“Aye, it's myself, and sorry I am to be bringing bad news to you.”
“What is it?” he asked, but his tone betrayed complete indifference.
She closed the door and answered in a whisper: “A warrant! I much misdoubt but there's one made out for you.”
“Is that all?”
“Bless me, what does the man want? But come, laddie, come; you must tak' yoursel' off to some spot till the storm blows over.”
“I have work to do, auntie.”
“Work! You've worked too much already—that's half the botherment.”
“God's work, auntie, and it must be done.”
“Then God will do it himself, without asking the life of a good man, or he's no just what I've been takin' him for. But see,” opening the bag and whispering again, “your auld coat and hat! I found them in your puir auld room that you'll no come back to. You've been looking like another body so long that naebody will ken you when you're like yoursel' again. Come, now, off with these lang, ugly things——”
“I can not go, auntie.”