The same moment the bell whose rope was at the head of the factor's bed rang violently, and Mrs. Crathie's importance collapsed. "Come this w'y," she said, and turning led him up the stair to the room where her husband lay. Entering, Malcolm stood astonished at the change he saw upon the strong man of rubicund countenance, and his heart filled with compassion. The factor was sitting up in bed, looking very white and worn and troubled. Even his nose had grown thin and white. He held out his hand to him, and said to his wife, "Tak the door to ye, Mistress Crathie," indicating which side he wished it closed from. "Ye was some sair upo' me, Ma'colm," he went on, grasping the youth's hand. "I doobt I was _ower_ sair," said Malcolm, who could hardly speak for a lump in his throat. "Weel, I deserved it. But eh, Ma'colm! I canna believe it was me: it bude to be the drink." "It _was_ the drink," rejoined Malcolm; "an' eh, sir, afore ye rise frae that bed sweir to the great God 'at ye'll never drink nae mair drams, nor onything 'ayont ae tum'ler at a sittin'." "I sweir 't, I sweir 't, Ma'colm!" cried the factor. "It's easy to sweir 't noo, sir, but whan ye're up again it'll be hard to keep yer aith.--O Lord!" spoke the youth, breaking out into almost involuntary prayer, "help this man to haud troth wi' Thee!--An' noo, Maister Crathie," he resumed, "I'm yer servan', ready to du onything I can. Forgi'e me, sir, for layin' on ower sair." "I forgi'e ye wi' a' my hert," returned the factor, inly delighted to have something to forgive. "I thank ye frae mine," answered Malcolm, and again they shook hands. "But eh, Ma'colm, my man!" he added, "hoo will I ever shaw my face again?" "Fine that!" returned Malcolm, eagerly. "Fowk's terrible guid-natur'd whan ye alloo 'at ye're 'i the wrang. I do believe 'at whan a man confesses till 's neebor an' says he's sorry, he thinks mair o' 'im nor afore he did it. Ye see we a' ken we hae dune wrang, but we haena' a' confessed. An' it's a queer thing, but a man 'll think it gran' o' 's neebor to confess, when a' the time there's something he winna repent o' himsel', for fear o' the _shame_ o' haein to confess 't. To me, the shame lies in _no_ confessin' efter ye ken ye're wrang. Ye'll see, sir, the fisher-fowk 'll min' what ye say to them a heap better noo." "Div ye railly think it, Ma'colm?" sighed the factor with a flush. "I div that, sir. Only whan ye grow better, gien ye'll alloo me to say't, sir, ye maunna lat Sawtan temp' ye to think 'at this same repentin' was but a wakeness o' the flesh, an' no an enlichtenment o' the speerit." "I s' tie mysel' up till 't," cried the factor eagerly. "Gang an' tell them i' my name 'at I tak back ilka scart o' a nottice I ever gae ane o' them to quit, only we maun hae nae mair stan'in' o' honest fowk 'at comes to bigg herbors till them. Div ye think it wad be weel ta'en gien ye tuik a poun'-nott the piece to the twa women?"