ifferent kind, Robert was aware that those sounds had
ceased; the growling was still; he heard no more turnings to and fro.
How it was operating he could not tell, further than that there must be
some measure of soothing in its influence. He ceased quite, and
listened again. For a few moments there was no sound. Then he heard the
half-articulate murmuring of one whose organs have been all but overcome
by the beneficent paralysis of sleep, but whose feeble will would compel
them to utterance. He was nearly asleep again. Was it a fact, or a fancy
of Robert's eager heart? Did the man really say,

'Play that again, father. It's bonnie, that! I aye likit the Flooers o'
the Forest. Play awa'. I hae had a frichtsome dream. I thocht I was i'
the ill place. I doobt I'm no weel. But yer fiddle aye did me gude. Play
awa', father!'

All the night through, till the dawn of the gray morning, Falconer
watched the sleeping man, all but certain that he was indeed his father.
Eternities of thought passed through his mind as he watched--this time
by the couch, as he hoped, of a new birth. He was about to see what
could be done by one man, strengthened by all the aids that love and
devotion could give, for the redemption of his fellow. As through the
darkness of the night and a sluggish fog to aid it, the light of a pure
heaven made its slow irresistible way, his hope grew that athwart the
fog of an evil life, the darkness that might be felt, the light of the
Spirit of God would yet penetrate the heart of the sinner, and shake the
wickedness out of it. Deeper and yet deeper grew his compassion and his
sympathy, in prospect of the tortures the man must go through, before
the will that he had sunk into a deeper sleep than any into which opium
could sink his bodily being, would shake off its deathly lethargy, and
arise, torn with struggling pain, to behold the light of a new spiritual
morning. All that he could do he was prepared to do, regardless of
entreaty, regardless of torture, anger, and hate, with the inexorable
justice of love, the law that will not, must not, dares not
yield--strong with an awful tenderness, a wisdom that cannot be turned
aside, to redeem the lost soul of his father. And he strengthened
his heart for the conflict by saying that if he would do thus for his
father, what would not God do for his child? Had He not proved already,
if there was any truth in the grand story of the world's redemption
through that obedience