While she was sitting so quiet the conversation evidently warmed in the other room, the voices grew louder, there were peals of laughter, sounds of gaiety which had not been heard there for many a day. Mrs Ogilvy’s heart rose in spite of herself. She had not heard Robbie laugh like that--not since he was a boy. God bless him! And, oh, might she not say, God bless the other too, that made him laugh so hearty? He could not be all bad, that other one: certainly there was good in him. It was not possible that he could laugh like that, a man hunted for his life, if he had his conscience against him too. She began to think that there must be some mistake. And so great are the inconsistencies of human nature, that this mother who had repulsed the stranger with almost tragic passion so short a time ago, sat in the dark soothed and almost happy in his presence--almost glad that her Robbie had a friend. She heard Janet come and go, with a cheerful word addressed to her, and giving cheerful words in return and advice to the young men to go to their beds and not sit up till all the hours of the night. After one of these colloquies Robbie came into the room where Mrs Ogilvy was. “Are you here, mother?” he said, “sitting in the dark without a candle--and the window still open. I think it is your craze to keep these windows open, whatever I may say.” “It can matter little now, Robbie--since he’s here.” “Oh, since he’s here! and how about those that may come after him? But you never will see what I mean. There is more need than ever to bar the doors.” He closed the window himself with vehemence, and the shutters, leaving her in total darkness. “I will tell Janet to bring you a light,” he said. “You need not do that: I will maybe go up-stairs.” “To your bed--as Janet has been bidding us to do.” “I’ll not promise” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ve many things to think of.” “Never mind to-night; but there’s one thing I want of you,--your keys. Janet says the mistress locks everything up but just what is going. There is next to nothing in the bottle.” “Oh, Robbie, my man, it’s neither good for him nor for you! It would be far better, as Janet says, to go to your beds.” “It is a pretty thing,” said Robbie, “that I cannot entertain a friend, not for once, and he a stranger that has heard me boast of my home; and that you should grudge me the first pleasant night I have had in this miserable dull place.”