It was about ten o’clock on the Saturday night following. Magnus, tired with a long day’s work, had just said “Good night” to his parents, and betaken himself off to bed, leaving them sitting by the drawing-room fire. John Duncan was ostensibly reading the paper, but a close observer might have noticed that the reading progressed in a most eccentric fashion. He had not got beyond the first six lines of the leader during the last hour, but was staring absently at the printed matter before him, evidently without cognisance of the news it contained. Eventually he dropped the paper and gazed into the fire instead. Mrs. Duncan was occupied in finishing an interesting article in a favourite magazine, and when she had concluded it, she said, without looking up: “What is the news in to-day’s paper, John? Anything fresh taken place?” Finding that her husband did not reply as usual, she hastily glanced at him, laying down her magazine as she did so. “He did not hear my question,” she decided in her own mind; then rose and knelt beside his chair saying, “What can you be thinking about so deeply, my dear old man? It must be something very interesting, I should think, seeing that you did not even hear me speak to you just now!” And Margaret gave a happy little laugh, and looked teasingly at him. “Thinking of, my darling? Why, something that has been on the tip of my tongue to tell you all the week, but I was almost afraid to; besides, I was not quite sure of myself.” “It sounds like an enigma, John! But do tell me. I am all curiosity to know what you mean.” Placing one arm round his wife as she knelt beside his chair, the doctor drew her closer to him and began: “You remember last Sunday evening, Maggie?” Mrs. Duncan nodded, and her eyes lit up with pleasure at the recollection. “Well, it is a wonderful thing to me, and it may seem strange to you, my wife; but ever since I heard that girl sing that song, I have felt quite differently about religious matters.” A glad cry burst from Margaret Duncan’s lips, but she checked it as her husband continued: “I cannot tell how it was, but the _reality_ of Christ’s death for us was borne in upon me as it had never been before. The story of Jesus had always seemed more like a beautiful dream, or myth, somehow, to me; perhaps I had not felt the need of a Saviour. But now, oh! Maggie, I can only wonder that I have been blind so long. I feel like a child when it first opens its eyes upon the world, and notices the beauties it contains. I had so often wished I could feel as you did, and draw the same comfort from religion, but I never could. And last Sunday evening it was as if Christ revealed Himself to me all at once, showing me my need of a Saviour, and asking only my love in return. All the week I have been thinking of it, Maggie, but the only prayer I could find to say was, ‘Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief!’”