He had a craving
thirst for the saving of souls, and to draw one whole from Laodicea
was next best to lifting from Babylon. But to-day the laird and his
spiritual concerns had the field.
"He comes, by the mother's side, at least, of godly stock. His
mother's father was martyred for the faith in the auld persecuting
time. His grandmother wearied her mind away in prison. His mother
suffered much when she was a lassie."
"It's small wonder that he has nursed bitterness," said Strickland.
"He must have drunk in terror and hate with her milk.... He conquered
the terror."
"_'Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hate thee? and am not I grieved
with those that rise up against thee? I hate them with perfect hatred;
I count them my enemies.'_--What else should his heart do but burn
with a righteous wrath?"
Strickland sighed, looking at the quiet gray hills and the vast, still
web of cloud above. "It's come to be a withering fire, hunting fuel
everywhere! I remember when he held it in bounds, even when for a time
it seemed to die out. But of late years it has got the better of him.
At last, I think, it is devouring himself."
M'Nab made a dissenting sound. "He has got the implicit belief in God
that I see sair lack of elsewhere! He holds fast to God."
"Aye. The God who slays the Amalekites."
M'Nab turned his wintry glance upon him.
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