window through which the vista of a soul's inner life
is flashed by her mystic hand, and in that moment the window glows with
the unfeigned light of childhood, its simple radiance still unquenched,
though long draped by artificial years.

Thus transfigured were the faces of Angus Strachan and Michael
Blake--the one with mingled love and fear, the other with unmingled
scorn. With that swift intensity of passion came the reversal to their
common type, and the great betrayal was complete. The blood they shared
together, speaking a kindred language, had turned King's evidence at
last, and its unanswerable testimony leaped from face and eye.

For God hath His silent witnesses, like John the Baptist, by us shut up
in prison and by us beheaded--but He calleth them to the witness-stand
as pleaseth Him; and they live forever in dreadful gospels of love and
doom, the latter sharing the power of the former's endless life. Their
voice is heard above Herodias' strains of revelry and even sceptred
Sadducees tremble at the sound.

Vast is life's mighty forest, but the wronger and the wronged meet
somewhere amid its shadowy glades. Surely life's wooded maze might
afford a hiding place to those who fly from armed memories--but God's
rangers tread its every glen with stealthy step and the foliage of every
thicket gleams with the armour of His detective host. A chance meeting,
a foundling acquaintance, a stray newspaper, an undestroyed letter, a
resurgent memory, a neglected photograph, or, as here, a tell-tale tide
of blood--all these have accepted God's retainer and bear the invisible
badge that denotes His world-spread Force. All life's apparent discord
is harmony itself when He determines the departments and allots to every
thing, and to every man, his work!

"You speak of Ettrick! What know you of Ettrick? What is her name that
lives there?" I heard Mr. Blake ask in a faltering whisper, unheard by
the rigid worshippers.

"She bears no name save that which you defiled--it shall not be spoken
here, though I honour it with my deepest heart--but look on this," and
Angus held out before him what he had drawn from his bosom as he spoke.

Michael Blake's gaze was fixed upon it, no word or sound coming from his
lips. His eyes clung to it with tranquil eagerness, unconscious of all
about, still clinging when Angus withdrew it, wrapped it in the paper
which had enclosed it, and restored it to its hiding-place.

I know not why, but I hel