When Robert came down-stairs, which was not till late, he was a little improved in appearance by a new coat, but not so much as his mother had hoped. She was disappointed, though in face of the other things this was such a very small matter. He was just a backwoodsman, a bushman, whatever you call it, still. He had not got back that air of a gentleman which had been his in his youth--that most prized and precious thing, which is more than beauty, far more than fine clothes or good looks. This gave her a pang: but then there were many things that gave her a pang, though all subsided in the thought that he was here, that he had come back guiltless and uninjured from Edinburgh, notwithstanding the anxiety he had given her. But was it not her own fault that she was anxious, always imagining some dreadful thing? After his breakfast (again such an excellent breakfast, quite unaffected by his late hours or his large supper!) he came to her into the parlour with the ‘Scotsman,’ which Janet had brought him, in his hand. “I thought you would like to hear,” he said, carefully closing the door after him. “You remember that man I mentioned to you?” “Yes, Robbie,”--she had almost said the man’s name, but refrained. “There is no word of him,” he said. “That was one thing I was anxious about. There are places where--communications are kept up. I had an address in Edinburgh to inquire.” “What has he to do with Edinburgh?” she cried in dismay. “Nothing; but there’s a kind of a communication, everywhere. Nothing has been heard of him. So long as nothing is heard of him I can breathe free. There’s no reason he should come here----” “Come here! For what would he come here?” “How can I tell? If you knew the man----” “God forbid I should ever know the man,” she cried with fervour. “I say Amen to that. But if you knew him, you would know it’s the place that is least likely which is the place where he appears.” “It may be so,” Mrs Ogilvy said; “but a place like this--a small bit house deep in the bosom of the country, and nothing but quiet country-folk about----” “What is that but the best of places for a hunted man? He said once that if I ever came home he would come after me--that it was just the place he wanted to lie snug in, where nobody would think of looking for him. You think me a fool to be so anxious about the bolts and the bars; but the room might be empty one moment, and the next you might look round, and he would be there.” Though it was morning, before noon, and the safety of the full day was upon the house, with its open windows, he cast a doubtful suspicious glance round, as if afraid of seeing some one behind him even now. “Robbie,” said Mrs Ogilvy, “there is no man that has to do with you, were he good or bad, that I would close my doors upon, except the shedder of blood. He shall not come here.”