“It will be a great expense, Mrs Ogilvy--and the other way would be better. I might even cable to our correspondents: that means telegraph. It’s another of their new-fangled words.” “The one need not hinder the other. You can do both. Cable, as you call it----” “It is very expensive,” he said. “Man!” cried Mrs Ogilvy, towering over him, “what am I caring about expense?--expense! when it’s him that is in question. It will be the quickest way. Cable or telegraph, or whatever you call it; and since there’s nothing that can be done to-night, send the man wherever you may find him--to-morrow.” “You go very fast,” he cried, panting as if for breath. “And so would you, if it was your only son, your only child, that was in question. And I will think. I will perhaps set out to-morrow myself.” “To-morrow is the Sabbath-day,” said Mr Somerville, with an indescribable sensation of relief. This damped Mrs Ogilvy’s spirit for the moment. “It’s not that I would be kept back by the Sabbath-day,” she said; “for Him that was the Lord of the Sabbath, He just did more on that day than any other, healing and saving: and would He put it against me? Oh no! I ken Him too well for that. But since it’s not a lawful day for travelling, and there’s few trains and boats, send your cable to-night, Mr Somerville. Let that be done at least, if it is the only thing we can do.” “There will still be time; but I will have to hurry away,” said the old gentleman reluctantly, “to Edinburgh by the next train.” And then there ensued a struggle in the mind of the hostess, to whom hospitality was second nature. “I did not think of that; and you’ve had a hot journey out here, and nothing to refresh you. Forgive me, that have been just wrapped up in my own concerns. You will stay and take--some dinner before you go back.” “No, no,” he said; “it’s a terrible thing for you to refuse a dinner to a hungry man. You never did the like of that in your life before. But it’s best I should go. There’s a train in half an hour. I’ll take a glass of the wine you would not take, and I’ll be fresh again for my walk to the station. It’s not just so warm as it was.” “You will stay to your dinner, Mr Somerville.” “No; I could not swallow it, and you could not endure to see me eating it and losing time.” “Then Andrew shall put in the pony, and drive you down to Eskholm,” Mrs Ogilvy said. This was a relief to her, in the unexampled contingency of sending a visitor unrefreshed from her house--a thing which perhaps had never happened in her life before.