He had sat there six hours.

He had thought over everything, over and over--the certainty that the paper was there, the fact that no other paper had been touched, and that no human being but Christine knew of the secret place.

These things shocked him beyond expression.

It was to his mind a visible assertion of the divine prerogative; he had really heard God say to him, "Vengeance is mine." The lesson that in these materialistic days we would reason away, James humbly accepted.

His religious feelings were, after all, his deepest feelings, and in those six hours he had so palpably felt the frown of his angry Heavenly Father that he had quite forgotten his poor, puny wrath at Donald McFarlane.
As he slowly walked up stairs to Christine he determined to make to her a full confession of the deed he had meditated.