THE incomprehensible submission of Scotchmen to theecclesiastical tyranny of their Established Church hasproduced--not unnaturally, as I think--a very mistaken impressionof the national character in the popular mind.

Public opinion looks at the institution of "The Sabbath" inScotland; finds it unparalleled in Christendom for its senselessand savage austerity; sees a nation content to be deprived by itspriesthood of every social privilege on one day in everyweek--forbidden to travel; forbidden to telegraph; forbidden toeat a hot dinner; forbidden to read a newspaper; in short,allowed the use of two liberties only, the liberty of exhibitingone's self at the Church and the liberty of secluding one's selfover the bottle--public opinion sees this, and arrives at the notunreasonable conclusion that the people who submit to such sociallaws as these are the most stolid, stern and joyless people onthe face of the earth. Such are Scotchmen supposed to be, whenviewed at a distance. But how do Scotchmen appear when they areseen under a closer light, and judged by the test of personalexperience? There are no people more cheerful, morecompanionable, more hospitable, more liberal in their ideas, tobe found on the face of the civilized globe than the very peoplewho submit to the Scotch Sunday! On the six days of the weekthere is an atmosphere of quiet humor, a radiation of genialcommon-sense, about Scotchmen in general, which is simplydelightful to feel. But on the seventh day these same men willhear one of their ministers seriously tell them that he viewstaking a walk on the Sabbath in the light of an act of profanity,and will be the only people in existence who can let a man talkdownright nonsense without laughing at him.

I am not clever enough to be able to account for this anomaly inthe national character; I can only notice it by way of necessarypreparation for the appearance in my little narrative of apersonage not frequently seen in writing--a cheerful Scotchman.

In all other respects I found Mr. Playmore only negativelyremarkable. He was neither old nor young, neither handsome norugly; he was personally not in the least like the popular idea ofa lawyer; and he spoke perfectly good English, touched with onlythe slightest possible flavor of a Scotch accent.

"I have the honor to be an old friend of Mr. Macallan," he said,cordially shaking hands with me; "and I am honestly happy tobecome acquainted with Mr. Macallan's wife. Where will you sit?Near the light? You are young enough not to be afraid of thedaylight just yet. Is this your first visit to Edinburgh? Praylet me make it as pleasant to you as I can. I shall be delightedto present Mrs. Playmore to you. We are staying in Edinburgh fora little while. The Italian opera is here, and we have a box forto-night. Will you kindly waive all ceremony and dine with us andgo to the music afterward?"

"You are very kind," I answered. "But I have some anxieties justnow which will make me a very poor companion for Mrs. Playmore atthe opera. My letter to you mentions, I think, that I have to askyour advice on matters which are of very serious importance tome."

"Does it?" he rejoined. "To tell you the truth, I have not readthe letter through. I saw your name in it, and I gathered fromyour message that you wished to see me here. I sent my note toyour hotel--and then went on with something else. Pray pardon me.Is this a professional consultation? For your own sake, Isincerely hope not!"

"It is hardly a professional consultation, Mr. Playmore. I findmyself in a very painful position; and I come to you to adviseme, under very unusual circumstances. I shall surprise you verymuch when you hear what I have to say; and I am afraid I shalloccupy more than my fair share of your time."

"I and my time are entirely at your disposal," he said. "Tell mewhat I can do for you--and tell it in your own way."

The kindness of this language was more than matched by thekindness of his manner. I spoke to him freely and fully--I toldhim my strange story without the slightest reserve.

He showed the varying impressions that I produced on his mindwithout the slightest concealment. My separation from Eustacedistressed him. My resolution to dispute the Scotch Verdict, andmy unjust suspicions of Mrs. Beauly, first amused, then surprisedhim. It was not, however, until I had described my extraordinaryinterview with Miserrimus Dexter, and my hardly less remarkableconversation with Lady Clarinda, that I produced my greatesteffect on the lawyer's mind. I saw him change color for the firsttime. He started, and muttered to himself, as if he hadcompletely forgotten me. "Good God!" I heard him say--"can it bepossible? Does the truth lie _that_ way after all?"

I took the liberty of interrupting him. I had no idea of allowinghim to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I seem to have surprised you?" I said.

