over a bookcase. They had been handed down to him from a long line of fighting ancestors. He arose, took them down mechanically, and drew one from its scabbard. How snugly its rough hilt fitted his nervous hand grip! He felt a curious throbbing in this hilt like a pulse. It was alive, and its spirit stirred deep waters in his soul that had never been ruffled before.

He recalled vaguely in memory things he knew had never happened to him and yet were part of his inmost life.

"Damn him!" he involuntarily hissed as he gripped the sword hilt with the instinctive power of the fighting animal that sleeps beneath the skin of all our culture and religion.

And then his eyes rested on a quaint little daguerreotype picture of his wife in her bridal dress, her sweet girlish face full of innocent pride and warm with his love. By its side he saw the portrait of their dead boy. How he recalled now every hour of that wonderful period preceding his birth-the unspeakable pride and tenderness with which he watched over his young wife! He recalled the morning of his birth, and the heart rending, piteous cries of young motherhood that tore his heart until the nails of his own fingers cut the flesh and drew the blood. How the minutes seemed long hours, and how at last he bent over her, softly kissed the drawn white lips, and gazed with tearful wonder and awe on the little red bundle resting on her breast! He recalled the tremor of weariness in her voice when she drew his head down close and whispered,

"I didn't mind the pain, John, though I couldn't help the cries. He's yours and mine-I am as proud as a queen. Now our souls are one in him-I am tired-I must sleep."

Every movement of his past life seemed to stand out in

this crisis with fiery clearness. He seemed to live in an instant whole years in every detail of that closeness of personal life that makes marriage a part of every stroke of the heart.

At last he set his lips firmly and said,

"Yes, damn him, I will kill him as I would a snake!"

He sat down and wrote his resignation as pastor of the church, left it on his desk, and strode hurriedly from the study leaving his door open. He purchased a revolver and a box of cartridges and walked straight to McLeod's office.

The speaking was over, and McLeod was alone writing letters. He looked up with scant politeness as the Preacher entered and motioned him to a seat.

Instead of seating himself, he closed the door, and standing erect in front of it, said,

"Allan McLeod, you are the author of an infamous slander reflecting on the honour of my wife!"

"Indeed!" McLeod sneered, wheeling in his chair.

'I always knew that you were a moral leper "Of course, Doctor, of course, but don't get excited," laughed McLeod enjoying the marks of anguish on his face.

"But that your lecherous body should dream of invading the sanctity of my home, and your tongue attempt to smirch its honour, was beyond my wildest dream of your effrontery. How dare you?"

"Dare? Dare, Preacher?" interrupted McLeod still sneering. "Why, by The Higher Law,' of course. You have been teaching all your life that there are higher laws than paper-made statutes. You have trained this county in crime under this beautiful ideal. Surely I may follow the teachings of a master in Israel?"

What do you mean, you red-headed devil?”

66

Softly, Preacher," smiled McLeod. 'Simply this.

You expound 'The Higher Law,' for political consumption. I apply it to all life.

"There are but two real laws of man's nature, hunger and love all others change with time and progress. These are the higher laws, in fact they are the highest laws. The stupid conventions that superstition has built around them may hold back the weak, but the powerful have always defied them. Your brilliant exposition of the higher law in politics first set my mind to work, and led me to a complete emancipation from the slavery of conventionalism in which fools have held society for centuries. There are conventional laws and superstitions about the little ceremony called marriage cherished by the weak-minded. There is a higher law of nature. The brave live this life of daring freedom, while cowards cling to forms. Do I make myself clear?"

66

Perfectly so, you mottled leper. You think that because I am a preacher, I am a poltroon, and that you can play with me without danger to your skin. Well, I was a man before I was a preacher. There are some things deeper than the forms of religion, if you wish to push the higher law to its last application. You have found that quick in my soul, mine enemy! I have resigned my church-to kill you. There is not room for you and me on this earth

McLeod sprang to his feet, his soul chilled by the tone in which the threat was uttered. He started to call for help, and looked down the gleaming barrel of a revolver. Move now or open your mouth, and I kill you instantly. Sit down. I give you five minutes to write your last message to this world."

McLeod sank into his seat trembling like a leaf, with the perspiration standing out on his forehead in cold beads. Now and then he glanced furtively at the stern face of blind fury towering over his crouching form.