My lamp was burning low. Rain was pattering on the darkened window-panes, and the soughing wind at irregular intervals drove clouds of smoke down my chimney. Shadows from the lime-tree danced on the whitewashed walls, taking to themselves grotesque fantastic shapes; and Nathan--gaunt, wispy-bearded, spectral Nathan--puffed, and sighed, and spat in the semi-darkness. From the kitchen downstairs came to me at times sounds of a conversation carried on in a dull monotone, and interspersed with half-suppressed distressing sobs. A queer, creepy sensation began to take hold of me. I drew my blankets tighter round me and settled my pillow a little higher. CHAPTER VII. Nathan noted my movements. 'Can I help ye, Maister Weelum, or is there ocht I can do to mak' ye comfortable? Betty'll no' be lang till she's wi' ye. She's busy the noo, an' she sent me up to keep ye cheery till her wark was dune.' I looked at him and saw he was quite serious, so I concluded that, decent, well-meaning man though he was, he was no humorist. 'Ay, Nathan,' I said, after I had thought over the situation, 'I have no doubt your intentions are all right. Invalids ought to be kept cheery, as you call it; but'---- 'Ye admit, then, that ye _are_ an invalid, Maister Weelum?' 'Well, Nathan, I'm afraid I must admit that.' 'Ay, man--imphm! so far, so guid. Ye ken, sir, there _are_ some fouk that'll no' gi'e in when ocht ails them. There was Cairneyheid, for instance. Did ye ken him? No--imphm! it doesna maitter. Weel, Cairnie, as we ca'd him for short, had farmed on the Alton rig a' his days. The rig lies high, an there's aye plenty o' guid fresh air up yonder, and Cairnie never in his life had had even a sair heid. But, dod, sir, ae day, after his denner, he quately slippit to the flaer, an' couldna get up again. Weel, he sat there till aboot hauf six withoot sayin' a single damn, an' if ye kenned Cairnie an' his weys ye could understaun that that gied his women-fouk a glauff. Weel, suddenly he lookit up an' asked for a gless o' whisky, an' they thocht frae that that he was better. He did kind o' revive after his dram, an' wi' nae sma' trauchle they got him to his bed. Next mornin' he was dreich o' risin', an' when he got to his breakfast he couldna eat, an' still he didna sweer, so they sent awa' doon for the doctor. Weel, whenever the doctor cam' an' saw him he ordered him at aince to be put in his bed. "Bed!" said Cairnie. "Bed in the guid daylicht! I think I see mysel'! I never in a' my life gaed to my bed except at nicht an' to sleep, an' I'm no' gaun the noo;" an' he got up oot o' his chair in spite o' them. "I'm awa' up to the high field to see hoo they're gettin' on wi' the turnip-shawin'," he said; an' withoot dug or stick he oot o' the hoose. Hooever he got the length o' the field guidness only kens, but there he got. "Hurry on, men," he said; "dinna be feart to bend your backs in guid shawin' weather like this.