“Then, when you go down into the blackness, longing for the cup you will never see more, you will complain of God that he would not give you strength to fling it from you?” He hugged the chalice. “Fling it from me!” he cried, fiercely. “Girl, who are you to torment me before my time!” “Tell me, sir,” persisted Dawtie, “why does the apostle cry, 'Awake thou that sleepest!' if they couldn't move?” “No one _can_ move without God.” “Therefore, seeing every one can move, it must be God giving him the power to do what he requires of him; and we are fearfully to blame not using the strength God gives us!” “I can not bear the strain of thinking!” gasped the laird. “Then give up thinking, and do the thing! Shall I take it for you?” She put out her hand as she spoke. “No! no!” he cried, grasping the cup tighter. “You shall not touch it! You would give it to the earl! I know you! Saints hate what is beautiful!” “I like better to look at things in my Father's hand than in my own!” “You want to see my cup--it _is_ my cup!--in the hands of that spendthrift fool, Lord Borland!” “It is in the Father's hand, whoever has it!” “Hold your tongue, Dawtie, or I will cry out and wake the house!” “They will think you out of your mind, and come and take the cup from you! Do let me put it away; then you will go to sleep.” “I will not; I can not trust you with it! You have destroyed my confidence in you! I _may_ fall asleep, but if your hand come within a foot of the cup, it will wake me! I know it will! I shall sleep with my heart in the cup, and the least touch will wake me!” “I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!” “What's the matter with _him?_” “Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what is right.” “Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such foolery?” His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light of mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! _He_ would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know it safe and not far from him! Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat like an image, moving only her eyes. “What are you about, Dawtie?” he said at length. “You are after some mischief, you are so quiet!” “I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up your odds and ends, and take Him instead.” “How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are _you_ to say to _Him_ that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so and so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!”