Mrs Ogilvy went in, feeling as if she were going to her doom. She took her little packet to the table, and put it down before him. The room was filled with clouds of smoke; and that bottle, which was so great a trial to her, stood on the table; but these details had sunk into absolute insignificance. She had taken the trouble to get the money in English notes and gold--the latter an unusual sight in the Hewan, where one-pound notes were the circulating medium. In the tremor of her nerves and commotion of her feelings she had added twenty pounds which were in the house, of what she called “her own money,” the money for the housekeeping, to the sum which she had told him was to be for him. It was thus a hundred and fifty pounds which she put before him--hastily laying it down as if it burned her, and yet with a certain reluctance too. “Ah!” he said, and threw a look across the table to Robbie; “another twenty pounds--and more where that came from, mother, eh?” “I have no more--not a farthing,” she said, hastily; “this was my money for my house. I thought I would add it to the other: since you were not pleased--last night.” It was evidently an unfortunate movement on her part. “You will perhaps find some more still,” he said, with a laugh, “before this night. It’s not very much for two, and one your only son; but there will be plenty of time to settle that to-night.” “Robbie,” she said, breathlessly, “is not going--he is not going: it is for you.” “Are you not going, Bob?” Robert said not a word in reply--he sat with his head supported on his hands, his elbows on the table: and his countenance was invisible--he made no movement or indication of what he meant to do. “I have no more,” said Mrs Ogilvy, with a trembling voice; for she was afraid of the look, half fierce, half mocking, with which he met her eyes. “It would perhaps have been better if I had--money in the bank, and could draw a cheque like most people now; but I have always followed the old-fashioned way, and all I have is in the hands of----”