Mrs Ogilvy, in her anguish, made still another appeal. She said, “For one moment listen to me. I don’t even know your name; but there’s one thing I know--that you two are safest apart. I am not, sir, meaning my son alone,” she said with severity, for the stranger had given vent to a short laugh, “nor for the evil company that I have heard you are. I am speaking just of your safety. You are in more danger than he is, and there’s more chance they will look for you here than elsewhere. If it was to save your life,” she added, after a pause to recover her voice, “even for Robbie, no, I would not give up a young man like you to what you call your fate. But you’re safest apart: if you think a moment you will see that. I will,” cried the little indistinguishable whiteness between the two men, “take it in my hands. You shall have meat, you shall have rest, you shall have whatever you need to take you--wherever may be best; not for him, but for you. Young man, in the name of God listen to me--it’s not that I would harm you! The farther off you are from each other the safer you are--both. And I’ll help--I’ll help you with all my heart.” “There’s reason in what she says, Bob,” said the stranger, in an easy voice, as if of a quite indifferent matter. “The old lady has a great deal of sense. You would have been wise to take her advice long ago while there was time for it.” She stood between them, her hands clasped, with a forlorn hope in the new-comer, who was not contemptuous of her, like Robbie--who listened so civilly to all she said. “But,” he added, with a laugh, “what’s safety after all? It’s death alive; it’s not for you and me. The time for a meal and a sleep, and then to face the world again--eh, Bob? that’s all a man wants. Let’s see that supper. I am half dead for want of food.” CHAPTER XIV. Robert had led the way sullenly into the dining-room. He had made as though he would not sit down at table, where the other placed himself at once unceremoniously, pulling towards him the dish which Janet had just placed on the table, and helping himself eagerly--waiting for no grace, giving no thanks, nor even the tribute of civility to his entertainers, as Mrs Ogilvy remarked in passing, though her mind was full of other and more important things. “I’m too tired, I think, to eat; I’ll go to bed, mother,” Robbie said. Mrs Ogilvy seized the chance of separating him from the other with rapture. She ventured--it was not always she could do so--to give him a good-night kiss on his cheek, and whispered, “I will send you up something,” unwilling that he should suffer by so much as a spoilt meal. “What! are you going to leave me in the lurch, Bob? steal another march on me, now I’ve thrown myself like an innocent on your good faith? That’s not like a _bon camarade_. I thought we were to stick to each other for life or death.” “I never bargained--you were to come here and frighten my mother.”