About two of the morning, there were three red embers left and the house and all the city was asleep, when I was aware of a small sound of weeping in the next room.

She thought that I slept, the poor soul; she regretted her weakness--and what perhaps (God help her!) she called her forwardness--and in the dead of the night solaced herself with tears.

Tender and bitter feelings, love and penitence and pity struggled in my soul; it seemed I was under bond to heal that weeping.
"O, try to forgive me!" I cried out, "try, try to forgive me.

Let us forget it all, let us try if we'll no can forget it!" There came no answer, but the sobbing ceased.

I stood a long while with my hands still clasped as I had spoken; then the cold of the night laid hold upon me with a shudder, and I think my reason reawakened.
"You can make no hand of this, Davie," thinks I."To bed with you like a wise lad, and try if you can sleep.