ne of his own absorption
to the humorous common sense of the recital: it claimed and held him
with infinite solace. His eyes had something like the light of laughter
in them, flashing behind a cloud, as he fixed them on Dr Drummond, and
said, "And did you?"

"We did," said Dr Drummond, getting up once more from his chair, and
playing complacently with his watch-charms as he took another turn about
the study. "We left it to Miss Cameron, and the result is"--the Doctor
stopped sharply and wheeled round upon Finlay--"the result is--why, the
upshot seems to be that I've cut you out, man!"

Finlay measured the little Doctor standing there twisting his
watch-chain, beaming with achieved satisfaction, in a consuming desire
to know how far chance had been kind to him, and how far he had to be
simply, unspeakably, grateful. He stared in silence, occupied with his
great debt; it was like him that that, and not his liberty, should be
first in his mind. We who have not his opportunity may find it more
difficult to decide; but from our private knowledge of Dr Drummond we
may remember what poor Finlay probably forgot at the moment, that
even when pitted against Providence, the Doctor was a man of great
determination.

The young fellow got up, still speechless, and confronted Dr Drummond.
He was troubled for something to say; the chambers of his brain seemed
empty or reiterating foolish sounds. He pressed the hand the minister
offered him and his lips quivered. Then a light came into his face, and
he picked up his hat.

"And I'll say this for myself," chuckled Dr Drummond. "It was no hard
matter."

Finlay looked at him and smiled. "It would not be, sir," he said lamely.
Dr Drummond cast a shrewd glance at him and dropped the tone of banter.

"Aye--I know! It's no joking matter," he said, and with a hand behind
the young man's elbow, he half pushed him to the door and took out his
watch. He must always be starting somebody, something, in the right
direction, the Doctor. "It's not much after half-past nine, Finlay," he
said. "I notice the stars are out."

It had the feeling of a colloquial benediction, and Finlay carried it
with him all the way.

It was nevertheless nearly ten when he reached her father's house,
so late that the family had dispersed for the night. Yet he had the
hardihood to ring, and the hour blessed them both, for Advena on the
stair, catching who knows what of presage out of the sound, turned, and
found hi