must be the work of Satan," cried the poor Rabbi, who constantly
saw the hand of the great enemy in the disorder of his study. "I
cannot believe that my hands packed such garments in place of my own."

"Ye 'll be satisfied when ye read the name; it's plain eneuch; ye
needna gang dodderin' aboot here and there lookin' for yir glasses;
there's twa pair on your head already;" for it was an hour of triumph
to Barbara's genial soul.

"It's beyond understanding," murmured the Rabbi. "I must have mistaken
one drawer for another in the midst of meditation;" and then, when
Barbara had swept out of the room with the varied linen on her arm,
"this is very humiliating, John, and hard to bear."

"Nonsense, Rabbi; it's one of the finest things you have ever done.
Half a dozen journeys of that kind would refurnish the manse; it's just
a pity you can't annex a chair;" but he saw that the good man was
sorely vexed.

"You are a good lad, John, and it is truly marvellous what charity I
have received at the hands of young men who might have scorned and
mocked me. God knows how my heart has been filled with gratitude, and
I . . . have mentioned your names in my unworthy prayers that God may
do to you all according to the kindness ye have shown unto me."

It was plain that this lonely, silent man was much moved, and
Carmichael did not speak.

"People consider that I am ignorant of my failings and weaknesses, and
I can bear witness with a clear conscience that I am not angry when
they smile and nod the head; why should I be? But, John, it is known
to myself only and Him before whom all hearts are open how great is my
suffering in being among my neighbours as a sparrow upon the housetop.

"May you never know, John, what it is to live alone and friendless till
you lose the ways of other men and retire within yourself, looking out
on the multitude passing on the road as a hermit from his cell, and
knowing that some day you will die alone, with none to . . . give you a
draught of water."

"Rabbi, Rabbi"--for Carmichael was greatly distressed at the woe in the
face opposite him, and his heart was tender that night--"why should you
have lived like that? Do not be angry, but . . . did God intend . . .
it cannot be wrong . . . I mean . . . God did give Eve to Adam."

"Laddie, why do ye speak with fear and a faltering voice? Did I say
aught against that gracious gift or the holy mystery of love, which is
surely the sign of the union