showed them what to do and how to do it. But
there's a woman up there that the world ought to know about. For love of
her--"

"Oh, the world!" snorted the professor. "The world, sir! The Lord
deliver us! It might do the world some good, I grant."

"It is for love of her these men are in for the ministry."

"You are wrong, sir. That is not their motive."

"No, perhaps it is not. It would be unfair to say so, but yet she--"

"I know, sir. I know, sir. Bless my soul, sir. I know her. I knew her
before you were born. But--yes, yes--" the professor spoke as if to
himself--"for love of her men would attempt great things. You have
these names, Craven? Ah! Alexander Stewart, Donald Cameron, Thomas
Finch--Finch, let me see--ah, yes, Finch. His mother died after a long
illness. Yes, I remember. A very sad case, a very sad case, indeed."

"And yet not so sad, sir," put in Craven. "At any rate, it did not
seem so at the time. That night it seemed anything but sad. It was
wonderful."

The professor laid down his list and sat back in his chair.

"Go on, sir," he said, gazing curiously at Craven. "I have heard a
little about it. Let me see, it was the night of the great match, was it
not?"

"Did you know about that? Who told you about the match, sir?"

"I hear a great many things, and in curious ways. But go on, sir, go
on."

Craven sat silent, and from the look in his eyes his thoughts were far
away.

"Well, sir, it's a thing I have never spoken about. It seems to me, if I
may say so, something quite too sacred to speak of lightly."

Again Craven paused, while the professor waited.

"It was Hughie sent me there. There was a jubilation supper at
the manse, you understand. Thomas Finch, the goal-keeper, you
know--magnificent fellow, too--was not at the supper. A messenger had
come for him, saying that his mother had taken a bad turn. Hughie was
much disappointed, and they were all evidently anxious. I offered to
drive over and inquire, and of course the minister's wife, though she
had been on the go all day long, must needs go with me. I can never
forget that night. I suppose you have noticed, sir, there are times
when one is more sensitive to impressions from one's surroundings than
others. There are times with me, too, when I seem to have a very vital
kinship with nature. At any rate, during that drive nature seemed to get
close to me. The dark, still forest, the crisp air, the frost sparkling
in the starlight on t