious of the details of the tragedy, and did not know ever -what had lain there in the moonlight across her threshold. I doubt if -she could have come and gone cheerfully as she did over that door-stone -had she ever known. And the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_372" id="page_372"></a>{372}</span> ones full of their own life -forgot—and the family of three continued in the Hewan in love and -content. Robbie never became a model man. He never did anything, -notwithstanding the fulness of his life and strength. He had no impulse -to work—rather the reverse: his impulses were all in the way of -idleness; he lounged about and occupied himself with trifles, and -gardened a little, and carpentered a little, and was never weary. It -fretted the two women often, sometimes the length of despair, especially -Susie, who would burst out into regrets of all his talents lost, and the -great things he might have done. But Mrs Ogilvy did not echo those -regrets: she was well enough aware what Robbie’s talents were, and the -great things which he would never have done. She represented to her -daughter-in-law that if he had been weary of the quiet, if he had grown -moody, tired of his idleness, tired of his life, as some men do, there -would then have been occasion to complain. “But he is just very happy, -God bless him!” his mother said. “And you and me, Susie, we are two -happy women; and the Lord be thanked for all He has done for us, and no -suffered me to go down famished and fasting to the grave.”</p> - -<p class="c"><small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS</small>.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb"> -Catalogue<br /><br /> -of<br /><br /> -<big>M</big>essrs <big>B</big>lackwood <big>&</big> <big>S</big>ons’<br /><br /> -Publications<br /> -</p> - -<p class="c">PHILOSOPHICAL CLASSICS FOR ENGLISH READERS.</p> - -<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Edited by WILLIAM KNIGHT, LL.D.</span>,</p> - -<p class="c">Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of St Andrews.</p> - -<p class="c">In crown 8vo Volumes, with Portraits, price 3s. 6d.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Contents of the Series.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Descartes</span>, by Professor Mahaffy, Dublin.—<span class="smcap">Butler</span>, by Rev. 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