private interview filled me somehow with subtle
hope and joy. For the voice is the soul's great index; and this of
Geordie's spoke of a soul's secret convalescence. The breath of spring
exuded from his words.

I locked my study door as we passed in together; for a Protestant
confessional is a holy place, excelling far the Catholic, even as a
love-letter excels a bill of lading.

"What is it, Geordie?" I asked, with tender eagerness.

"I dinna ken exactly, but I think it's life," he answered with new-born
passion, "and eternal life at that. I canna tell it an' I canna thole it
till I do tell it. I maunna mak' ower free wi' God; but it's my soul,
minister, it's my soul, an' I'm a new creature. I'm new in the sicht o'
God an' He's new in mine--an' I prayed this mornin', a thing I haena
dune for mair than twenty years--an' the auld burn was sweet an' clear,
like when my laddie's lips sippit there lang syne--I daurna speak His
name ower often, but God is gey guid to the sinfu' an' the weary."

"None but they can know how good," was my response.

My remark seemed to pass unnoticed, for Geordie had more to say.

"Hark ye, an' I'll tell ye hoo God cam' to me. 'Twas near the dawn this
verra mornin' I had a dream, an' wee Jessie cam' to me. An' that was
God, nae ither ane but God. 'Oot o' the mooth o' babes,' is that no' i'
the Buik? For wee Jessie stood beside the bed, an' I luikit at her an' I
said, 'My little dochter.' 'Twas a' I could say, an' she pit her saft
haun' on my heid sae gentle, an' sae blessed cool, for my heid was
burnin' hot. She luikit lang, an' her een was fu' o' love: 'Faither,'
she said, 'did ye no' promise yir lassie to meet her in the Faither's
hoose? Oh, faither, I've come to mind ye o' yir promise an' to set yir
puir feet upon the path ance mair. God loves ye, faither; I hae it frae
Himsel'; an' there's mony a ane wi' Him noo in white wha wandered
farther bye nor you. An' God 'll try, gin ye'll try yirsel', an' yir wee
Jessie 'll no' be far frae ye. Wull ye no' come, faither? for yir ain
lassie, an' mither, an' God, a' want ye.'

"I luikit lang intil her angel face, but I was feart to speak, for I
wasna worthy. The road was bricht eneuch, but I wasna fit to gang.

"'I ken what yir thinkin' o', faither. I ken yir enemy--an' God kens.
It's the drink. But it'll pass yir lips nae mair. I'll kiss them,
faither, an' they'll burn wi' the awfu' thirst nae mair.'

"An' she stoopit doon an' kissed my burn