Who was Lost and is Found

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

rs Ogilvy said i

sed, and long passed. He will be coming in th

y bed just yet,” the

ve just had no meat and no sleep and no

er if I was?” she answe

tell what may be wanted of you

than anybody would expect; you are a lesson to me, that have had plenty reason to know better. B

, in the dead of the night

y, 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 the

f 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 t

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

self 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 the

ky 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

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 show

my dear, to keep away from the old h

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

then, would be repeated again; once more she would have to watch th

ood. 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

ing and the morni

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

h, 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{137} 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 just

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 sh

d almost said the man

was anxious about. There are places where—communications a

with Edinburgh?”

othing has been heard of him. So long as nothing is heard of h

or what would

ll? If you kn

ever know the man,” s

ou would know it’s the place that is least

this—a small bit house deep in the bosom of the c

s 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 a

upon the house, with its open windows, he cast a doubtful suspicious

with you, were he good or bad, that I would close my doors

ame. He’s done me more harm than I can ever get the better of. I’ve seen him do things that would curdle your bloo

oice. “I could not stand up, you will think, to any strange man; but the shedder of blood

ed, “when I that know tell you that I could not refuse

litter of spirit in her eyes. “I can face him, thou

he 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, bu

she said, quiver

looking up with sudde

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 itse

o 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 wil

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{143} there ever was in his disorderly wretched life; but he could not disentangle it, even to

ach 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,