that keeps whingeing and whingeing* gets what it greets for. And sometimes," she would add, snappishly, "it gets a scud o' the side o' the head." But the elder servant a tall woman she was, dark-complexioned, and meagre of face-came into the room with a kind of furtive fear in her eyes. This woman-the solitary exception in this community-was possessed by the dreadful conviction that she was not of the elect; she was an outcast, consigned to everlasting punishment; the scheme of salvation had no place for her; and whatever portion of the Scripture might be read, the denunciations of the wicked could hardly be less terrible to her than descriptions of the eternal joys and glories from which she was hopelessly and forever shut out. She was wholly reticent about this conviction of hers; but it was well-known. More than once Alison had unwittingly come upon the poor wretch when she was on her knees, appealing with passionate tears and sobs, not that she might be forgiven, and allowed to take the lowest place among the ransomed, but that she might be enabled to lift up her heart to the Lord in gratitude for all His goodness to her. She did not complain of her awful fate, or seek in any way to escape from it. It was the Lord's will; let Him be praised. And when Alison, shuddering to think of any human being going through life with this fearful doom continually before her, would say, "But, Margaret, what is the sin against the Holy Ghost? What is the unforgivable sin? You do not even know what it is!" she would shake her head in silence, or answer with her favorite text: "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” "We will praise God by singing the eightieth Psalm," the Minister began; and when they had found their places, he himself started the tune-the old, familiar "Martyrdom" it was— which was at once taken up by the fresh, clear voices of the girls: "Hear, Israel's Shepherd! Like a flock The cherubims abide! In Ephraim's and Benjamin's, And in Manasseh's sight, O come for our salvation: Stir up thy strength and might. The child that keeps whimpering and whimpering. "Turn us again, O Lord our God, And upon us vouchsafe To make thy countenance to shine O Lord of hosts, almighty God, How long shall kindled be Thy wrath against the prayer made The singing over, he opened the large Bible and proceeded to read the second chapter of the Book of Ruth-no doubt choosing the story of the young Moabitess who left her own country and went to live among an unknown people as having some reference to Alison and her departure on the morrow. And finally, when they all knelt down, and he engaged in prayer, his fervent appeal for Divine protection for this child of his who was going away into a strange land was even more personal and immediate than that he had preferred in open church. Not only so, but it was full of urgent and earnest admonition and exhortation addressed to herself. They were no common and worldly dangers she was to dread; these things were of little account; in this transitory space of time called life, sickness and sorrow, trouble and disease and death itself, were but trivial accidents. It was the far more deadly peril that the Christian soul might have to encounter that was to be feared-the insidious attacks of Satan-pride of heart, the allurements of the eye, frivolity, forgetfulness that every moment of time was of value in preparing for the Judgment-day of the Lord. And then he spoke of her going forth alone-and yet not alone; and his last words were words of consolation: "Behold he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore." Worship concluded, the women went their several ways, leaving the Minister to finish up his reading and put out the lights. And soon silence and sleep had fallen over the whole householdbringing to the poor creature Margaret, it is to be hoped, some temporary and blessed forgetfulness of the awful doom forever before her waking eyes; and to Agnes Blair, perhaps, the mystic vision of a gentle and smiling mother, standing by her bedside. and regarding her with a wistful affection; while as for Alison, it is to be imagined that her dreams were most likely to be of the far country she was about to enter, when she had left behind her the turmoil and din and lowering skies, the rigid observances, the monotonous duties, the incessant and morbid introspection, the cramped and fettered life of Kirk o' Shields. CHAPTER II. THE BIT LADY. LEAGUE upon league of glassy calm, save where some wandering puff of wind stirred the still sea into a deeper blue; the long green island of Lismore basking in the sun, and tapering away to its southernmost point, where the small white light-house stands; the hills of Morven, in hues of faint rose-gray and lilac, grown distant in the heat; close by, the winding shores of the main-land, with wooded knolls, and crags, and bays where the shallow water showed the sand below: this was the picture that Alison saw all around her as the great steamer thundered and throbbed away northward through the fair, summer-like day. Surely here was a new heaven and a new earth-after Kirk o' Shields. And brilliant and beautiful as it was, it was all so restful. On board the steamer, it is true, the sunlight burned hot on the white deck, and on the scarlet funnels, and on the crimson velvet cushions beside her; but she could turn her bewildered eyes away from this overpowering blaze, and let them dwell gratefully on the wide blue spaces of the sea, and on the hills that had grown almost ethereal in the haze produced by fine weather, and on a sky that down at the horizon-line in the south had scarcely any color in it at all. A day of pale azure and silver it was; calm and shining and clear; there was not anywhere overhead a single fleecy flake to throw a patch of purple shadow on the far-stretching and resplendent plain. By the air around her suddenly becoming warmer, she guessed that the steamer was lessening its speed; and presently, when the great paddles had been stopped and then reversed, driving a mass of white, seething foam down into the clear bottle-green water, she found they were alongside Port Appin pier. With a natural curiosity, for she was a stranger in a strange land, she was scanning the small group of people assembled to meet their friends or their packages (and perhaps she was contrasting the fresh complexions and trim and trig adornment of one or two of the Highland lasses there with the too-familiar appearance of the bareheaded, tartan-shawled, worn-faced women who made up the bulk of the female population of Kirk o' Shields), when her eye happened to light on a new-comer, who was hastening down to the boat. He was a young man, and not over middle height; but there was something effective and picturesque in the set of his strongly built frame, in the carriage of his head, and even in the long and easy and careless stride with which he came down the quay. He was none too soon; indeed the hawsers had been cast off and the gangway withdrawn when he stepped, or leaped, on to the paddle-box. He turned for a moment to wave his hand to one or two companions who had come as far as the head of the pier with him; then he entered into conversation with the captain, the two of them being apparently very good friends. She was sitting here alone and observant; and she seemed to perceive a peculiar sunniness (so to speak) and cheerfulness in this young man's look and bearing. Also she was aware that he had singularly clear eyes; for once or twice they were turned in her direction, and instantly she had to drop her own. For the rest, his costume was novel to her. Sportsmen have no occasion to go wandering along the grimy streets of Kirk o' Shields. She had never seen anybody in knickerbockers; and the simple and serviceable garb-laced boots and Highland hose, a homespun shooting-jacket, a Tam o' Shanter drawn forward over his brow, a bit of red silk tie showing under his flannel shirt-collar-seemed somehow to suit the easy self-possession of his manner. Then he had the complexion of one familiar with the sun and sea-air; fair as he was, his skin was a trifle darker than his short, twisted, yellow mustache. Dandyfied?-perhaps a little. And yet there was a manly look about the breadth of his shoulders; he had a flat back, a well-knit calf, and small ankle; and always there was a kind of pride in the poise of his head. He was laughing and talking with the captain, but he was looking around at the same time; more than once she had to swiftly lower her eyes. It was about a couple of minutes thereafter-and to her astonishment and dismay-that she found this young man approaching her. She knew, rather than saw, that he touched his cap. "I beg your pardon, but may I ask if you are Miss Blair?" She ought to have been still further startled; but the sound of his voice was pleasant to the ear. "Y-yes," she said, glancing timidly upward. "I know your friends in Fort William," said he, "and they asked me to look after you, and get your luggage ashore for you. Of course they will be down at the quay; but I will see your things got ready, if you will let me, so that you won't have any trouble." "Oh, thank you," said she, hardly knowing what to say. "I understand you have not been in the Highlands before," he continued; and with the greatest coolness he sate down beside her on the velvet cushion, and laid his arm on the gunwale of the steamer. "No," she answered; but all the time she was asking herself what had enabled him to identify her. Was there some Kirk o' Shields peculiarity in her dress or appearance? "You are lucky in having such a beautiful day for your first glimpse of them," he went on to say, with much placid assurance. "It isn't always like this. Those hills over there-Kingairloch that is-and those away up yonder, by Inversanda and Ardgour -they are not nearly so far away as they seem to be; it is the haze of the settled weather that makes them appear distant. That is Shuna island: do you see the old castle? Why, there's a seal-look!" She turned her eyes in the direction indicated, and could make out a round dark object on the pale, blue-white plain. "I shouldn't wonder if that is the old fellow that goes backward and forward after the ferry-boat between Port Appin and Lismore. He is a friendly old chap; I dare say he has followed us so far just for the sake of company. There he's downoff again, I suppose, for Appin." Presently he said—perhaps casting back a little "I hope you will pardon my bluntness in addressing you, but, you see, I had made pretty sure. I had a good look round, though I fixed on you from the first. You seem surprised? Well, I had heard you described so often, you know. Your Aunt Gilchrist is |