the two men stood with the background of dark figures behind, while the inspector who was at the head of the party advanced towards them. robbie, with his long beard and his cloak over his shoulder, was the one upon whom all eyes were fixed. one of the policemen held him firm by the arm. his countenance was dark, his air sullen, like a wild beast taken in the toils. the other by his side, almost spruce in his loose coat, his clean-shaven face seeking no shadow, facing the enemy with a half-smile upon it, easy, careless, fearing no evil—produced an effect quite contrary to that which the dark and bearded brigand made upon the officers of the law. who could doubt that it was he who was the son of the house, “led away” by the truculent ruffian by his side? there was no mention of robbie’s name in the warrant. and the sight of robbie’s mother, and her defence of her threshold, had touched the hearts{347} even of the police. to take away this ruffian, to leave her her son in peace, poor old lady, relieving her poor little quiet house of the horror that had stolen into it—the inspector certainly felt that he would be doing a good service to his neighbour as well as obeying the orders of the law.

“the one with the beard,” he said, looking at a paper which he held in his hand—“that is him. secure him, green. stand by, men; be on your guard; he knows what he’s about—— ah!” the inspector breathed more freely when the handcuffs clicked on robert ogilvy’s wrists, who for his part neither resisted nor answered, but stood looking almost stupidly at the scene, and then down upon his hands when they were secured. the other by his side put up a hand to his face, as if overwhelmed by the catastrophe, and fell a little backward, overcome it seemed with distress—as robbie ought to have done, had this and not the ruffian in the beard been he.

mrs ogilvy had been leaning on susie’s shoulder, incapable of more, her heart almost ceasing to beat, all her strength gone; but when the words, “the one with the beard,” reached dully and slowly to her comprehension, she made but one bound, pushing with both arms every one away from her, and with a shriek appeared in the midst of the group. “it is my son,” she cried, “my son, my son! it is robbie ogilvy and no one else. it is my son, my son, my son!” she{348} flung herself upon him, raving as if she had suddenly gone mad in her misery, and tried to pluck off with her weak hands the iron bands from his wrists. her cries rang out, silencing every other sound. “it is my son, my son, my son!—--”

“i am very sorry, madam; it may be your son, and still it may be the man we want,” the inspector said.

and then another shrill woman’s voice burst forth from behind. “you fools, he’s escaping! don’t you see?”—the speaker clapped her hands with a sound that rang over their heads. “don’t you see! it’s easy to take off a beard. if you waste another moment, he’ll be gone!”

he had almost got beyond the last of the men, retreating very softly backwards, while all the attention was concentrated upon robbie and his mother. but he allowed himself to be pushed forward again at the sound of this voice, as if he had had no such intention. a snarl like that of a furious dog curled up his lip at the side for a moment; but he did not change his aspect—the game was not yet lost.

“there are folk here,” cried mrs ogilvy, still plucking at the handcuffs, while robbie stood silent, saying nothing—“there are folk here who have known him from his cradle, that will tell you he’s robert ogilvy: there are my servants—there is the minister, here present god knows why or wherefore: they know—he’s been absent from his home many a day; but he’s{349} robert ogilvy: no the other. if he’s robert ogilvy he is not the other: if he’s my son he’s not that man. and he is my son, my son, my son! i swear it to you—and the minister. mr logan, tell them——”

mr logan’s mind was much disturbed. he felt that providence itself had sent him here; but he was slow to make up his mind what to say. he wanted time to speak and to explain. “i have every reason to think that is robert ogilvy,” he said; “but i never saw him with a beard; and what he may have been doing all these years——”

“mr inspector,” cried mrs ainslie, panting with excitement, close to the officer’s side. “listen to me: as it chances, i know the man. there is no one here but i who knows the man. it shows how little you know if you think that idiot is lew. i’m a respectable lady of this place, but i’ve been in america, and i know the man. i’ve seen him—i’ve seen him tried for his life and get off; and if you drivel on like that, he’ll get off again. that lew!” she cried, with a hysterical laugh,—“lew the devil, lew the road-agent! that man’s like a sheep. do you hear me, do you hear me? you’ll let him escape again.”

now was the time for robbie to speak, for his mother to speak, and say, “that is the man!” but mrs ogilvy was absorbed tearing in vain at the handcuffs, repeating unconsciously her exclamation, “my son, my son!” and he stood looking down upon her{350} and her vain struggle, and upon his own imprisoned hands. i doubt whether she knew what was passing, or was conscious of anything but of one thing—which was robbie in those disgraceful bonds. but he in his dull soul, forced into enlightenment by the catastrophe, was very conscious of everything, and especially that he was betrayed—that he himself was being left to bear the brunt, and that his friend in his character was stealing away.

janet had been kept back, partly by fright and astonishment, partly by the police and andrew, the last of whom had a fast hold upon her gown, and bade her under his breath to “keep out o’t—keep out o’t; we can do nothing:” but this restraint she could no longer bear. her desire to be in the midst of everything, to be by her mistress’s side, to have her share of what was going on, would have been enough for her, even if she felt, as andrew did, that she could do no good. but janet was of no such opinion. was she not appealed to, as one whose testimony would put all right? she pushed her way from among the men, pulling her cotton gown, which tore audibly, out of andrew’s hand. “sir, here am i: let me speak,” she said. “this is mr robert ogilvy, that i’ve known since ever he was born. he came home the 15th of june, the same day many weary years before as he ran away. the other gentleman is mr lewis, his friend, that followed him{351} here about a month ago at the most, a real fine good-hearted gentleman, too, if maybe he has been a little wild. our gentleman is just as he was when he came out of the deserts and wildernesses. we’re not a family that cares a great deal for appearances. but mr lewis, he’s of another way of thinking, and we’ve had a great laughing all day at his shaving off of his beard.”

