“They are very bonnie,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I like them better than your grand geraniums and things.” “There’s nae accounting for tastes,” Andrew said, in his gruff voice. By this time she felt that she could not continue the conversation any longer, and went back to her chair inside. The sound of the flowing water, and even of Andrew clanking as he moved, was sweet to her. The little jar and clang fell sweetly into the evening, and they were so glad of that refreshing shower, the silly flowers! though maybe it would rain before the morning, and they would not need it. Then Andrew--though nobody could say he was quick, honest man!--finished his task and went in. And there was a great quiet, the quiet of the falling night, though the long light remained the same. And the time passed for the next train. Janet came to the door again with her heavy step. “He will no be coming till the nine train,” she said; “will you have the dinner up?” “Oh no,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ll not sit down to a big meal at this hour of the night. Put out the beef to let it cool, and it will be supper instead of dinner, Janet.” “But you’ve eaten nothing, mem, since----” “Am I thinking of what I eat! Go ben to your kitchen, and do what I tell you, and just leave me alone.” Janet went away, and the long vigil began again. She sat a long time without moving, and then she took a turn about the house, looking into his room for one thing, and looking at the piles of books that he had carried up-stairs. There were few traces of him about, for he had nothing to leave behind,--only the big rough cloak, of a shape she had never seen before, which was folded on a chair. She lifted it, with a natural instinct of order, to hang it up, and found falling from a pocket in it a big badly printed newspaper, the same newspaper in which Mr Somerville had showed her her son’s name. She took it with her half consciously when she went down-stairs, but did not read it, being too much occupied with the dreadful whirl of her own thoughts. Nine o’clock passed too, and the colourless hours ran on. And then there was the sound all over the house of Andrew fulfilling his orders, shutting up every window and door. When he came to the parlour to shut the window by which she sat, his little mistress, always so quiet, almost flew at him. “Man, have you neither sense nor reason!” she cried. It was more than she could bear to shut and bar and bolt when nobody was there that either feared or could come to harm. No one disturbed her after that. The couple in the kitchen kept very quiet, afraid of her. Deep night came on; the last of all the trains rumbled by, making a great crash in the distance in the perfect stillness. There had been another time like this, when she had watched the whole night through. And midnight came and went again, and as yet there was no sound. CHAPTER IX.