She answered only with a little movement of her head, and stood looking without a word, while they caught up without another glance at her--Robbie the cloak which he had brought with him, and Lew a loose coat, in which he enveloped himself. Their movements were very quiet, very still, as of men absorbed in what they were doing, thinking of nothing else. They hurried out of the room, Robbie first, leading the way, and his mother’s eyes following him as if they would have burst out of the sockets. He was far too much preoccupied to think of her, to give her even a look. And this was their farewell, and she might never see him more. She stood there motionless, conscious of nothing but that acute and poignant anguish that she had taken her last look of her son, when suddenly the air, which was trembling and quivering with excitement and expectation, like the air that thrills and shimmers over a blazing furnace, was penetrated by the sound for which the whole world seemed to have been waiting--a heavy ominous loud knock at the outer door. Mrs Ogilvy recovered all her faculties in a moment. She went to the open door of the dining-room, where Andrew and Janet, one on the heels of the other, were arriving in commotion, Andrew about to stride with a heavy step to the door. She silenced them, and kept them back with a movement of her hands, stamping her impatient foot at Andrew and his unnecessary haste. She thought it would look like expectation if she responded too soon--and had they not told her to parley, to gain time? She stood at the dining-room door and waited till the summons should be repeated. And after an interval it came again, with a sound of several voices. She put herself in motion now, coming out into the hall, pretending to call upon Andrew, as she would have done in former days if so disturbed. “Bless me!” she cried; “who will that be making such a noise at the door?” “Will I open it, mem?” Andrew said. “No, no; let me speak to them first. Who is it?” Mrs Ogilvy said, raising her calm voice; “who is making such a disturbance at my door at this hour of the night?” “Open in the Queen’s name,” cried somebody outside. “Ay, that would I willingly,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “but who are ye that are taking her sacred Majesty’s name? None of her servants, I’m sure, or you would not disturb an honest family at this hour of the night.” “Open to the police, at your peril,” said another voice. “The police--in this house? No, no,” she cried, standing white and trembling, but holding out like a lion. “You will not deceive me with that--in this house.” “Open the door, or we’ll break it in. Here, you speak to her!”--“Mem,” said a new voice, very tremulous but familiar, “it is me, Peter Young, with the men from Edinburgh. It’s maybe some awfu’ mistake; but you must let us in--you maun open the door.”