child of a widow, known like Dorcas of old for her great goodness to the
Lord's poor. But when his mother died it did not go well and peaceably
between him and his uncle; and it is true that he left him at Ullapool
without a word. Well, then, he fell into this sore strait, and it seemed
as if all hope of proving his innocence was over.

"But that very night on which I saw him first, he dreamed that his
mother came to him in his cell and she comforted him and told him,
'To-morrow, surely, thy deliverer shall speak for thee.' He never
doubted the heavenly vision. 'How could I?' he asked me. 'My mother
never deceived me in life; would she come to me, even in a dream, to
tell me a lie? Ah, no!'"

"Is he still alive?"

"God preserve him for many a year yet! I'll only require to speak his
name"--and when he had done so, I knew the secret spring of thankfulness
that fed the never-ceasing charity of one great, good man.

"And yet, John," I urged, "how can spirit speak with spirit?"

"'_How?_' I will tell thee, that word 'how' has no business in the mouth
of a child of God. When I was a boy, who had dreamed 'how' men in London
might speak with men in Edinburgh through the air, invisible and
unheard? That is a matter of trade now. Can thou imagine what subtle
secret lines there may be between the spiritual world and this world?"

"But dreams, John?"

"Well, then, dreams. Take the dream life out of thy Bible and, oh, how