him like a gift from the blue.

Ian dismounted, and they watched Fatima disappear into her stall.
"Come now and see the house."

The house was large and cumbered with furniture too much and too rich
for the Scotch countryside. Ian's room had a great, rich bed and a
dressing-table that drew from Alexander a whistle, contemplative and
scornful. But there were other matters besides luxury of couch and
toilet. Slung against the wall appeared a fine carbine, the pistols
and sword of Ian's father, and a wonderful long, twisted, and
damascened knife or dirk--creese, Ian called it--that had come in some
trading-ship of his uncle's. And he had books in a small closet room,
and a picture that the two stood before.

"Where did you get it?"

"There was an Italian who owed my uncle a debt. He had no money, so he
gave him this. He said that it was painted a long time ago and that it
was very fine."

"What is it?"

"It is a Bible piece. This is a city of refuge. This is a sinner
fleeing to it, and here behind him is the avenger of blood. You can't
see, it is so dark. There!" He drew the window-curtain quite aside. A
flood of light came in and washed the picture.

"I see. What is it doing here?"