She had a long struggle with herself before she permitted herself the indulgence of going in to Edinburgh to see Mr Somerville, who was the only other person who knew anything about it. After many questions with herself, and much determined endurance of her burden, it came upon her like an inspiration that this was the thing to do. It would be a comfort to be able to speak to some one, to have the support of somebody else’s judgment. It is true that she was afraid of leaving her own house even for the little time that was necessary; but she decided that by doing this early in the morning before the young men were up, she might do it without risk. She gave Janet great charges to admit no one while she was away. “Nobody--I would like nobody to come in. Mr Robert is up so late at night that we cannot expect him to get up early _too_; but I would not like strange folk who do not know how late he has to sit up with his friend, to come in and find him still in his bed at twelve o’clock in the day. There’s no harm in it; but we have all our prejudices, and I cannot bide it to be known. You will just make the best excuse you can----” “You may make your mind easy, mem,” said Janet; “I will no be wanting for an excuse.” “So long as you just let nobody in,” said her mistress. Mrs Ogilvy had never in her life availed herself even of the common and well-understood fiction, “Not at home,” to turn away an unwelcome visitor; but she did not inquire now what it was that Janet meant to say. She went away with a little lightening of her heavy heart. To be able to speak to somebody who was beyond all doubt, and incapable of betraying her, of perhaps having something suggested to her, some plan that would afford succour, was for the moment almost as if she had attained a certain relief. It was July now, the very heat and climax of the year. The favoured fields of Mid-Lothian were beginning to whiten to the harvest; the people about were in light dresses, in their summer moods and ways, saying to each other, “What a beautiful day--was there ever such fine weather?”--for indeed it was a happy year without rain, without clouds. To see everybody as usual going about their honest work was at once a pang and a relief to Mrs Ogilvy. The world, then, was just as before--it was not turned upside down; most people were busy doing something; there was no suspension of the usual laws. And yet all the more for this universal reign of law and order, which it was a refreshment to see--all the more was it terrible to think of Robbie, lawless, careless of all rules, wasting his life--of the two young men whom she had left behind her, both in the strength of their manhood, doing nothing, good for nothing. These two sensations, which were so different, tore Mrs Ogilvy’s heart in two. CHAPTER XVI.