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his mind nowquiet as the air that ever broods over the house where
a friend has dwelt。 He left the town behind； and walkedthrough
the odours of grass and of clover and of the yellow flowers on the
old earthwalls that divided the fieldssweet scents to which the
darkness is friendly； and which； mingling with the smell of the
earth itself； reach the founts of memory sooner than even words or
tonesdown to the brink of the river that flowed scarcely murmuring
through the night； itself dark and brown as the night from its
far…off birthplace in the peaty hills。 He crossed the footbridge
and turned into the bleachfield。 Its houses were desolate； for that
trade too had died away。 The machinery stood rotting and rusting。
The wheel gave no answering motion to the flow of the water that
glided away beneath it。 The thundering beatles were still。 The
huge legs of the wauk…mill took no more seven…leagued strides
nowhither。 The rubbing…boards with their thickly…fluted surfaces no
longer frothed the soap from every side； tormenting the web of linen
into a brightness to gladden the heart of the housewife whose hands
had spun the yarn。 The terrible boiler that used to send up from
its depths bubbling and boiling spouts and peaks and ridges； lay
empty and cold。 The little house behind； where its awful furnace
used to glow； and which the pungent chlorine used to fill with its
fumes； stood open to the wind and the rain： he could see the slow
river through its unglazed window beyond。 The water still went
slipping and sliding through the deserted places； a power whose use
had departed。 The canal； the delight of his childhood； was nearly
choked with weeds； it went flowing over long grasses that drooped
into it from its edges； giving a faint gurgle once and again in its
flow； as if it feared to speak in the presence of the stars； and
escaped silently into the river far below。 The grass was no longer
mown like a lawn； but was long and deep and thick。 He climbed to
the place where he had once lain and listened to the sounds of the
belt of fir…trees behind him； hearing the voice of Nature that
whispered God in his ears； and there he threw himself down once
more。 All the old things； the old ways； the old glories of
childhoodwere they gone？ No。 Over them all； in them all； was God
still。 There is no past with him。 An eternal present； He filled
his soul and all that his soul had ever filled。 His history was
taken up into God： it had not vanished： his life was hid with Christ
in God。 To the God of the human heart nothing that has ever been a
joy； a grief； a passing interest； can ever cease to be what it has
been； there is no fading at the breath of time； no passing away of
fashion； no dimming of old memories in the heart of him whose being
creates time。 Falconer's heart rose up to him as to his own deeper
life； his indwelling deepest spiritabove and beyond him as the
heavens are above and beyond the earth； and yet nearer and homelier
than his own most familiar thought。 'As the light fills the earth；'
thought he； 'so God fills what we call life。 My sorrows； O God； my
hopes； my joys； the upliftings of my life are with thee； my root； my
life。 Thy comfortings； my perfect God； are strength indeed！'
He rose and looked around him。 While he lay； the waning； fading
moon had risen； weak and bleared and dull。 She brightened and
brightened until at last she lighted up the night with a wan；
forgetful gleam。 'So should I feel；' he thought； 'about the past on
which I am now gazing； were it not that I believe in the God who
forgets nothing。 That which has been； is。' His eye fell on
something bright in the field beyond。 He would see what it was； and
crossed the earthen dyke。 It shone like a little moon in the grass。
By humouring the reflection he reached it。 It was only a cutting
of white iron； left by some tinker。 He walked on over the field；
thinking of Shargar's mother。 If he could but find her！ He walked
on and on。 He had no inclination to go home。 The solitariness of
the night； the uncanniness of the moon； prevents most people from
wandering far： Robert had learned long ago to love the night； and to
feel at home with every aspect of God's world。 How this peace
contrasted with the nights in London streets！ this grass with the
dark flow of the Thames！ these hills and those clouds half melted
