While this cold rain beat on the Rabbi’s head he moved not, but at its close he looked at Carmichael with the appeal of a dumb animal in his eyes.

“The first meeting of Presbytery is on Monday, but you would no doubt consider that too soon; is there anything about dates in the order of procedure for heresy?” and Carmichael made as though he would go over to the shelves for a law book.

“John,” cried the Rabbi—­his voice full of tears—­rising and following the foolish lad, “is this all you have in your heart to say unto me?  Surely, as I stand before you, it is not my desire to do such a thing, for I would rather cut off my right hand.

“God hath not been pleased to give me many friends, and He only knows how you and the others have comforted my heart.  I lie not, John, but speak the truth, that there is nothing unto life itself I would not give for your good, who have been as the apple of my eye unto me.”

Carmichael hardened himself, torn between a savage sense of satisfaction that the Rabbi was suffering for his foolishness and the inclination of his better self to respond to the old man’s love.

“If there be a breach between us, it will not be for you as it must be for me.  You have many friends, and may God add unto them good men and faithful, but I shall lose my one earthly joy and consolation when your feet are no longer heard on my threshold and your face no longer brings light to my room.  And, John, even this thing which I am constrained to do is yet of love, as . . . you shall confess one day.”

Carmichael’s pride alone resisted, and it was melting fast.  Had he even looked at the dear face he must have given way, but he kept his shoulder to the Rabbi, and at that moment the sound of wheels passing the corner of the manse gave him an ungracious way of escape.

“That is Burnbrae’s dogcart . . .  Dr. Saunderson, and I think he will not wish to keep his horse standing in the snow, so unless you will stay all night, as it’s going to drift. . . .  Then perhaps it would be better. . . .  Can I assist you in packing?” How formal it all sounded; and he allowed the Rabbi to go upstairs alone, with the result that various things of the old man’s are in Carmichael’s house unto this day.

Another chance was given the lad when the Rabbi would have bidden him good-bye at the door, beseeching that he should not come out into the drift, and still another when Burnbrae, being concerned about his passenger’s appearance, who seemed ill-fitted to face a storm, wrapt him in a plaid; and he had one more when the old man leant out of the dogcart and took Carmichael’s hand in both of his, but only said, “God bless you for all you’ve been to me, and forgive me for all wherein I have failed you.”  And they did not meet again till that never-to-be-forgotten sederunt of the Free Kirk Presbytery of Muirtown, when the minister of Kilbogie accused the minister of Drumtochty of teaching the Linlathen heresy of the Fatherhood of God in a sermon before the Sacrament.