“I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!”
“What's the matter with him?”
“Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what is right.”
“Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such foolery?”
His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light of mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! He would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know it safe and not far from him!
Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat like an image, moving only her eyes.
“What are you about, Dawtie?” he said at length. “You are after some mischief, you are so quiet!”
“I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up your odds and ends, and take Him instead.”
“How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are you to say to Him that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so and so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!”
“We are told to make prayers and intercessions for all men, and I was saying what I could for you.” The laird was silent, and the rest of the night passed quietly.