He started at the sound of my voice.

"I beg ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed. "You have not onlysurprised me--you have opened an entirely new view to my mind. Isee a possibility, a really startling possibility, in connectionwith the poisoning at Gleninch, which never occurred to me untilthe present moment. This is a nice state of things," he added,falling back again into his ordinary humor. "Here is the clientleading the lawyer. My dear Mrs. Eustace, which is it--do youwant my advice? or do I want yours?"

"May I hear the new idea?" I asked.

"Not just yet, if you will excuse me," he answered. "Makeallowances for my professional caution. I don't want to beprofessional with you--my great anxiety is to avoid it. But thelawyer gets the better of the man, and refuses to be suppressed.I really hesitate to realize what is passing in my own mindwithout some further inquiry. Do me a great favor. Let us go overa part of the ground again, and let me ask you some questions aswe proceed. Do you feel any objection to obliging me in thismatter?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Playmore. How far shall we go back?"

"To your visit to Dexter with your mother-in-law. When you firstasked him if he had any ideas of his own on the subject of Mrs.Eustace Macallan's death, did I understand you to say that helooked at you suspiciously?"

"Very suspiciously."

"And his face cleared up again when you told him that yourquestion was only suggested by what you had read in the Report ofthe Trial?"

"Yes."

He drew a slip of paper out of the drawer in his desk, dipped hispen in the ink, considered a little, and placed a chair for meclose at his side.

"The lawyer disappears," he said, "and the man resumes his properplace. There shall be no professional mysteries between you andme. As your husband's old friend, Mrs. Eustace, I feel no commoninterest in you. I see a serious necessity for warning you beforeit is too late; and I can only do so to any good purpose byrunning a risk on which few men in my place would venture.Personally and professionally, I am going to trust you--though I_am_ a Scotchman and a lawyer. Sit here, and look over myshoulder while I make my notes. You will see what is passing inmy mindif you see what I write."

I sat down by him, and looked over his shoulder, without thesmallest pretense of hesitation.

He began to write as follows:

"The poisoning at Gleninch. Queries: In what position doesMiserrimus Dexter stand toward the poisoning? And what does he(presumably) know about that matter?

"He has ideas which are secrets. He suspects that he has betrayedthem, or that they have been discovered in some way inconceivableto himself. He is palpably relieved when he finds that this isnot the case."

The pen stopped; and the questions went on.

"Let us advance to your second visit," said Mr. Playmore, "whenyou saw Dexter alone. Tell me again what he did, and how helooked when you informed him that you were not satisfied with theScotch Verdict."

I repeated what I have already written in these pages. The penwent back to the paper again, and added these lines:

"He hears nothing more remarkable than that a person visitinghim, who is interested in the case, refuses to accept the verdictat the Macallan Trial as a final verdict, and proposes to reopenthe inquiry. What does he do upon that?

"He exhibits all the symptoms of a panic of terror; he seeshimself in some incomprehensible danger; he is frantic at onemoment and servile at the next; he must and will know what thisdisturbing person really means. And when he is informed on thatpoint, he first turns pale and doubts the evidence of his ownsenses; and next, with nothing said to justify it, gratuitouslyaccuses his visitor of suspecting somebody. Query here: When asmall sum of money is missing in a household, and the servants ingeneral are called together to be informed of the circumstance,what do we think of the one servant in particular who speaksfirst, and who says, 'Do you suspect _me?_'"

He laid down the pen again. "Is that right?" he asked.

I began to see the end to which the notes were drifting. Insteadof answering his question, I entreated him to enter into theexplanations that were still wanting to convince my own mind. Heheld up a warning forefinger, and stopped me.

"Not yet," he said. "Once again, am I right--so far?"

"Quite right."

"Very well. Now tell me what happened next. Don't mind repeatingyourself. Give me all the details, one after another, to theend."

