“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted. His voice came not from the direction of his room but from the west passage, where he had nothing to do, a fact which awoke a vague surprise in Mrs. Dalyell’s mind. He came downstairs “like a tempest,” she said afterwards, making as much noise, and caught her in his arms, to her great astonishment. “Good-bye, my dearest, good-bye!” he cried, giving her a loving kiss (“before the bairns, and that man Foggo looking on!”). “Keep well and don’t distress yourself about me.” He was gone almost before she could ask him why she should distress herself about him, flying down the road with Fred after him, which, indeed, was his usual way of catching a train. She stood at the door looking after him, and though he was in such a hurry and not a moment to lose, what did Robert do but turn round and take off his hat and wave his hand to her! Such nonsense! as if he were going away for years. She made a sign of impatience, hurrying him on. “Do you think they will do it this time, Foggo?” she said to the butler, who was also looking after them. Foggo had been standing ready to help his master on with his coat. But Mr. Dalyell had time only to snatch it and throw it over his shoulder, partly because of that unnecessary embrace which had so confused his wife under the servant’s eyes. “Oh, ay, ma’am,” said Foggo, “they’ll do it; the maister’s aye just on the edge--but he’s never missed her yet----” Mr. Dalyell, when he rushed upstairs, had not gone to his dressing-room as he proposed to do. He had darted down the west passage, a long vacant corridor with a few doors of unused bedrooms on one side. He went down to the end room of all, and opened the door. An old woman in a tremendous mutch and tartan shawl came forward to meet him. “I have come to say good-bye, Janet, my woman,” he said, grasping her hand. “And you’ll remember what you’ve promised.” “That I will, my bonnie man: if you’re sure you must do it. As long as I live--but then I, may be, have not very long to live.” “We’ll have to trust for that,” he said, holding both her hands. “Could you no trust for other things? I’ve preachit to ye till I’m weariet, maister Robert! Nobody trusted yet and was disappointed.” “We’ve gone over all that,” he said. “No, no, there’s no other way. We can’t ask the Lord for money, Janet.” “What for no? And now I can scarce say God’s blessing on ye--for how can I ask His blessing when it’s for a----?” “No more, Janet, no more. Good-bye!” “Oh, maister Robert, bide a moment. Do you mind the Psalm: ‘If in your heart ye sin regard The Lord you will not hear?’ Think of that! How can I bid Him bless ye, when----?” “Good-bye, my dear old woman, good-bye!” And it was at this moment that Mrs. Dalyell’s voice calling “Robert!” came small in the distance up the echoing passage. And in another moment he was gone.