Deacon gravely--"no doubt. But it wath scarcely
that I wath thinking of. Yah!" he grinned, "thith would have been a
thlap in the face till him!"

Wylie looked at him for a while with a white scunner in his face. He
wore the musing and disgusted look of a man whose wounded mind retires
within itself to brood over a sight of unnatural cruelty. The Deacon
grew uncomfortable beneath his sideward, estimating eye.

"Deacon Allardyce, your heart's black-rotten," he said at last.

The Deacon blinked and was silent. Tam had summed him up. There was no
appeal.

* * * * *

"John dear," said his mother that evening, "we'll take the big sofa into
our bedroom, and make up a grand bed for ye, and then we'll be company
to one another. Eh, dear?" she pleaded. "Winna that be a fine way? When
you have Janet and me beside you, you winna be feared o' ainything
coming near you. You should gang to bed early, dear. A sleep would
restore your mind."

"I don't mean to go to bed," he said slowly. He spoke staringly, with
the same fixity in his voice and gaze. There was neither rise nor fall
in his voice, only a dull level of intensity.

"You don't mean to go to bed, John! What for, dear? Man, a sleep would
calm your mind for ye."

"Na-a-a!" he smiled, and shook his head like a cunning madman who had
detected her trying to get round him. "Na-a-a! No sleep for me--no sleep
for me! I'm feared I would see the red een," he whispered, "the red een,
coming at me out o' the darkness, the darkness"--he nodded, staring at
her and breathing the word--"the darkness, the darkness! The darkness is
the warst, mother," he added, in his natural voice, leaning forward as
if he explained some simple, curious thing of every day. "The darkness
is the warst, you know. I've seen them in the broad licht; but in the
lobby," he whispered hoarsely--"in the lobby when it was dark--in the
lobby they were terrible. Just twa een, and they aye keep thegither,
though they're aye moving. That's why I canna pin them. And it's because
I ken they're aye watching me, watching me, watching me that I get so
feared. They're red," he nodded and whispered--"they're red--they're
red." His mouth gaped in horror, and he stared as if he saw them now.

He had boasted long ago of being able to see things inside his head; in
his drunken hysteria he was to see them always. The vision he beheld
against the darkness of his mind projected itself and glared at