I mentioned all the details exactly as I remembered them. Mr.Playmore returned to his writing for the third and last time.Thus the notes ended:

"He is indirectly assured that he at least is not the personsuspected. He sinks back in his chair; he draws a long breath; heasks to be left a while by himself, under the pretense that thesubject excites him. When the visitor returns, Dexter has beendrinking in the interval. The visitor resumes the subject--notDexter. The visitor is convinced that Mrs. Eustace Macallan diedby the hand of a poisoner, and openly says so. Dexter sinks backin his chair like a man fainting. What is the horror that has gotpossession of him? It is easy to understand if we call it guiltyhorror; it is beyond all understanding if we call it anythingelse. And how does it leave him? He flies from one extreme, toanother; he is indescribably delighted when he discovers that thevisitor's suspicions are all fixed on an absent person. And then,and then only, he takes refuge in the declaration that he hasbeen of one mind with his visitor, in the matter of suspicion,from the first. These are facts. To what plain conclusion do theypoint?"

He shut up his notes, and, steadily watching my face, waited forme to speak first.

"I understand you, Mr. Playmore," I beg impetuously. "You believethat Mr. Dexter--"

His warning forefinger stopped me there.

Tell me, "he interposed, "what Dexter said to you when he was sogood as to confirm your opinion of poor Mrs. Beauly."

"He said, 'There isn't a doubt about it. Mrs. Beauly poisonedher.'"

"I can't do better than follow so good an example--with onetrifling difference. I say too, There isn't a doubt about it.Dexter poisoned her.

"Are you joking, Mr. Playmore?"

"I never was more in earnest in my life. Your rash visit toDexter, and your extraordinary imprudence in taking him into yourconfidence have led to astonishing results. The light which thewhole machinery of the Law was unable to throw on the poisoningcase at Gleninch has been accidentally let in on it by a Lady whorefuses to listen to reason and who insists on having her ownway. Quite incredible, and nevertheless quite true."

"Impossible!" I exclaimed.

"What is impossible?" he asked, coolly

"That Dexter poisoned my husband's first wife."

"And why is that impossible, if you please?" I began to be almostenraged with Mr. Playmore.

"Can you ask the question?" I replied, indignantly. "I have toldyou that I heard him speak of her in terms of respect andaffection of which any woman might be proud. He lives in thememory of her. I owe his friendly reception of me to someresemblance which he fancies he sees between my figure and hers.I have seen tears in his eyes, I have heard his voice falter andfail him, when he spoke of her. He may be the falsest of men inall besides, but he is true to _her_--he has not misled me inthat one thing. There are signs that never deceive a woman when aman is talking to her of what is really near his heart: I sawthose signs. It is as true that I poisoned her as that he did. Iam ashamed to set my opinion against yours, Mr. Playmore; but Ireally cannot help it. I declare I am almost angry with you."

He seemed to be pleased, instead of offended by the bold mannerin which I expressed myself.

"My dear Mrs. Eustace, you have no reason to be angry with me. Inone respect, I entirely share your view--with this difference,that I go a little further than you do."

"I don't understand you."

"You will understand me directly. You describe Dexter's feelingfor the late Mrs. Eustace as a happy mixture of respect andaffection. I can tell you it was a much warmer feeling toward herthan that. I have my information from the poor lady herself--whohonored me with her confidence and friendship for the best partof her life. Before she married Mr. Macallan--she kept it asecret from him, and you had better keep it a secrettoo--Miserrimus Dexter was in love with her. Miserrimus Dexterasked her--deformed as he was, seriously asked her--to be hiswife."

"And in the face of that," I cried, "you say that he poisonedher!"

"I do. I see no other conclusion possible, after what happenedduring your visit to him. You all but frightened him into afainting fit. What was he afraid of?"

I tried hard to find an answer to that. I even embarked on ananswer without quite knowing where my own words might lead me.

Mr. Dexter is an old and true friend of my husband, I began."When he heard me say I was not satisfied with the Verdict, hemight have felt alarmed--"

"He might have felt alarmed at the possible consequences to yourhusband of reopening the inquiry," said Mr. Playmore, ironicallyfinishing the sentence for me. "Rather far-fetched, Mrs. Eustace;and not very consistent with your faith in your husband'sinnocence. Clear your mind of one mistake," he continued,seriously, "which may fatally mislead you if you persist inpursuing your present course. Miserrimus Dexter, you may take myword for it, ceased to be your husband's friend on the day whenyour husband married his first wife. Dexter has kept upappearances, I grant you, both in public and in private. Hisevidence in his friend's favor at the Trial was given with thedeep feeling which everybody expected from him. Nevertheless, Ifirmly believe, looking under the surface, that Mr. Macallan hasno bitterer enemy living than Miserrimus Dexter."

