Who was Lost and is Found

e 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 l

e 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{65} behind her. It was growing dark; or rather it was growing dim, everything still visible, but vaguely

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

s 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 si

r chair. At such moments what can be done but t

hundred ways besides, like himself, like herself, when the mother and the{67} 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

have sworn you would not forget me

d went out upon the air. She lifted her trembling hands to him. “Oh Robbie, Robbie! are yo

f bitterness in his voice; “but take

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

e 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 i

head. 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

drearily, “I have not had bite nor sup for twelve hours, nothi

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 pl

ibe, as Janet flung up her arms with a great cry. It was true:{70} the woman did recognise him without a moment’s hesitation, while his

o 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,

uickly 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{71} with the rest!” Then she took out the two decanters of wine, the port and the sherry, which nobo

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 stil

ould be long before you got out of the way of it. How can I tell that there might not be somebody watching outside

dow{72} as he followed her out of the room.

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 Andre

whatever you like, my—my dear,”

reasures 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

nd 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,” sh

o get provisions for to-morrow. It will be too late to-night, and who will open to him, or wh

owe 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{75} their necks the morn. I mau

my flowers, with your hens

ously: and her mistress had not

t all’s ready, I must go

his night to say thae words again! a

ilvy 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 angu

be wearied with this long day—and the excitemen

said: “a man that knows what excitem

e, “it would be something out of the common. And you will have

wrinkle of anger in his forehead. “I’ll tell you all that another tim

little reluctance: his bonnie name! which had cost her so keen a pang to think o

here a little quiet with my pipe? f

to the smoke. “Bothering me!” she{77} cried: “is it likely t

emark her countenance strained with a wistful attemp

is head, “there is not much more

Robbie,” she cried, forcing herself to u

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 poc

l go ben to the parlour. I will leave you

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 l

not cut myself in little bits to please you? would I not

ou want me to be comfortable,” he said. “I can’t bear a windo

ing, 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

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 coun

ild beasts, the Lord preserve us! but tramps, that’s worse. But Andrew’s

d the mistress in her decided tones, “for what my so

e weel aware o’ that,” Ja