One evening when Mary was reading the “Pilgrim’s Progress” to her, the Reverend Hugh Grantley came in and begged to be let stay and enjoy the reading, too.  He said Miss Barner’s voice seemed to take the tangles out of his brain, whereupon Mrs. McGuire winked at herself.

That night she obligingly fell asleep just where Christian resolved to press on to the Heavenly City at all costs, and Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill.

After that the minister came regularly, and Mrs. McGuire, though she complained to herself that it was hard to lose so much of the reading, fell asleep each night, and snored loudly.  She said she had been young herself once, and guessed she knew how it was with young folks.  Just hoped he was good enough for Mary, that was all; men were such deceivers—­they were all smooth as silk, until it came to livin’ with ’em, and then she shook her head grimly, thinking no doubt of the vagaries of the late McGuire.

The Reverend Hugh Grantley walked up and down the floor of his study in deep meditation.  But his thoughts were not on his Sunday sermon nor yet on the topic for the young people’s meeting, though they were serious enough by the set of his jaw.

His friend Clay had just left him.  Clay was in a radiant humour.  Dr. Barner’s friendly attitude toward him had apparently changed the aspect of affairs, and now the old doctor had suggested taking him into partnership.

“Think of it, Grantley,” the young man had exclaimed, “what this will mean to me.  He is a great man in his profession, so clever, so witty, so scholarly, everything.  He was the double gold medallist in his year at McGill, and he has been keeping absolutely sober lately—­thanks to your good offices”—­at which the other made a gesture of dissent—­“and then I would be in a better position to look after things.  As it has been, any help I gave Mary in keeping the old man from killing people had to be done on the sly.”

The minister winced and went a shade paler at the mention of her name, but the doctor did not notice.

“Mary is anxious to have it brought about, too,” he went on, “for it has always been a worry to her when he was away, but now he will do the office work, and I will do the driving.  It will be a distinct advantage to me, though of course I would do it anyway for her sake.”

Then it was well for the minister that he came of a race that can hold its features in control.  This easy naming of her name, the apparent proprietorship, the radiant happiness in Clay’s face, could mean but one thing.  He had been blind, blind, blind!

He heard himself saying mechanically.

“Yes, of course, I think it is the only thing to do,” and Clay had gone out whistling.

He sat for a few minutes perfectly motionless.  Then a shudder ran through him, and the black Highland blood surged into his face, and anger flamed in his eyes.  He sprang to his feet with his huge hands clenched.