“God in heaven help me!” cried Sim, tremulous with emotion. “Ralph, Ralph, ask me no more—you don't know what you ask.”
“It is your duty to Heaven, I say.”
He put his hand on Sim's shoulder, and looked steadily in his eyes. With a fearful cry Sim broke from his grasp, sprung to the door, and in an instant was lost in the darkness without. Ralph stood where Sim had left him, transfixed by some horrible consciousness. A slow paralysis seemed to possess all his senses. What had he read in those eyes that seemed to live before him still?
“Good neet,” said old Matthew as he got up and trudged out. Most of the company rose to go. “Good night,” said more than one, but Ralph answered nothing. Robbie Anderson was last.
“Good night, Ralph,” he said. His gruff voice was thick in his throat.
“Aye, good night, lad,” Ralph answered vacantly.
Robbie had got to the door, and was leaning with one hand on the door-frame. Coming back, he said,—
“Ralph, where may your father be to-night?”
“At Gaskarth—it's market day—he took the last shearing.”
He spoke like one in a sleep. Then Robbie left him.