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Updated: June 26, 2025
He choked, could not go on: he would have put half the strength and life in himself into Yarrow's lank little body that moment, if he could. There was a something else lost, different from all these, of which they both thought, but they did not speak of it. The convict looked out into the night.
"Let it be so. But did you think what you would do, if you refused your aid to me? Have you found work? or a God to preach?" Something in these last words took Yarrow's sudden strength away. He did not answer for a moment. "Work?" feebly. "No, I haven't heard of any work. As for a God" "Well, then, what are your purposes?" coldly. Another silence. "I don't know.
Yarrow's smiling face with that inner pathos. It swarmed upon him from all points; and wherever he turned it repeated itself in the distances like that succession of faces you see when you stand between two mirrors. It was not merely a lapse from his lately hopeful state with Alford, it was a collapse.
They were larger and more uniformly successful than any that had ever been perpetrated in the States, but there was about them a subtle, dogged daring that did not belong to Yarrow's character, and shrewd people who had known them began to talk of this shadow of a woman who went about with him, a quadroon, they said, and hinted strongly that it was she who had been the vital power of the partnership, and Yarrow but the well-chosen tool.
Yarrow's rocker, and the ladies, the older and the older-fashioned, who were "sticking it out" at the hotel till it should close on the 15th of September, observed him, some compassionately, some censoriously, but all in the same conviction. "It's plain to be seen what ails Mr. Alford, now." "Well, I guess it is." "I guess so." "I guess it is."
"You're a clergyman?" "Yes." "So was I once. If you had known, just now, that I was a felon two days ago released from the penitentiary, what would you have said to me? Guilty, when I went in, remember. A thief." The man was silent, looking in Yarrow's face. Then he put his hand on his arm. "Shall I tell you?" "Go on."
Dick had several new ties, and Sister had to admire these before she could leave the chiffonier. Finally she slipped the box of pretty buttons in her pocket and jumped down. She put the chair where she had found it, and ran downstairs and through the hedge that separated the Morrison house from that of Dr. Yarrow's. "Nellie, oh, Nellie!" called Sister. "Come on, let's play jackstones."
Neither was it a dead morning. The far-off tinkle of cowbells reached him now and then, the cheery crow from one farm-yard to another, even children's voices calling, and at last a slow, sweet chime of churchbells. "They told me it was Christmas morning," he said, pulling off the old cap again. Yarrow's chin had sunk on his breast, as his eager eyes drank all this morning in.
Did ever a thought come into your mind like a fresh, clean air into a stove-heated, foul room? or like the first hearty, living call of Greatheart through the dungeons of Giant Despair? "You do not answer me, Stephen?" said his brother. "You will go with me?" Yarrow's head was more erect, his eyes less glazed. "It may be. The chance for me's over in the world, I think. I may as well serve you.
But as soon as the dog caught sight of strangers he would at once leave the sheep and run home by a circuitous route. One such instance Millar particularly mentioned. He had collected a lot of old ewes one night, but had utterly failed, even with "Yarrow's" help, to get them down a steep hill and across Tweed in the dark.
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