He turned me cold. I felt that here, at least, he was right. Myhusband had wooed and won the woman who had refused Dexter'soffer of marriage. Was Dexter the man to forgive that? My ownexperience answered me, and said, No. "Bear in mind what I havetold you," Mr. Playmore proceeded. "And now let us get on to yourown position in this matter, and to the interests that you haveat stake. Try to adopt my point of view for the moment ; and letus inquire what chance we have of making any further advancetoward a discovery of the truth. It is one thing to be morallyconvinced (as I am) that Miserrimus Dexter is the man who oughtto have been tried for the murder at Gleninch; and it is anotherthing, at this distance of time, to lay our hands on the plainevidence which can alone justify anything like a public assertionof his guilt. There, as I see it, is the insuperable difficultyin the case. Unless I am completely mistaken, the question is nownarrowed to this plain issue: The public assertion of yourhusband's innocence depends entirely on the public assertion ofDexter's guilt. How are you to arrive at that result? There isnot a particle of evidence against him. You can only convictDexter on Dexter's own confession. Are you listening to me?"

I was listening, most unwillingly. If he were right, things hadindeed come to that terrible pass. But I could not--with all myrespect for his superior knowledge and experience--I could notpersuade myself that he _was_ right. And I owned it, with thehumility which I really felt.

He smiled good-humoredly.

"At any rate," he said, "you will admit that Dexter has notfreely opened his mind to you thus far? He is still keepingsomething from your knowledge which you are interested indiscovering?"

"Yes. I admit that."

"Very good. What applies to your view of the case applies tomine. I say, he is keeping from you the confession of his guilt.You say, he is keeping from you information which may fasten theguilt on some other person. Let us start from that point.Confession, or information, how are you to get at what he is nowwithholding from you? What influence can you bring to bear on himwhen you see him again?"

"Surely I might persuade him?"

"Certainly. And if persuasion fail--what then? Do you think youcan entrap him into speaking out? or terrify him into speakingout?"

"If you will look at your notes, Mr. Playmore, you will see thatI have already succeeded in terrifying him--though I am only awoman and though I didn't mean to do it."

"Very well answered. You mark the trick. What you have done onceyou think you can do again. Well, as you are determined to trythe experiment, it can do you no harm to know a little more ofDexter's character and temperament than you know now. Suppose weapply for information to somebody who can help us?"

I started, and looked round the room. He made me do it--he spokeas if the person who was to help us was close at our elbows.

"Don't be alarmed," he said. "The oracle is silent; and theoracle is here."

He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk; produced a bundle ofletters, and picked out one.

"When we were arranging your husband's defense," he said, "wefelt some difficulty about including Miserrimus Dexter among ourwitnesses. We had not the slightest suspicion of him, I needhardly tell you. But we were all afraid of his eccentricity; andsome among us even feared that the excitement of appearing at theTrial might drive him completely out of his mind. In thisemergency we applied to a doctor to help us. Under some pretext,which I forget now, we introduced him to Dexter. And in duecourse of time we received his report. Here it is."

He opened the letter, and marking a certain passage in it with apencil, handed it to me.

"Read the lines which I have marked," he said; "they will bequite sufficient for our purpose."

I read these words:

"Summing up the results of my observation, I may give it as myopinion that there is undoubtedly latent insanity in this case,but that no active symptoms of madness have presented themselvesas yet. You may, I think, produce him at the Trial, without fearof consequences. He may say and do all sorts of odd things; buthe has his mind under the control of his will, and you may trusthis self-esteem to exhibit him in the character of asubstantially intelligent witness.

"As to the future, I am, of course, not able to speak positively.I can only state my views.

