“It is in the house. I got it even in English notes, that you might have no trouble. There will be a hundred pounds,” said Mrs Ogilvy. She spoke with a little pride, as of one announcing a great thing, a donation almost unparalleled, but which yet she gave like a princess, not grudging. “And thirty besides,” she added, with a little sigh, “that when you get there you may not be without a pound in your pocket. I give it you with all my heart, Mr Lew. Oh, if the money, the poor miserable siller, might maybe be the means of calling you back to a steady and to an honest life!” Lew said nothing in reply: his hungry eyes, lighted up by such a gleam of covetousness, gave one fiery glance at Robbie standing, as it seemed, imperturbable, immovable, in the shade. Then he began to beat out a tune on the table with his fingers: but he made no other answer, to Mrs Ogilvy’s great surprise. “I believe,” she said, with hesitation, “that will pay a passage even to India; but if you should find that it will need more----” He went on with his tune, beating on the table, half whistling to accompany the beats of his fingers. Something of the aspect of a fierce animal, lashing its tail, working itself up into fury, had come into his usually smiling pleasant looks, though the smile was still on his face. “I fear,” he said, with the gleam in his eyes which she began to perceive with wonder, “that it is not enough. They will be of no use to us, these few shillings. I thought you would have done anything for your son; but I find, mother, that you’re like all the mothers, good for everything in words, but for a little less in money. You will have to give us more than that----” Mrs Ogilvy was much surprised, but would not believe her ears. She said mildly, “I have told you, Mr Lew: it is not for my son, but chiefly out of a great feeling I have for yourself, poor laddie, that have nobody to advise you or lead you in a better way.” “You may preach if you like,” he said, with a laugh, “if you’re ready to pay; but no preaching without paying, old lady. Come, let’s look at it a little closer. Here are you rolling in money, and he there, your only son, sent out into the world----” “Not Robbie,” she cried, with a gasp, “not Robbie! I said it was for you----” “We do not mean to be parted, however,” he said. “You must double your allowance, mother, and then see how much you can add to that.” She looked at her son, clasping her hands together, her face, amid the whiteness of her dress, whiter still, its only colour the eyes, so bright and trustful by nature, looking at him with a supreme but voiceless appeal. Whether it touched him or not, could not be seen: he stirred a little, but probably only as a relief from his attitude of stillness--and his face was too deep in the shade to betray any expression for good or for evil.