riving
away our brother that we can be alone with God. Thomas's plaid could
not isolate him with his Maker, for communion with God is never
isolation. In such a mood, the chamber with the shut door shuts out God
too, and one is left alone with himself, which is the outer darkness.
The love of the brethren opens the door into God's chamber, which is
within ours. So Thomas--who was far enough from hating his brother, who
would have struggled to his feet and limped to do him a service, though
he would not have held out his hand to receive one, for he was only
good, not gracious--Thomas, I say, felt worse than ever, and more as if
God had forgotten him, than he had felt for many a day. He knelt still
and sighed sore.

At length another knock came, which although very gentle, he heard and
knew well enough.

"Who's there?" he asked, notwithstanding, with a fresh access of
indignant feeling.

"Annie Anderson," was the answer through the door, in a tone which at
once soothed the ruffled waters of Thomas's spirit.

"Come in," he said.

She entered, quiet as a ghost.

"Come awa', Annie. I'm glaid to see ye. Jist come and kneel doon aside
me, and we'll pray thegither, for I'm sair troubled wi' an ill-temper."

Without a word of reply, Annie kneeled by the side of his chair. Thomas
drew the plaid over her head, took her hand, which was swallowed up in
his, and after a solemn pause, spoke thus:

"O Lord, wha dwellest in the licht inaccessible, whom mortal eye hath
not seen nor can see, but who dwellest with him that is humble and
contrite of heart, and liftest the licht o' thy coontenance upo' them
that seek it, O Lord,"--here the solemnity of the appeal gave way
before the out-bursting agony of Thomas's heart--"O Lord, dinna lat's
cry in vain, this thy lammie, and me, thine auld sinner, but, for the
sake o' him wha did no sin, forgive my sins and my vile temper, and
help me to love my neighbour as mysel'. Lat Christ dwell in me and syne
I shall be meek and lowly of heart like him. Put thy speerit in me, and
syne I shall do richt--no frae mysel', for I hae no good thing in me,
but frae thy speerit that dwelleth in us."

After this prayer, Thomas felt refreshed and hopeful. With slow labour
he rose from his knees at last, and sinking into his chair, drew Annie
towards him, and kissed her. Then he said,

"Will ye gang a bit eeran' for me, Annie?"

"That I will, Thomas. I wad rin mysel' aff o' my legs for ye."

"Na, na.