he great but controlled upheaval of her whole nature
there passed into her voice, and ran in her lightest words, a thrill of
emotion.

"Have you mind of Dand's song?" she answered. "I think he'll have been
trying to say what you have been thinking."

"No, I never heard it," he said. "Repeat it to me, can you?"

"It's nothing wanting the tune," said Kirstie.

"Then sing it me," said he.

"On the Lord's Day? That would never do, Mr. Weir!"

"I am afraid I am not so strict a keeper of the Sabbath, and there is no
one in this place to hear us unless the poor old ancient under the
stone."

"No that I'm thinking that really," she said. "By my way of thinking,
it's just as serious as a psalm. Will I sooth it to ye, then?"

"If you please," said he, and, drawing near to her on the tombstone,
prepared to listen.

She sat up as if to sing. "I'll only can sooth it to ye," she explained.
"I wouldna like to sing out loud on the Sabbath. I think the birds would
carry news of it to Gilbert," and she smiled. "It's about the Elliotts,"
she continued, "and I think there's few bonnier bits in the book-poets,
though Dand has never got printed yet."

And she began, in the low, clear tones of her half voice, now sinking
almost to a whisper, now rising to a particular note which was her best,
and which Archie learned to wait for with growing emotion:--

"O they rade in the rain, in the days that are gane,
In the rain and the wind and the lave,
They shoutit in the ha' and they routit on the hill,
But they're a' quaitit noo in the grave.
Auld, auld Elliotts, clay-cauld Elliotts, dour, bauld Elliotts of auld!"

All the time she sang she looked steadfastly before her, her knees
straight, her hands upon her knee, head cast back and up. The expression
was admirable throughout, for had she not learned it from the lips and
under the criticism of the author? When it was done, she turned upon
Archie a face softly bright, and eyes gently suffused and shining in the
twilight, and his heart rose and went out to her with boundless pity and
sympathy. His question was answered. She was a human being tuned to a
sense of the tragedy of life; there were pathos and music and a great
heart in the girl.

He arose instinctively, she also; for she saw she had gained a point,
and scored the impression deeper, and she had wit enough left to flee
upon a victory. They were but commonplaces that remained to be
exchanged, but the