taken an advantage of you, I hope you have no wish to be nameless to me, for my friend Malcolm MacPhail has so described you that I recognized your ladyship at once."
Clementina said that, on the contrary, she had given her name to the woman who opened the door. "It is because of what Malcolm said of you that I ventured to come to you."
"Have you seen Malcolm lately?" he asked, his brow clouding a little. "It is more than a week since he has been to me."
Thereupon, with embarrassment such as she would never have felt except in the presence of pure simplicity, she told of his disappearance with his mistress.
"And you think they have run away together?" said the schoolmaster, his face beaming with what, to Clementina's surprise, looked almost like merriment.
"Yes, I think so," she answered. "Why not, if they chose?"
"I will say this for my friend Malcolm," returned Mr. Graham composedly, "that whatever he did I should expect to find not only all right in intention, but prudent and well-devised also. The present may well seem a rash, ill-considered affair for both of them, but ——"
"I see no necessity either for explanation or excuse," said Clementina, too eager to mark that she interrupted Mr. Graham. "In making up her mind to marry him Lady Lossie has shown greater wisdom and courage than, I confess, I had given her credit for."
"And Malcolm?" rejoined the schoolmaster softly. "Should you say of him that he showed equal wisdom?"
"I decline to give an opinion upon the gentleman's part in the business," answered Clementina, laughing, but glad there was so little light in the room, for she was painfully conscious of the burning of her cheeks. "Besides, I have no measure to apply to Malcolm," she went on, a little hurriedly. "He is like no one else I have ever talked with, and I confess there is something about him I cannot understand. Indeed, he is beyond me altogether."
"Perhaps, having known him from infancy, I might be able to explain him," returned Mr. Graham in a tone that invited questioning.
"Perhaps, then," said Clementina. "I may be permitted, in jealousy for the teaching I have received of him, to confess my bewilderment that one so young should be capable of dealing with such things as he delights in. The youth of the prophet makes me doubt his prophecy."
"At least," rejoined Mr. Graham, "the phenomenon coincides with what the Master of these things said of them — that they were revealed to babes, and not to the wise and prudent. As to Malcolm's wonderful facility in giving them form and utterance, that depends so immediately on the clear sight of them that, granted a little of the gift poetic, developed through reading and talk, we need not wonder much at it."
"You consider your friend a genius?" asked Clementina.
"I consider him possessed of a kind of heavenly common sense, equally at home in the truths of divine relation and the facts of the human struggle with nature and her forces. I should never have discovered my own ignorance in certain points of the mathematics but for the questions that boy put to me before he was twelve years of age. A thing not understood lay in his mind like a fretting foreign body. But there is a far more important factor concerned than this exceptional degree of insight. Understanding is the reward of obedience. Peter says, 'The Holy Ghost, whom God hath given to them that obey him.' Obedience is the key to every door. I am perplexed at the stupidity of the ordinary religious being. In the most practical of all matters he will talk and speculate and try to feel, but he will not set himself to do. It is different with Malcolm. From the first he has been trying to obey. Nor do I see why it should be strange that even a child should understand these things, if they are the very elements of the region for which we were created, and to which our being holds essential relations, as a bird to the air or a fish to the sea. If a man may not understand the things of God whence he came, what shall he understand?"
"How, then, is it that so few do understand?"
"Because where they know, so few obey. This boy, I say, did. If you had seen, as I have, the almost superhuman struggles of his will to master the fierce temper his ancestors gave him, you would marvel less at what he has so early become. I have seen him, white with passion, cast himself on his face on the shore and cling with his hands to the earth as if in a paroxysm of bodily suffering; then after a few moments rise and do a service to the man who had wronged him. Were