“that’s what i told you!” said mrs ainslie, in her excitement pulling the inspector’s arm. “i told you so! what’s a beard? it is as easy to take off as a bonnet. and he would have got clean off—look at him, look at him!—if it hadn’t been for me.”

“look after that man, you fellows there,” said the inspector’s deep voice. “don’t let him get away. secure them both.”

no one had put handcuffs on lew’s wrists; no policeman had touched him; he had been free, with all his wits about him, noting everything, alert, all conscious, self-possessed. twice he had almost got away: the first time before mrs ainslie had interfered; the second when janet with her evidence had come forward, directing all attention once more to robbie—during which moment he had made his way backward again in the most cautious way, endeavouring to get behind the backs of the men and make a dash for the door. almost! but what a difference was that! the policemen, roused and startled,{352} hustled him forward to his “mate’s” side, but still without laying a hand upon him. all their suspicions and observation were for the handcuffed criminal standing silent and gloomy on the other side. lew maintained his careless attitude well, nodding at the inspector, with a “well, well, officer,” as if he yielded easily but half-contemptuously to punctilio. but when he saw another constable draw from his pocket another pair of handcuffs, he changed colour; his eyes lighted up with a wild fire. mrs ainslie, who had got beyond her own control, followed his movements with the closest inspection. she burst into a laugh as he grew pale. her nerves were excited far beyond her control. she cried out, without knowing, without intending, “ah, lew! you have had more than you meant. you’ve found more than you wanted. caught! caught at last. and you will not get off this time,” she cried, with the wild laugh which she was quite unable to quench, or even to restrain.

whether he saw what no doubt was true, that every hope was over, and that, once conveyed to edinburgh, no further mistake was possible, and his fate sealed; or whether he was moved by a swift wave of passion, as happened to him from time to time—and the exasperation of the woman’s voice, which worked him to madness—can never be known. he was still quite free, untouched by any one; but the handcuffs approaching which would make an end of{353} every independent act. his tall figure, and clean-shaven, unveiled face seemed suddenly to rise and tower over every other in the heat and pale glow of passion. “you viper, liz!” he thundered out. “music-hall liz!” with a fierce laugh, “here’s for you—the traitor’s pay!” and before any one could breathe or speak, before a hand could be lifted, there was a sudden flash and report, and in a moment he had flung himself forward upon the two or three startled men in front of him, with a rush for the open door, and the pistol still smoking in his hand. two steps more, and he would have been out in the open, in the fresh air that breathed like heaven upon him, among the dark trees that give hiding and shelter, and make a man, with his wits about him, a match for any dozen. two steps more! but rapid as he was, there were too many of them to make such an escape possible. before he had reached that open way, half-a-dozen men were upon him. the struggle was but for a moment—a wild sudden tumult of stamping feet and loud voices; then there was again a sudden flash and report and fall. the whole band seemed to fall together—the men who had grappled with him being dragged with him to the ground. they gathered themselves up one by one—everybody who could move: and left the one on the ground who would never move again.

he had so far succeeded in his rush that his head{354} fell outside the open door of the hewan, where his face caught the calm line of the moonlight streaming in. the strange white radiance enveloped him, separating him from everything round—from the men who, struggling up to their feet, suddenly hushed and awe-stricken, stood hastily aside in the shadow, looking down upon the prisoner who had thus escaped from their hands. he lay right across the threshold in all his length and strength of limb,—motionless now, no struggle in him, quenched every resistance and alarm. it was so instantaneous, that the terrible event—that sudden, incalculable change of death, which is of all things in the world the most interesting and tremendous to all lookers-on—became doubly awful, falling, with a solemn chill and horror which paralysed them, upon the astonished men around. dead! yet a moment since flinging off the strongest, struggling against half-a-dozen, almost escaping from their hands. he had escaped now. none of them would willingly have laid a finger on him. they stood trembling round, who had been grappling him a minute before, keen for his subjugation. the curious moon, too still and cold for any ironical meaning, streamed on him from head to foot in the opening of the doorway, displaying him as if to the regard of men and angels, with a white blaze upon his upturned face, and here and there a strong silver line where an edge of his clothing caught the whiteness in relief. everything else was in{355} shadow, or in the trembling uncertainty of the indoor light. the pistol, still with a little smoke from it, which curled for a moment into the shining light and disappeared, was still in his hand.

this was the end of that strange visit to the little tranquil house, where he had introduced so much disturbance, so strange an overturning of every habit. he had taken it for his rest and refuge, like a master in a place where every custom of the tranquil life, and every principle and sentiment, cried out against him. he had made the son his slave, but yet had not made the mother his enemy. and yet a more wonderful thing had happened to lew. he, whom nobody had loved in his life, save those whose vile affections can be bought for pay, and who dishonour the name—and for whom nobody would have wept had he not strayed into this peaceful abode and all but ruined and destroyed it—had tears shed for him here. had he never come to the hewan—to shed misery and terror around him, to kill and ruin, to rob and slay, as for some time at least he had intended—there would have been no lament made for the adventurer. but kind nature gained him this much in his end, though he no way deserved it. and the moonlight made him look like a hero slain in its defence upon the threshold of the outraged house,—the only house in the world where prayer had ever been said for this abandoned soul.