excuse to take himself away to the loch-side in order to find his
Bible and Lexicon.

"I understand you have been studying, with a view to license, the
last chapter of the Proverbs of Solomon?" said Gilbert Welsh,
interrogatively, bending his shaggy brows and pouting his underlip
at the student.

The Marrow minister was a small man, with a body so dried and
twisted ("shauchelt" was the local word) that all the nerve stuff
of a strong nature had run up to his brain, so that when he walked
he seemed always on the point of falling forward, overbalanced by
the weight of his cliff-like brow.

"Ralph, will you ground the argument of the mother of King Lemuel
in this chapter? But perhaps you would like to refer to the
original Hebrew?" said the minister.

"Oh, no," interrupted Ralph, aghast at the latter suggestion, "I
do not need the text--thank you, sir."

But, in spite of his disclaimer, he devoutly desired to be where
the original text and his written comment upon it were at that
moment--which, indeed, was a consummation even more devoutly to be
wished than he had any suspicion of. The Marrow minister leaned
his head on his hand and looked waitingly at the young man.

Ralph recalled himself with an effort. He had to repeat to himself
that he was in the manse study, and almost to pinch his knee to
convince himself of the reality of his experiences. But this was