“An’ he will be old!” he broke in with tense, swift gesture--“Old before his time, bent and broke! Oh, Lord--” He lifted his gaunt face, “Gi’e him to me! Gi’e him into _my_ hand!” The keen eyes, fixed on something unseen, stared before him. Hope struggled in them--a bitter, disbelieving hope. “Gi’e him into my hand!”--he whispered.... “into my hand!” He bent forward, staring at the vision. Then the face changed subtly. He drew a quick, deep breath.... His head had dropped to his breast. She bent above him, “Hugh--” She called it to the unseeing eyes--“Hugh!” He drew back a little dazed. The look in the face broke--“Why, Ellen--woman.” He put his arm almost tenderly about her--“What frighted ye?” he asked. “Ye ’ll not harm him?” she cried. She leaned against him, her anxious, questioning eyes searching his face. “I ’ll not harm him,” said the man briefly, “except the Lord deliver him into my hand--I have it for a sign.” Her Scotch blood thrilled to the vague menace of the words. She pressed closer to him, her thin hands raised to his coat, grasping it on either side. She looked up into his face--“Hugh, ye must forgi’e--ye must e’en--” “I must e’en do the Lord’s will,” he said sternly. He loosed the clinging hands--“Ye must sleep, Ellen,” he said more gently. Her hands had dropped. They hung loose at her sides. But her meek eyes were still on his face. “Ye will forgi’e him,” she whispered low, under her breath. But his face gave no sign that he heard. He put out the lantern and raked together the coals in the stove, covering them carefully with ashes to save the smouldering heat. “Come to bed, Ellen,” he said when it was done, “the bairn is safe. Ye can sleep now.” XXVIII Who is managing?” said Simeon. They had finished breakfast and sat with chairs pushed back from the table. It was the first question he had asked about the road. He had devoted himself to the business of getting well as thoroughly as to any business he had ever undertaken. But he was well now. “Who is managing!” he said quietly. The young man looked at him with a frank smile. “Nobody is managing,” he said--“That ’s the worst of it. I ’ve been _doing_ things--things that _had_ to be done--and trying to stave off other people’s managing.” Simeon nodded quickly. “That ’s the best thing could have happened. I hope you ’ve done it.” “Well, not altogether--The men in the office were all right.... But the directors fidgeted some--” “Corbin,” said Simeon, “I know.” The young man nodded. “Oh, I know,” said Simeon testily. “And Dickerman, I suppose--yes, yes, I know--Go ahead now--Tell me everything.” He leaned forward with elbows on the table--the old alert look in his eyes. When the recital was finished, he stood up, stretching his arms with a gesture of content. “It might be worse,” he said. “You may find it worse than you think,” said the young man, “No head to anything.”