He said it with bated breath, and a great white awe upon his countenance. His eyes were shining; his breath came and went fast. Slowly his aged cheeks flushed with two bright spots. He looked as if the joy of his life was come. “What if it should be the Holy Grail!” he repeated, and fell asleep with the words on his lips. As the evening deepened into night, he woke. Crawford was sitting beside him. A change had come over him. He stared at George as if he could not make him out, closed his eyes, opened them, stared, and again closed them. He seemed to think he was there for no good. “Would you like me to call Alexa?” said George. “Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!” he replied. George rose to go and call her. “Beware of her!” said the laird, with glazy eyes, “Beware of Dawtie!” “How?” asked George. “Beware of her,” he repeated. “If she can get the cup, she will! She would take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!” Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George went and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. “I will find her,” she said, and rose, but turned and asked: “How does he seem now?” “Rather worse,” George answered. “Are you going to be with him through the night?” “I am; he insists on my staying with him,” replied George, almost apologetically. “Then,” she returned, “you must have some supper. We will go down, and send up Dawtie.” He followed her to the kitchen. Dawtie was not there, but her mistress found her. When she entered her master's room, he lay motionless, “and white with the whiteness of what is dead.” She got brandy, and made him swallow some. As soon as he recovered a little, he began to talk wildly. “Oh, Agnes!” he cried, “do not leave me. I'm not a bad man! I'm not what Dawtie calls me. I believe in the atonement; I put no trust in myself; my righteousness is as filthy rags. Take me with you. I _will_ go with you. There! Slip that under your white robe--washed in the blood of the Lamb. That will hide it--with the rest of my sins! The unbelieving husband is sanctified by the believing wife. Take it; take it; I should be lost in heaven without it! I can't see what I've got on, but it must be the robe of His righteousness, for I have none of my own! What should I be without it! It's all I've got! I couldn't bring away a single thing besides--and it's so cold to have but one thing on--I mean one thing in your hands! Do you say they will make me sell it? That would be worse than coming without it!” He was talking to his wife!--persuading her to smuggle the cup into heaven! Dawtie went on her knees behind the curtain, and began to pray for him all she could. But something seemed stopping her, and making her prayer come only from her lips. “Ah,” said the voice of her master, “I thought so! How could I go up, and you praying against me like that! Cup or no cup, the thing was impossible!”