of flame from the fire, he vanished in the following shade, and for
a moment she stood in doubt of her seeing sense. But when the coal
flashed again there was her son, regarding her out of great eyes that
looked as if they had seen death. A ghastly air hung about him, as if
he had just come back from Hades, but in his silent bearing there was
a sanity, even dignity, which strangely impressed her. He came forward
a pace or two, stopped, and said, "Dinna be frichtit, mem. I'm come.
Sen' the lassie hame an' du wi' me as ye like. I canna haud aff o' me.
But I think I'm deein', an' ye needna misguide me."

His voice, although it trembled a little, was clear and unimpeded,
and, though weak in its modulation, manly.

Something in the woman's heart responded. Was it motherhood or the
deeper godhead? Was it pity for the dignity housed in the crumbling
clay, or repentance for the son of her womb? Or was it that sickness
gave hope, and she could afford to be kind?

"I don't know what you mean, Stephen," she said, more gently than he
had ever heard her speak.

Was it an agony of mind or of body, or was it but a flickering of the
shadows upon his face? A moment, and he gave a half-choked shriek and
fell on the floor. His mother turned from him with disgust and rang
the bell. "Send Tom here," she said.

An elderly, hard-featured man came.

"Stephen is in one of his fits," she said.