“Sir,” said papa, turning white with anger, “you are at perfect liberty to say exactly what you please--provided it is not in my presence. No one, before me, shall so insult my cloth, and blaspheme my Maker, as to deny His law set down here,” dropping his hand over our great Family Bible, which he allows no one but himself to touch, because, as we know, there is the fly-leaf pasted down, not to be read by any one, nor written on again during poor papa's life-time. “God's law is blood for blood. '_Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed!_ That law, sir, my church believes never has been--never will be--annulled. And though your maudlin, loose charity may sympathize with hanged murderers, uphold duellists, and exalt into heroes cowardly man-slayers, I say that I will no more have in my house the defenders of such, than I would, under any pretext, grasp in mine the hand of a man who had taken the life of another.” To see papa so excited, alarmed us all. Colin, greatly distressed, begged his pardon and retracted everything--but the mischief was done. Though we anticipate no serious results, indeed he has been now for some hours calmly asleep in his bed, still he was made much worse by this unfortunate dispute. Doctor Urquhart stayed, at our earnest wish, till midnight, though he did not go into papa's room. When I asked him what was to be done in case of papa's head suffering for this excitement--if we should send to the camp for him--he said, “No, he would rather we sent for Doctor Black.” Yet he was anxious, I know; for after Colin left, he sat by himself in the study, saying he had a letter to write and post, but would come upstairs to papa if we sent for him. And when, satisfied that the danger was past and papa asleep, he prepared to leave--I never, in all the time of our acquaintance, saw him looking so exceedingly pale and weary. I wanted him to take something--wine or food; or at least to have one of our ponies saddled that he might ride instead of walking home. But he would not. We were standing at the hall--only he and I--the others having gone to bed. He took both my hands, and looked long and steadily in my face as he said good-bye. “Keep up heart. I do not think any harm will come to your father.” “I hope not. Dear, dear papa--it would indeed be terrible.” “It would. Nothing must be allowed to grieve him in any way--as long as he lives.” “No.” Doctor Urquhart was not more explicit than this; but I am sure he wished me to understand that in any of those points discussed today, wherein he and I agreed, and both differed from my father--it was our duty henceforth, as much as possible, to preserve a respectful silence. And I thanked him in my heart--and with my eyes too, I know--for this, and for his forbearance in not having contradicted papa, even when most violent and unjust. “When shall you be coming again, Doctor Urquhart?” “Some day--some day.” “Do not let it be very long first. Good-bye.”