t the earliest
possible moment broke up the supper party and engaged in conversation
with the lieutenant and his witty friend, leaving Harry and Kate to
entertain Ranald. But in spite of all they could do a solemn silence
would now and then overtake the company, till at length Maimie grew
desperate, and turning to Ranald, said: "What are you thinking of? You
are looking very serious?"

"He is 'thinking of home and mother,'" quoted Mr. Sims, in a thin,
piping voice, following his quotation with a silly giggle.

Kate flushed indignantly. "I am quite sure his thoughts will bear
telling," she said.

"I am sure they would," said Maimie, not knowing what to say. "What were
they, Ran--Mr. Macdonald?"

"I was thinking of you," said Ranald, gravely, looking straight at her.

"How lovely," murmured the lieutenant.

"And of your aunt, Mrs. Murray, and of what they would be doing this
night--"

"And what would that be?" said Kate, coming to the relief of her friend.
But Ranald was silent.

"I know," cried Harry. "Let's see, it is ten o'clock; they will all be
sitting in the manse dining-room before the big fire; or, no, they will
be in the parlor where the piano is, and John 'Aleck' will be there,
and they will be singing"; and he went on to describe his last Sabbath
evening, two years before, in the Glengarry manse. As he began to
picture his aunt and her work, his enthusiasm carried him away, and made
him eloquent.

"I tell you," he concluded, "she's a rare woman, and she has a hundred
men there ready to die for her, eh, Ranald?"

"Yes," said Ranald, and his deep voice vibrated with intense feeling.
"They would just die for her, and why not? She is a great woman and a
good." His dark face was transformed, and his eyes glowed with an inner
light.

In the silence that followed Kate went to the harmonium and began to
play softly. Ranald stood up as to go, but suddenly changed his mind,
and went over and stood beside her.

"You sing, don't you?" said Kate, as she played softly.

"You ought to just hear him," said Harry.

"Oh, what does he sing?"

"I only sing the psalm tunes in church," said Ranald, "and a few hymns."

"Ye gods!" ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie, "psalms and hymns; and
how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!"

"Sing something, Kate, won't you?" said Maimie, and Kate, without a word
began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's St. Paul:--

"But the Lord is mindful of His own,"