endar's
honor like a sword-thrust. He did not doubt that many blamed him for
not interfering in his nephew's extravagant business methods; and he
could not explain to these people how peculiarly he was situated with
regard to David's affairs; nor, indeed, would many of them have
understood the fine delicacy which had dictated John's course.

It was a wretched summer every way. The accountant who had charge of
David's affairs was in no hurry to close up a profitable engagement,
and the creditors, having once accepted the probable loss, did not
think it worth while to deny themselves their seaside or Highland
trips to attend meetings relating to Callendar & Leslie. So there was
little progress made in the settlement of affairs all summer, and
David was literally out of employment. His uncle's and his children's
presence was a reproach to him, and Robert and he only irritated each
other with mutual reproaches. Before autumn brought back manufacturers
and merchants to their factories and offices David had sunk still
lower. He did not come home any more when he felt that he had drunk
too much. He had found out houses where such a condition was the
natural and the most acceptable one--houses whose doors are near to
the gates of hell.

This knowledge shocked John inexpressibly, and in the depth of his
horror and grief he craved some human sympathy.

"I must go and see Dr. Morrison," he said one night to Jenny.

"And you'll do right, deacon; the grip o' his hand and the shining o'
his eyes in yours will do you good; forbye, you ken weel you arena fit
to guide yoursel', let alane Davie. You are too angry, and angry men
tell many a lie to themsel's."

There is often something luminous in the face of a good man, and Dr.
Morrison had this peculiarity in a remarkable degree. His face seemed
to radiate light; moreover, he was a man anointed with the oil of
gladness above his fellows, and John no sooner felt the glow of that
radiant countenance on him than his heart leaped up to welcome it.

"Doctor," he said, choking back his sorrow, "doctor, I'm fain to see
you."

"John, sit down. What is it, John?"

"It's David, minister."

And then John slowly, and weighing every word so as to be sure he
neither over-stated nor under-stated the case, opened up his whole
heart's sorrow.

"I hae suffered deeply, minister; I didna think life could be such a
tragedy."

"A tragedy indeed, John, but a tragedy with an angel audience. Think