"Losh," said Jean, starting from her seat, "what a fricht ye gi’ed me. I thocht I was a’ by my lane, and I was thinkin’ o’ the auld days when first I cam’ to Daldowie as its mistress. Happy days they were, and when the bairns cam’--happier still! Ah me!" She lapsed into silence again, and when next she moved she turned to the clock. "Dear, dear," she said, reading its signal through the gathering darkness; "it’s half-ane on the nock and he’s no’ back yet. I’m thinkin’ he maun ha’e ta’en shelter in some hidie-hole himsel’, fearfu’ lest he should lose his way in the nicht. Gang awa’ up to the laft and lay ye doon: your e’en are heavy wi’ sleep. I’ll be a’ richt here by my lane. And mind ye this, if, when Andra comes back in the mornin’, he has no’ a guid excuse for ha’ein kept me up waitin’ for him, I’ll gi’e him the rough edge o’ my tongue. Mark my words, I will that!" At the risk of offending her, I refused to obey her. "No," I said, "that would not be seemly. I’ll keep watch with you. While you sleep I shall keep awake, and when I sleep you shall keep vigil." "Weel," she said, "you sleep first. I’ll waken ye when I feel like gaun to sleep mysel’." I closed my eyes, and though I fought against sleep, the drowsy warmth overcame me. When I woke, I felt stiff and cold. The grey light was already beginning to filter in through the windows and beneath the door. The cock was welcoming the sunrise. I looked at the clock. It was half-past four, and Jean was sitting with her elbows upon her knees and her face buried in her hands. She raised her head and looked at me. "Why did you not wake me?" I asked. "I couldna ha’e slept in ony case," she answered shortly. "Listen! Is that him comin’?" Together we listened, but no sound broke the stillness, till once again the cock crew shrilly. I went to the door and threw it open. The morning air smote on my face, and the long draughts which I breathed woke my half slumbering brain. Jean came and stood beside me, and together we looked towards the moor; but there was no sign of Andrew. "The morning has come now," I said, "and if he had to take shelter for the night, he will soon be afoot again and ere long we shall be welcoming him home." "I hope sae," she said. "Meantime, I had better get the parritch ready. When he does come hame he’ll be gey near famished, and we’ll be nane the waur o’ something to eat oorsel’s." We turned to the door again, and as we did so I heard footsteps, and, looking in, saw Mary. Her face was grey with weariness, and dark rings encircled her beautiful eyes. Her quick wit read our faces and ere I could speak she exclaimed, her voice trembling: "Is he no’ back yet? Whatever can ha’e happened to him? I maun go and find him," and hastening to the door she gazed eagerly out. "No," said her mother, "he’s no’ back yet; but I’m thinkin’ he canna be lang noo." "Are ye sure, mither, are ye sure, or are ye juist guessin’?" she cried. "Oh, where can he be?"