give me," he said; "and you will not be telling any one."

By this time the tears were streaming down her face, and Mrs. Murray
could only say, brokenly, "You know I will not."

"Aye, I do," said Macdonald, with a sigh of content, and he turned his
face away from her to the wall.

"And now you let me read to you," she said, softly, and taking from her
bag the Gaelic Bible, which with much toil she had learned to read since
coming to this Highland congregation, she read to him from the old Psalm
those words, brave, tender, and beautiful, that have so often comforted
the weary and wandering children of men, "The Lord is my Shepherd," and
so on to the end. Then from psalm to psalm she passed, selecting such
parts as suited her purpose, until Macdonald turned to her again and
said, admiringly:

"It is yourself that has the bonnie Gaelic."

"I am afraid," she said, with a smile, "it is not really good, but it is
the best a south country woman can do."

"Indeed, it is very pretty," he said, earnestly.

Then the minister's wife said, timidly, "I cannot pray in the Gaelic."

"Oh, the English will be very good," said Macdonald, and she knelt down
and in simple words poured out her heart in prayer. Before she rose from
her knees she opened the Gaelic Bible, and turned to the words of the
Lord's Prayer.

"We will say this prayer together," she said, gently.

Macdonald, bowing his head gravely, answered: "It is what she would
often be doing with me."

There was still only one woman to this lonely hearted man, and with
a sudden rush of pity that showed itself in her breaking voice, the
minister's wife began in Gaelic, "Our Father which art in heaven."

Macdonald followed her in a whisper through the petitions until they
came to the words, "And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,"
when he paused and would say no more. Mrs. Murray repeated the words of
the petition, but still there was no response. Then the minister's wife
knew that she had her finger upon a sore spot, and she finished the
prayer alone.

For a time she sat silent, unwilling to probe the wound, and yet too
brave to flinch from what she felt to be duty.

"We have much to be forgiven," she said, gently. "More than we can ever
forgive." Still there was silence.

"And the heart that cannot forgive an injury is closed to the
forgiveness of God."

The morning sun was gleaming through the treetops, and Mrs. Murray was
worn with her night's vigi