‘Ah, Alec!’ pursued the old man, in a softer tone, ‘think what an opportunity you are throwing away! An opportunity that will never come again. What life could be higher or nobler than that spent in saving souls?’ To this Alec made no reply. ‘What are all the honours and wealth of the world compared to being the instrument of saving one soul?’ asked Mr. Lindsay. ‘But I have no call to the ministry,’ said Alec at length. ‘Have you sought for a call, my boy?’ asked his father. ‘Calls are not vouchsafed to those who do not listen for the summoning voice. Have you sought the guidance of God in this matter? Pray, my son, pray that you may be led aright. And now, tell Margaret and the servants to come to worship.’ Alec knew that his father meant to be kind--if only he would submit. He knew that the last words which the laird had spoken to him were sincere, but they grated upon him more unpleasantly than even the unjust and harsh things which his father had said at the beginning of the conversation. He resented this interference in the affairs of his own heart. He could see no rule or method of distinguishing between a Divine call and a suggestion of his own inclination. He was, in fact, out of harmony with the religious system in which he had been brought up. Sometimes he was willing to believe that the fault was entirely in himself; at other times he felt that the whole system was cold, hard, unlovely, and never free from a strong tendency to cant; but he was quite at a loss to know what he would have put in its place. That evening Margaret contrived to see her brother alone before she went to bed. She came up to him in silence, took his hand in one of hers, and rested her other arm upon his shoulder. ‘Alec,’ she said, ‘have you quite set your heart against being a minister?’ ‘That’s not a fair way to put it, Maggie,’ said he. ‘Unless one’s heart is naturally bent upon that calling, I don’t think one should follow it.’ ‘But think of the good you might do!’ ‘Oh, that is such stuff, Maggie! Look at the ministers about here: what particular good do they do--Mr. Johnstone, or Mr. Fergus, or Mr. Simpson, or any of them? On Saturdays they write (or don’t write) their sermons. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays they read, or potter about their gardens, or gossip with the neighbours.’ ‘They visit the sick,’ put in Margaret. ‘One afternoon a week is enough for that.’ ‘And they visit all their people regularly.’ ‘Yes; and some of them simply pay calls, and the zealous ones give away tracts and ask how your soul is. A piece of impertinence!’ ‘Ah, Alec, you are sadly changed,’ said Margaret, withdrawing her arm from her brother’s shoulder. ‘At any rate, I admit I am not fit to be a minister.’ ‘It will grieve father very much. He has set his heart upon it.’ ‘I can’t help that. I can’t do a thing like that--live a lie my whole life through--to please him.’