minutes and better, but I didna dare come in,
thinking surely there was somebody talking with you. Is there no somebody
here then? No?"

It was Mrs. Callender, who was carrying a small glad-stone bag.

"Oh, it's you, is it?"

"Aye, it's myself, and sorry I am to be bringing bad news to you."

"What is it?" he asked, but his tone betrayed complete indifference.

She closed the door and answered in a whisper: "A warrant! I much
misdoubt but there's one made out for you."

"Is that all?"

"Bless me, what does the man want? But come, laddie, come; you must tak'
yoursel' off to some spot till the storm blows over."

"I have work to do, auntie."

"Work! You've worked too much already--that's half the botherment."

"God's work, auntie, and it must be done."

"Then God will do it himself, without asking the life of a good man, or
he's no just what I've been takin' him for. But see," opening the bag and
whispering again, "your auld coat and hat! I found them in your puir auld
room that you'll no come back to. You've been looking like another body
so long that naebody will ken you when you're like yoursel' again. Come,
now, off with these lang, ugly things----"

"I can not go, auntie."

"Can not?"

"I will not. While God commands me I will do my duty."

"Eh, but men are kittle cattle! I've often called you my ain son, but if
I were your ain mother I ken fine what I'd do with you--I'd just slap you
and mak' you. I'll leave the clothes, anyway. Maybe you'll be thinking
better of it when I'm gone. Good-night to you. Your puir head's that hot
and moidered---But what's wrang with you, John, man? What's come over ye
anyway?"

He seemed to be hardly conscious of her presence, and after standing a
moment at the door, looking back at him with eyes of love and pity, she
left the room.

He had been asking himself for the first time how he was to carry out his
design. Sitting on the end of the bed with his head propped on his hand
he felt as if he were in the hold of a great ship, listening to the plash
and roar of the stormy sea outside. The excitement of the populace was
now ungovernable and the air was filled with groans and cries. He would
have to pass through the people, and they would see him and detain him,
or perhaps follow him. His impatience was now feverish. The thing he had
to do must be done to-night, it must be done immediately. But it was
necessary in the first place to creep out unseen. How was he to do