One knows how most men would have received so harsh an answer to such gentle words, and we can conceive how a very holy man, say a monk, would have bowed to it.  Even as the monk did Tommy submit, or say rather with the meekness of a nun.

“I wish I could help you in any way, Aaron,” he said, with a sigh.

“You can,” replied Aaron, promptly, “by taking yourself off to London, and leaving Elspeth here wi’ me.  I never made pretence that I wanted you, except because she wouldna come without you.  Laddie and man, as weel you ken, you were aye a scunner to me.”

“And yet,” said Tommy, looking at him admiringly, “you fed and housed and educated us.  Ah, Aaron, do you not see that your dislike gives me the more reason only to esteem you?” Carried away by desire to help the old man, he put his hand kindly on his shoulder.  “You have never respected yourself,” he said, “since the night you and my mother parted at the Cuttle Well, and my heart bleeds to think of it.  Many a year ago, by your kindness to two forlorn children, you expiated that sin, and it is blotted out from your account.  Forget it, Aaron, as every other person has forgotten it, and let the spirit of Jean Myles see you tranquil once again.”

He patted Aaron affectionately; he seemed to be the older of the two.

“Tak’ your hand off my shuther,” Aaron cried fiercely.

Tommy removed his hand, but he continued to look yearningly at the warper.  Another beautiful thought came to him.

“What are you looking so holy about?” asked Aaron, with misgivings.

“Aaron,” cried Tommy, suddenly inspired, “you are not always the gloomy man you pass for being.  You have glorious moments still.  You wake in the morning, and for a second of time you are in the heyday of your youth, and you and Jean Myles are to walk out to-night.  As you sit by this fire you think you hear her hand on the latch of the door; as you pass down the street you seem to see her coming towards you.  It is for a moment only, and then you are a gray-haired man again, and she has been in her grave for many a year; but you have that moment.”

Aaron rose, amazed and wrathful.  “The de’il tak’ you,” he cried, “how did you find out that?”

Perhaps Tommy’s nose turned up rapturously in reply, for the best of us cannot command ourselves altogether at great moments, but when he spoke he was modest again.

“It was sympathy that told me,” he explained; “and, Aaron, if you will only believe me, it tells me also that a little of the man you were still clings to you.  Come out of the moroseness in which you have enveloped yourself so long.  Think what a joy it would be to Elspeth.”

“It’s little she would care.”

“If you want to hurt her, tell her so.”

“I’m no denying but what she’s fell fond o’ me.”

“Then for her sake,” Tommy pleaded.