"Well, sir, they put in a good year's work, I must say."
"You might have done worse, sir. Indeed, you deserve great credit, sir."
"I? Not a bit. I simply showed them what to do and how to do it. But there's a woman up there that the world ought to know about. For love of her--"
"Oh, the world!" snorted the professor. "The world, sir! The Lord deliver us! It might do the world some good, I grant."
"It is for love of her these men are in for the ministry."
"You are wrong, sir. That is not their motive."
"No, perhaps it is not. It would be unfair to say so, but yet she--"
"I know, sir. I know, sir. Bless my soul, sir. I know her. I knew her before you were born. But--yes, yes--" the professor spoke as if to himself--"for love of her men would attempt great things. You have these names, Craven? Ah! Alexander Stewart, Donald Cameron, Thomas Finch--Finch, let me see--ah, yes, Finch. His mother died after a long illness. Yes, I remember. A very sad case, a very sad case, indeed."