"That is the case with most principles, Adam," replied Mr. Porteous. "They have a fine edge, but one which, nevertheless, separates between a lie and truth, light and darkness. But if you have it--hold it fast." The minister’s principles seemed unanswerable; Adam’s sense of right unassailable. Like two opposing armies of apparently equal strength they stood, armed, face to face, and a battle was unavoidable. Could both be right, and capable of reconciliation? Could right principle and right feeling, or logical deductions from sound principles, ever be really opposed to the strongest instincts of the heart, the moral convictions of a true and loving nature? A confused medley of questions in casuistry tortured Adam’s simple conscience, until they became like a tangled thread, the more knotted the more he tried to disentangle the meshes. The Sergeant rose to depart, saying, "I have a small Sabbath class which meets in my house, and I must not be too late for it; besides, there’s nae use o’ my waiting here langer: I have said my say, and can say nae mair." "You will return to your class with more satisfaction," said Mr. Porteous, "after this conversation. But, to prevent all misunderstanding or informality, you will of course be waited upon by your brethren; and when they understand, as I do, that you will cheerfully comply with our request, and when they report the same, no more will be said of the matter, unless Mr. Gordon foolishly brings it up. And if--let me suggest, though I do not insist--if, next Sunday, you should hang the cage where it was this morning when it gave rise to such scandal, but without the bird in it, the neighbours would, I am sure, feel gratified, as I myself would, by such an unmistakable sign of your good-will to all parties." The Sergeant had once or twice made an effort to "put in a word", but at last thought it best to hear the minister to the end. Then, drawing himself up as if on parade, he said, "I fear you have ta’en me up wrang, Mr. Porteous. My silence wasna consent. Had my auld Colonel--ane o’ the best and kindest o’ men--ordered me to march up to a battery, I wad hae done’t, though I should hae been blawn the next moment up to the moon; but if he had ordered me, for example, tae strike a bairn, or even tae kill my bird, I wad hae refused, though I had been shot the next minute for’t. There are things I canna do, and winna do, for mortal man, as long as God gies me my heart: and this is ane o’ them--I’ll never kill ’Charlie’s bairn’. That’s my last word--and ye can do as you and the Session please."