"Not much. For half an hour or so he didn't speak a word. Then he asked where I was driving him. I told him, and he seemed to be surprised into a sort of grateful feeling. Bad enough, no doubt,--but might be worse. Has some humanity left in him yet. Let him go. God can judge him,--I can't." "You are too charitable, Doctor," the minister said. "I condemn him just as if he had carried out his project, which, they say, was to make it appear as if the schoolmaster had committed suicide. That's what people think the rope found by him was for. He has saved his neck,--but his soul is a lost one, I am afraid, beyond question." "I can't judge men's souls," the Doctor said. "I can judge their acts, and hold them responsible for those,--but I don't know much about their souls. If you or I had found our soul in a half-breed body, and been turned loose to run among the Indians, we might have been playing just such tricks as this fellow has been trying. What if you or I had inherited all the tendencies that were born with his cousin Elsie?" "Oh, that reminds me,"--the minister said, in a sudden way,--"I have received a note, which I am requested to read from the pulpit to-morrow. I wish you would just have the kindness to look at it and see where you think it came from." The Doctor examined it carefully. It was a woman's or girl's note, he thought. Might come from one of the school-girls who was anxious about her spiritual condition. Handwriting was disguised; looked a little like Elsie Venner's, but not characteristic enough to make it certain. It would be a new thing, if she had asked public prayers for herself, and a very favorable indication of a change in her singular moral nature. It was just possible Elsie might have sent that note. Nobody could foretell her actions. It would be well to see the girl and find out whether any unusual impression had been produced on her mind by the recent occurrence or by any other cause. The Reverend Mr. Fairweather folded the note and put it into his pocket. "I have been a good deal exercised in mind lately, myself," he said. The old Doctor looked at him through his spectacles, and said, in his usual professional tone,-- "Put out your tongue." The minister obeyed him in that feeble way common with persons of weak character,--for people differ as much in their mode of performing this trifling act as Gideon's soldiers in their way of drinking at the brook. The Doctor took his hand and placed a finger mechanically on his wrist. "It is more spiritual, I think, than bodily," said the Reverend Mr. Fairweather. "Is your appetite as good as usual?" the Doctor asked. "Pretty good," the minister answered; "but my sleep, my sleep, Doctor,--I am greatly troubled at night with lying awake and thinking of my future,--I am not at ease in mind." He looked round at all the doors, to be sure they were shut, and moved his chair up close to the Doctor's.