ht at first that she had
heard him, but he soon found that he was mistaken. Still, the fear of
discovery held him there on all fours, like a chained animal. A dull red
gleam, faint and dull, from the embers of the fire, was the sole light
in the room. Everything so common to his eyes in the daylight seemed
now strange and eerie in the dying coals, and at what was to the boy the
unearthly hour of the night.

He felt that he ought not to listen to grannie, but terror made him
unable to move.

'Och hone! och hone!' said grannie from the bed. 'I've a sair, sair
hert. I've a sair hert i' my breist, O Lord! thoo knowest. My ain
Anerew! To think o' my bairnie that I cairriet i' my ain body, that
sookit my breists, and leuch i' my face--to think o' 'im bein' a
reprobate! O Lord! cudna he be eleckit yet? Is there nae turnin' o' thy
decrees? Na, na; that wadna do at a'. But while there's life there's
houp. But wha kens whether he be alive or no? Naebody can tell. Glaidly
wad I luik upon 's deid face gin I cud believe that his sowl wasna amang
the lost. But eh! the torments o' that place! and the reik that gangs up
for ever an' ever, smorin' (smothering) the stars! And my Anerew doon i'
the hert o' 't cryin'! And me no able to win till him! O Lord! I canna
say thy will be done. But dinna lay 't to my chairge; for gin ye was a
mither yersel' ye wadna pit him there. O Lord! I'm verra ill-fashioned.
I beg yer pardon. I'm near oot o' my min'. Forgie me, O Lord! for I
hardly ken what I'm sayin'. He was my ain babe, my ain Anerew, and ye
gae him to me yersel'. And noo he's for the finger o' scorn to pint at;
an ootcast an' a wan'erer frae his ain country, an' daurna come
within sicht o' 't for them 'at wad tak' the law o' 'm. An' it's a'
drink--drink an' ill company! He wad hae dune weel eneuch gin they
wad only hae latten him be. What for maun men be aye drink-drinkin' at
something or ither? I never want it. Eh! gin I war as young as whan he
was born, I wad be up an' awa' this verra nicht to luik for him. But
it's no use me tryin' 't. O God! ance mair I pray thee to turn him frae
the error o' 's ways afore he goes hence an' isna more. And O dinna lat
Robert gang efter him, as he's like eneuch to do. Gie me grace to haud
him ticht, that he may be to the praise o' thy glory for ever an' ever.
Amen.'

Whether it was that the weary woman here fell asleep, or that she
was too exhausted for further speech, Robert heard no more, though he