"I'm right, quite right. He took the great temptation of a heartless beautiful woman out of your way. You could have thrown love and honor and your very soul on that water, and got nothing back--through all the years of your life--but sorrow and shame. Well, well, it is little gratitude we give either God or angel for the _escapes_ they help us to make. How often have we been in the net of some adverse circumstances, and suddenly and quietly the net is broken and we escape. Then we are as likely to grumble as to rejoice." "If it wasn't for the preaching----" "Ay, it is always 'something' if it is not 'somebody' that is to blame. Not ourselves, of course! What do you think of making the best of what you have, Ian? There was a wonderful letter from Donald yesterday. Ask Marion about it." "I will take a walk as far as the cathedral. There is a painted window in the crypt that is always delightful to me." "A painted window?" "Yes--representing Christ as a youth reading the Book of the Law." "You are a queer man, Ian Macrae. Your ideal of Christ has a papistical leaning." "Nothing of the kind, Jessy. Nothing!" "The Roman idea is to represent the Redeemer of the World just a baby in the Virgin's arms, or he is the victim on the Cross, or the dead God being prepared for burial. How many paintings do you know representing Christ as the Lord of Life and Death--the co-equal of the God Everlasting? Indeed, if you do happen to find a painting of Christ as a man among men, he is sure to be the least handsome and godlike of all those surrounding him. And you can find comfort in the figure of a boy reading the Book of the Law!" "Do you know the window?" "I do. The last time I saw it, Donald was with me. He liked it well. There was a long letter from Donald yesterday." "I will now dress and take a walk." "It is raining hard." "Then I will only go as far as Blackie's, and look over his new books. That is always interesting." "Don't go out, Ian. Sit with Marion. She has a letter she wants to read to you." "Jessy, I am seeking the Truth. The search impels me--I cannot rest--I can do nothing else but seek it--not for my life!" "Do you expect to find it in Blackie's bookshop?" "I know not where to find it." "It is lying there--at your right hand." He glanced down at his right hand, and saw the familiar old Bible of his college days. The place-keeping ribbon was lying outside its pages, and he lifted the Book and replaced the ribbon; then, with a feeling of sorrowful tenderness, laid it, on a shelf of his bookcase. "My father put it in my hands the morning I went first to St. Andrews," he said softly, and then turned to Jessy, but she had left the room.