for there's Ane for them that counts far beyont
an' above a' that can be against them. Now, thou step aff my honest
hearthstane--there is mair room for thee without than within."

Then John held his mother's and sister's hands a moment, and there was
such _virtue_ in the clasp, and such light and trust in their faces,
that it was impossible for him not to catch hope from them. Suddenly
Bailie Tulloch noticed that John was in his Sabbath-day clothes. In
itself this was not remarkable on a Saturday night. Most of the people
kept this evening as a kind of preparation for the Holy Day, and the
best clothing and the festival meal were very general. But just then
it struck the bailies as worth inquiring about.

"Where are thy warking-claes, John--the uniform, I mean, o' that
steamship company thou sails for--and why hast na them on thee?"

"I had a visit to mak, an' I put on my best to mak it in. The ithers
are i' my room."

"Get them, Christine."

Christine returned in a few minutes pale-faced and empty-handed. "They
are not there, John, nor yet i' thy kist."

"I thought sae."

"Then God help me, sister! I know not where they are."

Even Bailie Inkster looked doubtful and troubled at this circumstance.
Silence, cold and suspicious, fell upon them, and poor John went away
half-bereft of all the comfort his mother's trust and Christine's look
had given him.

The next day being Sabbath, no one felt at liberty to discuss the
subject; but as the little groups passed one another on their way to
church their solemn looks and their doleful shakes of the head
testified to its presence in their thoughts. The dominie indeed,
knowing how nearly impossible it would be for them not to think their
own thoughts this Lord's day, deemed it best to guide those thoughts
to charity. He begged every one to be kind to all in deep affliction,
and to think no evil until it was positively known who the guilty
person was.

Indeed, in spite of the almost overwhelming evidence against John
Sabay, there was a strong disposition to believe him innocent. "If ye
believe a' ye hear, ye may eat a' ye see," said Geordie Sweyn. "Maybe
John Sabay killed old Peter Fae, but every maybe has a may-not-be."
And to this remark there were more nods of approval than shakes of
dissent.

But affairs, even with this gleam of light, were dark enough to the
sorrowful family. John's wages had stopped, and the winter fuel was
not yet all cut. A lawyer had to be