There were wax lights burning on it, and he held it in the flame and watched it slowly consume away to ashes.

The silence was so intense that they heard each other breathing, and the expression on James' face was so rapt and noble that even Donald's stately beauty was for the moment less attractive.
Then he walked towards Donald and said, "Now give me your hand, McFarlane, and I'll take it gladly." And that was a handclasp that meant to both men what no words could have expressed.
"Farewell, McFarlane; our ways in this world lie far apart; but when we come to die it will comfort both of us to remember this meeting.
God be with you!" "And with you also, James.

Farewell." Then James went back to his store and his shadowed household life.

And people said he looked happier than ever he had done, and pitied him for his sick wife, and supposed he felt it a happy release to be rid of her.

So wrongly does the world, which knows nothing of our real life, judge us.
You may see his gravestone in Glasgow Necropolis to-day, and people will tell you that he was a great philanthropist, and gave away a noble fortune to the sick and the ignorant; and you will probably wonder to see only beneath his name the solemn text, "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord." Facing His Enemy.
FACING HIS ENEMY..