morning dress. He looked like a gentleman, and yet, somehow, like
a stage gentleman.

He had often treated serious crimes against mere order or
property with a humane flippancy. Hence, about the mere breaking
of an editor's window, he was almost uproarious.

"Come, Mr. MacIan, come," he said, leaning back in his chair, "do
you generally enter you friends' houses by walking through the
glass?" (Laughter.)

"He is not my friend," said Evan, with the stolidity of a dull
child.

"Not your friend, eh?" said the magistrate, sparkling. "Is he
your brother-in-law?" (Loud and prolonged laughter.)

"He is my enemy," said Evan, simply; "he is the enemy of God."

Mr. Vane shifted sharply in his seat, dropping the eye-glass out
of his eye in a momentary and not unmanly embarrassment.

"You mustn't talk like that here," he said, roughly, and in a
kind of hurry, "that has nothing to do with us."

Evan opened his great, blue eyes; "God," he began.

"Be quiet," said the magistrate, angrily, "it is most undesirable
that things of that sort should be spoken about--a--in public,
and in an ordinary Court of Justice. Religion is--a--too personal