into moonlight with the lanes blazing with gas！ He thought of the
child who； taken from London for the first time； sent home the
message： 'Tell mother that it's dark in the country at night。' Then
his thoughts turned again to Shargar's mother！ Was it not possible；
being a wanderer far and wide； that she might be now in Rothieden？
Such people have a love for their old haunts； stronger than that of
orderly members of society for their old homes。 He turned back； and
did not know where he was。 But the lines of the hill…tops directed
him。 He hastened to the town； and went straight through the
sleeping streets to the back wynd where he had found Shargar sitting
on the doorstep。 Could he believe his eyes？ A feeble light was
burning in the shed。 Some other poverty…stricken bird of the night；
however； might be there； and not she who could perhaps guide him to
the goal of his earthly life。 He drew near； and peeped in at the
broken window。 A heap of something lay in a corner； watched only by
a long…snuffed candle。
The heap moved； and a voice called out querulously；
'Is that you； Shargar； ye shochlin deevil？'
Falconer's heart leaped。 He hesitated no longer； but lifted the
latch and entered。 He took up the candle； snuffed it as he best
could； and approached the woman。 When the light fell on her face
she sat up； staring wildly with eyes that shunned and sought it。
'Wha are ye that winna lat me dee in peace and quaietness？'
'I'm Robert Falconer。'
'Come to speir efter yer ne'er…do…weel o' a father； I reckon；' she
said。
'Yes；' he answered。
'Wha's that ahin' ye？'
'Naebody's ahin' me；' answered Robert。
'Dinna lee。 Wha's that ahin' the door？'
'Naebody。 I never tell lees。'
'Whaur's Shargar？ What for doesna he come till 's mither？'
'He's hynd awa' ower the seasa captain o' sodgers。'
'It's a lee。 He's an ill…faured scoonrel no to come till 's mither
an' bid her gude…bye； an' her gaein' to hell。'
'Gin ye speir at Christ； he'll tak ye oot o' the verra mou' o' hell；
wuman。'
'Christ！ wha's that？ Ow； ay！ It's him 'at they preach aboot i' the
kirks。 Na； na。 There's nae gude o' that。 There's nae time to
repent noo。 I doobt sic repentance as mine wadna gang for muckle
wi' the likes o' him。'
'The likes o' him 's no to be gotten。 He cam to save the likes o'
you an' me。'
'The likes o' you an' me！ said ye； laddie？ There's no like atween
you and me。 He'll hae naething to say to me； but gang to hell wi'
ye for a bitch。'
'He never said sic a word in 's life。 He wad say； 〃Poor thing！ she
was ill…used。 Ye maunna sin ony mair。 Come； and I'll help ye。〃 He
wad say something like that。 He'll save a body whan she wadna think
it。'
'An' I hae gien my bonnie bairn to the deevil wi' my ain han's！
She'll come to hell efter me to girn at me； an' set them on me wi'
their reid het taings； and curse me。 Och hone！ och hone！'
'Hearken to me；' said Falconer； with as much authority as he could
assume。 But she rolled herself over again in the corner； and lay
groaning。
'Tell me whaur she is；' said Falconer； 'and I'll tak her oot o'
their grup； whaever they be。'
She sat up again； and stared at him for a few moments without
speaking。
'I left her wi' a wuman waur nor mysel'；' she said at length。 'God
forgie me。'
'He will forgie ye； gin ye tell me whaur she is。'
'Do ye think he will？ Eh； Maister Faukner！ The wuman bides in a
coort off o' Clare Market。 I dinna min' upo' the name o' 't； though
I cud gang till 't wi' my een steekit。 Her name's Widow Walkeran
auld rowdiedamn her sowl！'
'Na； na； ye maunna say that gin ye want to be forgien yersel'。 I'll
fin' her oot。 An' I'm thinkin' it winna be lang or I hae a grup o'
her。 I'm gaein' back to Lonnon in twa days or three。'
'Dinna gang till I'm deid。 Bide an' haud the deevil aff o' me。 He
has a grup o' my hert noo； rivin' at it wi' his lang nailsas lang
's birds' nebs。'
'I'll bide wi' ye till we see what can be dune for ye。 What's the
maitter wi' ye？ I'm a doctor noo。'
There was not a chair or box or stool on which to sit down。 He
therefore kneeled beside her。 He felt her pulse； questioned her；
and learned that she had long been suffering from an internal
complaint； which had within the last week grown rapidly worse。 He
saw that there was no hope of her recovery； but while she lived he
gave himself to her service as to that of a living soul capable of
justice and love。 The night w