“Na, na. She bids me hope, indeed, in the Lord—an’ she’s right there; but as for man, what can we hope frae him?”
“Ye may weel ask that!” exclaimed Quentin Dick, with sudden and bitter emphasis. “Man indeed! It’s my opeenion that man, when left to hissel’, is nae better than the deevil. I’ faith, I think he’s waur, for he’s mair contemptible.”
“Ye may be right, Quentin, for a’ I ken; but some men are no’ left to theirsel’s. There’s that puir young chiel Anderson, that was shot i’ the lungs an’ has scarce been able the last day or twa to crawl to the yett to see his auld mither—he’s deeing this afternoon. I went ower to the tombstane that keeps the east wund aff him, an’ he said to me, ‘Andry, man,’ said he, ‘I’ll no’ be able to crawl to see my mither the day. I’ll vera likely be deid before she comes. Wull ye tell her no’ to greet for me, for I’m restin’ on the Lord Jesus, an’ I’ll be a free man afore night, singing the praises o’ redeeming love, and waitin’ for her to come?’”
Quentin had covered his face with his hands while Black spoke, and a low groan escaped him; for the youth Anderson had made a deep impression on the three friends during the week they had suffered together. Wallace, without replying, went straight over to the tomb where Anderson lay. He was followed by the other two. On reaching the spot they observed that he lay on his back, with closed eyes and a smile resting on his young face.
“He sleeps,” said Wallace softly.
“Ay, he sleeps weel,” said Black, shaking his head slowly. “I ken the look o’ that sleep. An’ yonder’s his puir mither at the yett. Bide by him, Quentin, while I gang an’ brek it to her.”
It chanced that Mrs Anderson and Jean came to the gate at the same moment. On hearing that her son was dead the poor woman uttered a low wail, and would have fallen if Jean had not caught her and let her gently down on one of the graves. Jean was, as we have said, singularly sympathetic. She had overheard what her uncle had said, and forthwith sat down beside the bereaved woman, drew her head down on her breast and tried to comfort her, as she had formerly tried to comfort old Mrs Mitchell. Even the guards were softened for a few minutes; but soon they grew impatient, and ordered them both to leave.
“Bide a wee,” said Jean, “I maun hae a word wi’ my uncle.”
She rose as she spoke, and turned to the gate.
“Weel, what luck?” asked Black, grasping both her hands through the bars.