estion. It seems to me likewise
ill-judged of Mr Crann to make such an accusation in public against Mr
Bruce, who, I must say, has met it with a self-restraint and a
self-possession most creditable to him, and has answered it in a very
satisfactory manner. The hundredth psalm."

"Hooly and fairly, sir!" exclaimed Thomas, forgetting his manners in
his eagerness. "I haena dune yet. And whaur wad be the place to discuss
sic a queston but afore a' meetin o' the church? Ca' ye that the
public, sir? Wasna the church institute for the sake o' discipleen? Sic
things are no to be ironed oot in a hole an' a corner, atween you and
the deycons, sir. They belang to the haill body. We're a' wranged
thegither, and the Holy Ghost, whase temple we sud be, is wranged
forby. You at least micht ken, sir, that he's withdrawn his presence
frae oor mids', and we are but a candle under a bushel, and not a city
set upon a hill. We beir no witness. And the cause o' his displeesur'
is the accursed thing which the Ahchan in oor camp has hidden i' the
Coonty Bank, forby mony ither causes that come hame to us a'. And the
warl' jist scoffs at oor profession o' religion, whan it sees sic a man
as that in oor mids'."

"All this is nothing to the point, Mr Crann," said Mr Turnbull in
displeasure.

"It's to the verra hert o' the pint," returned Thomas, equally
displeased. "Gin Robert Bruce saw the inscription the day the lassie
broucht hame the buik, will he tell me hoo it was that he cam' to lea'
the note i' the buik till that Sawbath nicht?"

"I luikit for 't, but I cudna fin' 't, and thocht she had ta'en 't oot
upo' the road hame."

"Cudna ye fin' the twenty-third psalm?--But jist ae thing mair, Mr
Turnbull, and syne I'll haud my tongue," resumed Thomas.--"Jeames
Johnstone, will ye rin ower to my hoose, and fess the Bible? It's lyin'
upo' the drawers. Ye canna mistak' it.--Jist hae patience till he comes
back, sir, and we'll see hoo Mr Bruce'll read the inscription. I wad
hae made nothing o' 't, gin it hadna been for a frien' o' mine. But Mr
Bruce is a scholar, an' 'll read the Laitin till 's."

By this time James Johnstone was across the street.

"There's some foul play in this," cried Bruce, out of the darkness. "My
enemy maun sen' for an ootlandish speech and a heathen tongue to
insnare ane o' the brethren!"

Profound silence followed. All sat expectant. The snuff of the candles
grew longer and longer. Even the energetic Richard, who had