ng of the
Twelfth); but whatever Sir Hugh may have thought, he made no sign.
Accordingly there was nothing for it but that she should ring the bell
and summon the whole household; and in a few minutes the door of the
room was surrounded by a group of Highland women-servants and gillies,
the English servants rather hanging back in the hall. The
breakfast-party had resumed their seats; but the minister remained
standing; and presently, when perfect silence had been secured, he
lifted up his voice in prayer.

Well, it was a sufficiently earnest prayer, and it was listened to with
profound attention by the smart-looking lasses and tall and swarthy
gillies clustering about the door; but to the English part of his
audience its chief features were its curiously exhortatory and
argumentative character and also its interminable length. As the
minister went on and on, the frown of impatience on Lord Fareborough's
face deepened and deepened; he fretted and fumed and fidgeted; but, of
course, he could not bring disgrace on his son-in-law's house by rising
and leaving the room. Nor did it convey much consolation to the
sportsmen to hear the heavy tramp of the head keeper just outside the
windows; for they knew that Roderick must be making use of the most
frightful language over this unheard-of delay.

But at last this tremendous oration--for it was far more of an oration
than a prayer--came to an end; and the congregation drew a long breath
and were about to seize their newly found liberty when the minister
quietly remarked:

"We will now sing the Hundred and Twenty-First Psalm."

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Lord Fareborough, aloud; and Lady Adela
flushed quickly; for it was not seemly of her father to give way to such
anger before those keen-eyed and keen-eared Highland servants.

However, the Rev. Mr. MacNachten took no heed. He began to sing, in a
slow and raucous fashion, and to the melancholy tune of "Ballerma,"

"'I to the hills will lift mine eyes,
From whence doth come mine aid;'"

and presently there came from the door a curious nasal wail, men and
women singing in unison, and seemingly afraid to trust their voices. As
for the people in the room no one tried to join in this part of the
service--no one except Honnor Cunyngham, who appeared to know the words
of the Psalm and the music equally well, for she accompanied the
minister throughout, singing boldly and simply and without shyness, her
clear voice m