But here she broke down; she could not finish the frightful sentence. The farmer again left his bed, and dropt upon a chair by the side of it. The next moment he sank on his knees, and hiding his face in his hands, groaned, as from a thicket of torture— “God in haiven, hae mercy upon the haill lot o’ ’s.” Then, apparently unconscious of what he did, he went wandering from the room, down to the kitchen, and out to the barn on his bare feet, closing the door of the house behind him. In the barn he threw himself, face downward, on a heap of loose straw, and there lay motionless. His wife wept alone in her bed, and hardly missed him: it required of her no reflection to understand whither he had gone, or what he was doing. He was crying, like King Lear from the bitterness of an outraged father’s heart, to the Father of fathers: “God, ye’re a father yersel,” he groaned; “and sae ye ken hoo it’s rivin at my hert!—Na, Lord, ye dinna ken; for ye never had a doobt aboot _your_ son!—Na, I’m no blamin Jeemie, Lord; I’m no cryin oot upo _him_; for ye ken weel hoo little I ken aboot him: he never opened the buik o’ his hert to _me_! Oh God, grant that he hae naething to hide; but gien he has, Lord, pluck it oot o’ ’im, and _him_ oot o’ the glaur! latna him stick there. I kenna hoo to shape my petition, for I’m a’ i’ the dark; but deliver him some gait, Lord, I pray thee, for his mither’s sake!—ye ken what she is!—_I_ dinna coont for onything, but ye ken _her_!—Lord, deliver the hert o’ her frae the awfu’est o’ a’ her fears.—Lord, a hypocreet! a Judas-man!” More of what he said, I cannot tell; somehow this much has reached my ears. He remained there upon the straw while hour after hour passed, pleading with the great Father for his son; his soul now lost in dull fatigue, now uttering itself in groans for lack of words, until at length the dawn looked in on the night-weary earth, and into the two sorrow-laden hearts, bringing with it a comfort they did not seek to understand. CHAPTER XVI But it brought no solace to the mind of the weak, hard-hearted, and guilty son. He had succeeded once more in temporarily soothing his conscience with some narcotic of false comfort, and now slept the sleep of the houseless, whose covering was narrower than he could wrap himself in. Ah, those nights! Alas for the sleepless human soul out in the eternal cold! But so heartless was James, that, if his mother had come to him in the morning with her tear-dimmed eyes, he would never have asked himself what could ail her; would never even have seen that she was unhappy; least of all would have suspected himself the cause of her red eyes and aching head, or that the best thing in him was that mental uneasiness of which he was constantly aware. Thank God, there was no way round the purifying fire! he could not escape it; he _must_ pass through it! CHAPTER XVII