“Oh my baby! my baby!” cried Isy, finding herself alone. “If only I had you to take my part! It was God gave you to me, or how could I love you so? And the mistress winna believe that even I had a bairnie! Noo she’ll be sayin I killt my bonny wee man! And yet, even for _his_ sake, I never ance wisht ye hadna been born! And noo, whan the father o’ ’im’s ill, and cryin oot for me, they winna lat me near ’im!” The last words left her lips in a wailing shriek. Then first she saw that her master had re-entered. Wiping her eyes hurriedly, she turned to him with a pitiful, apologetic smile. “Dinna be sair vext wi’ me, sir: I canna help bein glaid that I had him, and to tyne him has gien me an unco sair hert!” She stopped, terrified: how much had he heard? she could not tell what she might not have said! But the farmer had resumed his breakfast, and went on eating as if she had not spoken. He had heard nearly all she said, and now sat brooding on her words. Isy was silent, saying in her heart—“If only he loved me, I should be content, and desire no more! I would never even want him to say it! I would be so good to him, and so silent, that he could not help loving me a little!” I wonder whether she would have been as hopeful had she known how his mother had loved him, and how vainly she had looked for any love in return! And when Isy vowed in her heart never to let James know that she had borne him a son, she did not perceive that thus she would withhold the most potent of influences for his repentance and restoration to God and his parents. She did not see James again that night; and before she fell asleep at last in the small hours of the morning, she had made up her mind that, ere the same morning grew clear upon the moor, she would, as the only thing left her to do for him, be far away from Stonecross. She would go back to Deemouth, and again seek work at the paper-mills! CHAPTER XXIV