We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I knew, by experience, it would be.  Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places.  My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice.  I was used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first.  But just as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, and my heart into my mouth.  It was a voice inside the wall,—­the minister’s well-known voice.  I would have been prepared for it in any kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard.  It came out with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance.  “Willie, Willie!  Oh, God preserve us! is it you?”

These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the invisible creature had ceased to have.  I thought the old man, whom I had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror.  I made a dash round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the thought.  He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet.  I lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward.  He was very pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted lips.  He neither saw nor heard me.  We that had gone through this experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little strength to bear it.  But he was not even aware that I was there.  His whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness.  He held out his hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear.  He went on speaking all the time.  “Willie, if it is you,—­and it’s you, if it is not a delusion of Satan,—­Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting them that know you not?  Why came ye not to me?”

He seemed to wait for an answer.  When his voice ceased, his countenance, every line moving, continued to speak.  Simson gave me another terrible shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without seeing Simson, speaking to some one else.  His voice took a tone of expostulation:—­

“Is this right to come here?  Your mother’s gone with your name on her lips.  Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad?  Do ye think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature?  No!—­I forbid ye!  I forbid ye!” cried the old man.  The sobbing voice had begun to resume its cries.  He made a step forward, calling out the last words in a voice of command.  “I forbid ye!  Cry out no more to man.  Go home, ye wandering spirit! go home!  Do you hear me?—­me that christened ye, that have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!” Here the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness.  “And her too, poor woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon.  She’s not here.  You’ll find her with the Lord.  Go there and seek her, not here.  Do you hear me, lad? go after her there.  He’ll let you in, though it’s late.  Man, take heart! if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven’s gate, and not your poor mother’s ruined door.”