at led into the east corner of the cloisters. Knowing that escape
that way was now impossible for the distracted man, and feeling pity for
him, I crossed the nave and followed after him in the gloom. As I drew
near I heard him flee again--down the south aisle to the other door of
the cloisters. Here once more he shook unavailingly upon the latch, and
drummed pitifully with his fists. There was a scrabbling with nails on
the oaken door--then a cry of anguish smote on my ear. An awful terror
evidently had him in grip.

He rushed wildly on again--on--on to the only remaining door of escape
into the northern close. Suddenly the music stopped on a throb of joy.
The shock caused me to halt. As I started again to walk towards the door
I heard no longer the miserable patter of feet in front of me. I was
just about to reach out a hand to feel for the latch in the darkness
when I stumbled over an obstacle on the pavement. I knelt down and felt
about with my hands: I found a man's body lying inert at my feet.

God in Heaven! The darkness seemed to buffet me upon the ears. I heard a
vague cry escape my lips, for the fugitive's hand had dropped from mine
with a thud upon the stone. _The man was dead._

'MEENISTER' MACHIAVELLI

The soul of the Minister of Bleakhope was disquieted within him, for he
had just been 'up the water' and seen the new stained-glass windows
which had recently been put in and dedicated to Saint Cuthbert in the
English church 'beside the Knowe.'

The Reverend Alexander Macgregor was tall and spare, oval-faced, eyed
like a hawk, yet with a humorous twinkle behind his keen glances that
were equally alert whether for the rising of a 'troot' or a sinner.

A bequest from a wealthy parishioner, who had died, as the result of a
motor-car accident, had enabled his 'brother'--the Episcopalian
'priest'--to decorate his church with three single lights, illustrative
of Saint Cuthbert's life, and the Minister grieved as he thought of his
own little grey kirk on the bare hill which badly wanted a 'bit colour'
in its wee apsidal east window.

He regarded his frayed sleeves and his wrinkled black trousers
unhopefully.

If he were to save every penny till the end of his days he could never
achieve his desire. He had no wealthy parishioner whom he might persuade
into buying a motor-car after seeing that 'the Kirk' had been duly
remembered in his will.

His flock consisted chiefly of small farmers and herd laddi