“Tallisker, I hae been a man in a sair strait for many a year.  I hae not indeed hid the Lord’s talent in a napkin, but I hae done a warse thing; I hae been trading wi’ it for my ain proper advantage.  O dominie, I hae been a wretched man through it all.  Nane ken better than I what a hard master the deil is.”

Then he told the dominie of Helen’s bequest.  He went over all the arguments with which he had hitherto quieted his conscience, and he anxiously watched their effect upon Tallisker.  He had a hope even yet that the dominie might think them reasonable.  But the table at which they sat was not less demonstrative than Tallisker’s face; for once he absolutely controlled himself till the story was told.  Then he said to Crawford,

“I’ll no tak any responsibility in a matter between you and your conscience.  If you gie it, gie it without regret and without holding back.  Gie it cheerfully; God loves a cheerful giver.  But it isna wi’ me you’ll find the wisdom to guide you in this matter.  Shut yoursel’ in your ain room, and sit down at the foot o’ the cross and think it out.  It is a big sum to gie away, but maybe, in the face o’ that stupendous Sacrifice it willna seem so big.  I’ll walk up in the evening, laird; perhaps you will then hae decided what to do.”

Crawford was partly disappointed.  He had hoped that Tallisker would in some way take the burden from him—­he had instead sent him to the foot of the cross.  He did not feel as if he dared to neglect the advice; so he went thoughtfully to his own room and locked the door.  Then he took out his private ledger.  Many a page had been written the last ten years.  It was the book of a very rich man.  He thought of all his engagements and plans and hopes, and of how the withdrawal of so large a sum would affect them.

Then he took out Helen’s last message, and sat down humbly with it where Tallisker had told him to sit.  Suddenly Helen’s last words came back to him, “Oh! the unspeakable riches!” What of?  The cross of Christ—­the redemption from eternal death—­the promise of eternal life!  Sin is like a nightmare; when we stir under it, we awake.  Crawford sat thinking until his heart burned and softened, and great tears rolled slowly down his cheeks and dropped upon the paper in his hands.  Then he thought of the richness of his own life—­Colin and Hope, and the already beloved child Alexander—­of his happy home, of the prosperity of his enterprises, of his loyal and loving friend Tallisker.  What a contrast to the Life he had been told to remember! that pathetic Life that had not where to lay its head, that mysterious agony in Gethsemane, that sublime death on Calvary, and he cried out, “O Christ!  O Saviour of my soul! all that I have is too little!”

When Tallisker came in the evening, Hope noticed a strange solemnity about the man.  He, too, had been in the presence of God all day.  He had been praying for his friend.  But as soon as he saw Crawford he knew how the struggle had ended.  Quietly they grasped each other’s hand, and the evening meal was taken by Colin’s side in pleasant cheerfulness.  After it, when all were still, the laird spoke: