the glory dominant over storm, when his
companion pinched his arm: he looked, and was aware that Fergus,
muffled to the eyes, was standing beside them. He seemed not to see
them, and they were nowise inclined to attract his attention, but
gazed motionless on the church door, an unsealed fountain of souls.
What a curious thing it is to watch an issuing crowd of faces for
one loved one--all so unattractive, provoking, blamable, as they
come rolling round corners, dividing, and flowing away--not one of
them the right one! But at last out she did come--Ginevra, like a
daisy among mown grass! It was really she!--but with her father.
She saw Donal, glanced from him to Gibbie, cast down her sweet
eyes, and made no sign. Fergus had already advanced and addressed
the laird.

"Ah, Mr. Duff!" said Mr. Galbraith; "excuse me, but would you oblige
me by giving your arm to my daughter? I see a friend waiting to
speak to me. I shall overtake you in a moment."

Fergus murmured his pleasure, and Ginevra and he moved away
together. The youths for a moment watched the father. He
dawdled--evidently wanted to speak to no one. They then followed
the two, walking some yards behind them. Every other moment Fergus
would bend his head towards Ginevra; once or twice they saw the
little bonnet turn upwards in response or question. Poor Donal was
burning with lawless and foolish indignation: why should the
minister muffle himself up like an old woman in the crowd, and take
off the great handkerchief when talking with the lady? When the
youths reached the street where the cottage stood, they turned the
corner after them, and walked quickly up to them where they stood at
the gate waiting for it to be opened.

"Sic a gran' nicht!" said Donal, after the usual greetings. "Sir
Gibbie an' me 's haein' a dauner wi' the mune. Ye wad think she had
licht eneuch to haud the cloods aff o' her, wad ye no, mem? But na!
they'll be upon her, an' I'm feart there's ae unco black ane
yon'er--dinna ye see 't--wi' a straik o' white, aboot the thrapple
o' 't?--There--dinna ye see 't?" he went on pointing to the clouds
about the moon, "--that ane, I'm doobtin', 'ill hae the better o'
her or lang--tak her intill 'ts airms, an' bray a' the licht oot o'
her. Guid nicht, mem.--Guid nicht, Fergus. You ministers sudna mak
yersels sae like cloods. Ye sud be cled in white an' gowd, an' a'
colours o' stanes, like the new Jerooslem ye tell sic tales aboot