“He had none. He was at a distance from my ungrateful son, and flying that he should not be murdered. The lamb under the hands of the butcher. And would you believe it, Brother Cross, he had gone forth only to counsel the unworthy boy--only to bring him back into the fold--gone forth at his own prayer, as Brother Stevens declared to Betsy, just before he went out.” “I am of opinion that he deceived her and yourself.” “Where were his pistols then?” “He must have concealed them. He told Ned Hinkley, this very day, that he had pistols, but that they were here.” “Run up, Betsy, to Brother Stevens's room and see.” The old lady disappeared. Calvert proceeded. “I can only repeat my opinion, founded upon the known pacific and honorable character of William Hinkley, and certain circumstances in the conduct of Stevens, that the two did go forth, under a previous arrangement, to fight a duel. That they were prevented, and that Stevens had no visible weapon, is unquestionably true. But I do not confine myself to these circumstances. This young man writes a great many letters, it is supposed to his friends, but never puts them in the post here, but every Saturday rides off, as we afterward learn, to the village of Ellisland, where he deposites them and receive others. This is a curious circumstance, which alone should justify suspicion. “The ways of God are intricate, Brother Calvert,” said John Cross, “and we are not to suspect the truth which we can not understand.” “But these are the ways of man, Brother Cross.” “And the man of God is governed by the God which is in him. He obeys a law which, perhaps, is ordered to be hidden from thy sight.” “This doctrine certainly confers very extraordinary privileges upon the man of God,” said Calvert, quietly, “and, perhaps, this is one reason why the profession is so prolific of professors now-a-days; but the point does not need discussion. Enough has been shown to awaken suspicion and doubt in the case of any ordinary person; and I now come to that portion of the affair which is sustained by the testimony of Ned Hinkley, our young friend here, who, whatever his faults may be, has been always regarded in Charlemont, as a lover and speaker of the truth.” “Ay, ay, so far as he knows what the truth is,” said old Hinkley, scornfully. “And I'm just as likely to know what the truth is as you, uncle!',' retorted the young man, rising and coming forward from his corner.