gies, dropped into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER V.

John sat and looked at his fallen idol with a vacant, tear-stained
face. He tried to pray a few words at intervals, but he was not yet
able to gird up his soul and wrestle with this grief. When Jenny came
in she was shocked at the gray, wretched look with which her master
pointed to the shameful figure on the sofa. Nevertheless, she went
gently to it, raised the fallen head to the pillow, and then went and
got a blanket to cover the sleeper, muttering,

"Poor fellow! There's nae need to let him get a pleurisy, ony gate.
Whatna for did ye no tell me, deacon? Then I could hae made him a cup
o' warm tea."

She spoke as if she was angry, not at David, but at John; and, though
it was only the natural instinct of a woman defending what she dearly
loved, John gave it a different meaning, and it added to his
suffering.

"You are right, Jenny, woman," he said humbly, "it is my fault. I
mixed his first glass for him."

"Vera weel. Somebody aye mixes the first glass. Somebody mixed your
first glass. That is a bygane, and there is nae use at a' speiring
after it. How is the lad to be saved? That is the question now."

"O Jenny, then you dare to hope for his salvation?"

"I would think it far mair sinfu' to despair o' it. The Father has twa
kinds o' sons, deacon. Ye are ane like the elder brother; ye hae
'served him many years and transgressed not at any time his
commandment;' but this dear lad is his younger son--still his son,
mind ye--and he'll win hame again to his Father's house. What for not?
He's the bairn o' many prayers. Gae awa to your ain room, deacon; I'll
keep the watch wi' him. He'd rather see me nor you when he comes to
himsel'."

Alas! the watch begun that night was one Jenny had very often to keep
afterwards. David's troubles gathered closer and closer round him, and
the more trouble he had the deeper he drank. Within a month after that
first shameful homecoming the firm of Callendar & Leslie went into
sequestration. John felt the humiliation of this downcome in a far
keener way than David did. His own business record was a stainless
one; his word was as good as gold on Glasgow Exchange; the house of
John Callendar & Co. was synonymous with commercial integrity. The
prudent burghers who were his nephew's creditors were far from
satisfied with the risks David and Robert Leslie had taken, and they
did not scruple to call them by words which hurt John Call