Then he saw himself a lad working for weekly wages. He recollected the happy accident which had given him the opportunity of making a fortune. He had been bold and energetic, and he had had his reward. Wealth, exceeding his wildest dreams, had been his. What good had it done to him? How few had been his pleasures! How empty his life! And now he must leave it, and go forth into the darkness alone. He tried to remember his good deeds, his church-going, his subscriptions to this or that fund, but they seemed to be all parts of the ordinary round of his existence, things he would have been ashamed not to do. Once, on a wet day, he had given a shilling to a beggar-woman, and she had blessed him for it. He was glad to think of that--but oh! it was such a small thing! He was startled by a knock at the door. It was Alec. The dying man looked at him with envy and something of bitterness. What would he not give for the lad’s health and strength, for the years he had yet to live? ‘Alec,’ said the old man suddenly, ‘I want you to write a letter for me. Don’t say anything about it: mind that. Write to Dr. Mackenzie, the Reverend Robert Mackenzie, D.D., the Free Gorbals Church, Glasgow, and tell him I want to see him instantly.’ The letter was soon written and despatched; and then James Lindsay felt somewhat easier. It was Saturday afternoon when the letter reached Dr. Mackenzie’s hands; and it sorely perplexed the worthy minister. If he were to put off his journey till Monday morning, he could not reach London before Monday night, and the delay might offend the rich man mortally. But starting at once would force him to intrust his flock to a very inferior preacher, and would, besides, involve the sin of travelling on the Sabbath. No doubt, if Mr. Lindsay were ill, the case would come within the saving clause of ‘works of necessity or mercy.’ He would then be justified in beginning a long journey on Saturday night. But how was he to be sure of Mr. Lindsay’s state of health? He felt angry with the writer of the letter for not foreseeing the difficulty and giving more accurate information. Then he remembered that Mr. Lindsay had gone abroad for the sake of his health. What more likely than that he was very ill? Dr. Mackenzie finally determined that it was an exceptional case, and that it would be clearly a work of mercy to hasten at once to the rich man’s bedside. He hunted up a minister who made a scanty living by filling the pulpits of his more fortunate brethren on emergencies like the present, and engaged him to preach twice at the Gorbals Free Church on the following day, and left Glasgow (not without some lingering doubts as to the legality of his proceedings) by the evening mail. On Sunday forenoon he was standing by the bedside of his old acquaintance. ‘It’s very kind of ye to come, Doctor,’ said Mr. Lindsay, in a feeble voice; ‘but the Lord’ll reward ye.’