"That he will end in madness (if he live), I entertain little orno doubt. The question of _when_ the madness will show itselfdepends entirely on the state of his health. His nervous systemis highly sensitive, and there are signs that his way of life hasalready damaged it. If he conquer the bad habits to which I havealluded in an earlier part of my report, and if he pass manyhours of every day quietly in the open air, he may last as a saneman for years to come. If he persist in his present way oflife--or, in other words, if further mischief occur to thatsensitive nervous system--his lapse into insanity must infalliblytake place when the mischief has reached its culminating point.Without warning to himself or to others, the whole mentalstructure will give way; and, at a moment's notice, while he isacting as quietly or speaking as intelligently as at his besttime, the man will drop (if I may use the expression) intomadness or idiocy. In either case, when the catastrophe hashappened, it is only due to his friends to add that they can (asI believe) entertain no hope of his cure. The balance once lost,will be lost for life."

There it ended. Mr. Playmore put the letter back in his drawer.

"You have just read the opinion of one of our highest livingauthorities," he said. "Does Dexter strike you as a likely man togive his nervous system a chance of recovery? Do you see noobstacles and no perils in your way?"

My silence answered him.

"Suppose you go back to Dexter," he proceeded. "And suppose thatthe doctor's opinion exaggerates the peril in his case. What areyou to do? The last time you saw him, you had the immenseadvantage of taking him by surprise. Those sensitive nerves ofhis gave way, and he betrayed the fear that you aroused in him.Can you take him by surprise again? Not you! He is prepared foryou now; and he will be on his guard. If you encounter nothingworse, you will have his cunning to deal with next. Are you hismatch at that? But for Lady Clarinda he would have hopelesslymisled you on the subject of Mrs. Beauly."

There was no answering this, either. I was foolish enough to tryto answer it, for all that.

"He told me the truth so far as he knew it," I rejoined. "Hereally saw what he said he saw in the corridor at Gleninch."

"He told you the truth," returned Mr. Playmore, "because he wascunning enough to see that the truth would help him in irritatingyour suspicions. You don't really believe that he shared yoursuspicions?"

"Why not?" I said. "He was as ignorant of what Mrs. Beauly wasreally doing on that night as I was--until I met Lady Clarinda.It remains to be seen whether he will not be as much astonishedas I was when I tell him what Lady Clarinda told me."

This smart reply produced an effect which I had not anticipated.

To my surprise, Mr. Playmore abruptly dropped all furtherdiscussion on his side. He appeared to despair of convincing me,and he owned it indirectly in his next words.

"Will nothing that I can say to you," he asked, "induce you tothink as I think in this matter?"

"I have not your ability or your experience, "I answered. "I amsorry to say I can't think as you think."

"And you are really determined to see Miserrimus Dexter again?"

"I have engaged myself to see him again."

He waited a little, and thought over it.

"You have honored me by asking for my advice," he said. "Iearnestly advise you, Mrs. Eustace, to break your engagement. Igo even further than that--I _entreat_ you not to see Dexteragain."

Just what my mother-in-law had said! just what Benjamin and MajorFitz-David had said! They were all against me. And still I heldout.

I wonder, when I look back at it, at my own obstinacy. I amalmost ashamed to relate that I made Mr. Playmore no reply. Hewaited, still looking at me. I felt irritated by that fixed look.I arose, and stood before him with my eyes on the floor.

He arose in his turn. He understood that the conference was over.

"Well, well," he said, with a kind of sad good-humor, "I supposeit is unreasonable of me to expect that a young woman like youshould share any opinion with an o ld lawyer like me. Let me onlyremind you that our conversation must remain strictlyconfidential for the present; and then let us change the subject.Is there anything that I can do for you? Are you alone inEdinburgh?"

"No. I am traveling with an old friend of mine, who has known mefrom childhood."

"And do you stay here to-morrow?"

"I think so."

"Will you do me one favor? Will you think over what has passedbetween us, and will you come back to me in the morning?"

"Willingly, Mr. Playmore, if it is only to thank you again foryour kindness."

On that understanding we parted. He sighed--the cheerful mansighed, as he opened the door for me. Women are contradictorycreatures. That sigh affected me more than all his arguments. Ifelt myself blush for my own head-strong resistance to him as Itook my leave and turned away into the street.