James, though he had not yet admitted the fact to his
own heart, loved Christine Cameron as men love only once, with that
deep, pure affection that has perchance a nearer kindred than this
life has hinted of.

He thought her also exquisitely beautiful, though this opinion would
not have been indorsed by a majority of men. For Christine had one of
those pale, statuesque faces apt to be solemn in repose; its beauty
was tender and twilight, its expression serious and steadfast, and her
clear, spiritual eyes held in them no light of earthly passion. She
had grown up in that little back parlor amid the din and tumult of the
city, under the gray, rainy skies, and surrounded by care and sin, as
a white lily grows out of the dark, damp soil, drawing from the
elements around only sweetness and purity.

She was very silent this afternoon, but apparently very happy. Indeed,
there was an expression on her face which attracted her father's
attention, and he said,

"The sermon has pleased thee well, I see, Christine."

"The sermon was good, but the text was enough, father. I think it over
in my heart, and it leaves a light on all the common things of life."
And she repeated it softly, "O Thou preserver of men, unto Thee shall
all flesh come."

David lifted his bonnet reverently, and James, who was learned in what
the Scotch pleasantly call "the humanities," added slowly,

"'But I, the mortal,
Planted so lowly, with death to bless me,
I sorrow no longer.'"

When people have such subjects of conversation, they talk
moderately--for words are but poor interpreters of emotions whose
sources lie in the depths of eternity. But they were none the less
happy, and James felt as if he had been sitting at one of those tables
which the Lord "prepareth in the wilderness," where the "cup runneth
over" with joy and content.

Such moments rarely last long; and it is doubtful if we could bear to
keep the soul always to its highest bent. When Christine had sided
away the dishes and put in order the little room, David laid down his
pipe, and said, "The Lord's day being now over, I may speak anent my
ain matters. I had a letter, Christine, on Saturday, from my
brother-in-law, McFarlane. He says young Donald will be in Glasgow
next week."

"Will he stay here, father?"

"Na, na; he'll bide wi' the McFarlanes. They are rich folk; but siller
is nae sin--an' it be clean-won siller."

"Then why did Uncle McFarlane write to you, father?"