CHAPTER XV
THE REVIVAL
Those last days of Maimie's visit sped by on winged feet. To Ranald theywere brimming with happiness, every one of them. It was the slack timeof the year, between seeding and harvest, and there was nothing muchto keep him at home. And so, with Harry, his devoted companion, Ranaldroamed the woods, hitching up Lisette in Yankee's buckboard, put herthrough her paces, and would now and then get up such bursts of speed astook Harry's breath away; and more than all, there was the chance ofa word with Maimie. He had lost much of his awkwardness. He went aboutwith an air of mastery, and why not? He had entered upon his kingdom.The minister noticed and wondered; his wife noticed and smiledsometimes, but oftener sighed, wisely keeping silence, for she knew thatin times like this the best words were those unspoken.
The happiest day of all for Ranald was the last, when, after a longtramp with Harry through the woods, he drove him back to the manse,coming up from the gate to the door like a whirlwind.
As Lisette stood pawing and tossing her beautiful head, Mrs. Murray, whostood with Maimie watching them drive up, cried out, admiringly: "What abeauty she is!"
"Isn't she!" cried Harry, enthusiastically. "And such a flyer! Get in,auntie, and see."
"Do," said Ranald; "I would be very glad. Just to the church hill andback."
"Go, auntie," pleaded Harry. "She is wonderful."
"You go, Maimie," said her aunt, to whom every offered pleasure simplyfurnished an opportunity of thought for others.
"Nonsense!" cried Harry, impatiently. "You might gratify yourself alittle for once in your life. Besides," he added, with true brotherlyblindness, "it's you Ranald wants. At least he talks enough about you."
"Yes, auntie, do go! It will be lovely," chimed in Maimie, withsuspicious heartiness.
So, with many protestations, Mrs. Murray took her place beside Ranaldand was whirled off like the wind. She returned in a very few minutes,her hair blown loose till the little curls hung about her glowing faceand her eyes shining with excitement.
"Oh, she is perfectly splendid!" she exclaimed. "And so gentle. You mustgo, Maimie, if only to the gate." And Maimie went, but not to turn ateven the church hill.
For a mile down the concession road Ranald let Lisette jog at an easypace while he told Maimie some of his aims and hopes. He did not meanto be a farmer nor a lumberman. He was going to the city, and theremake his fortune. He did not say it in words, but his tone, his manner,everything about him, proclaimed his confidence that some day hewould be a great man. And Maimie believed him, not because it seemedreasonable, or because there seemed to be any ground for his confidence,but just because Ranald said it. His superb self-confidence wrought inher assurance.
"And then," he said, proudly, "I am going to see you."
"Oh, I hope you will not wait till then," she answered.
"I do not know," he said. "I cannot tell, but it does not matter much. Iwill be always seeing you."
"But I will want to see you," said Maimie.
"Yes," said Ranald, "I know you will," as if that were a thing to beexpected. "But you will be coming back to your aunt here." But of thisMaimie could not be sure.
"Oh, yes, you will come," he said, confidently; "I am sure you willcome. Harry is coming, and you will come, too." And having settled thispoint, he turned Lisette and from that out gave his attention to hisdriving. The colt seemed to realize the necessity of making a displayof her best speed, and without any urging, she went along the concessionroad, increasing her speed at every stride till she wheeled in at thegate. Then Ranald shook the lines over her back and called to her.Magnificently Lisette responded, and swept up to the door with suchsplendid dash that the whole household greeted her with waving applause.As the colt came to a stand, Maimie stepped out from the buckboard, andturning toward Ranald, said in a low, hurried voice: "O, Ranald, thatwas splendid, and I am so happy; and you will be sure to come?"
"I will come," said Ranald, looking down into the blue eyes with a lookso long and steady and so full of passionate feeling that Maimie knew hewould keep his word.
Then farewells were said, and Ranald turned away, Harry and Mrs. Murraywatching him from the door till he disappeared over the church hill.
"Well, that's the finest chap I ever saw," said Harry, with emphasis."And what a body he has! He would make a great half-back."
"Poor Ranald! I hope he will make a great and good man," said his aunt,with a ring of sadness in her voice.
"Why poor, auntie?"
"I'm sure I do not know," she said, with a very uncertain smile playingabout her mouth. Then she went upstairs and found Maimie sitting at thewindow overlooking the church hill, and once more she knew how golden issilence. So she set to work to pack Maimie's trunk for her.
"It will be a very early start, Maimie," she said, "and so we will geteverything ready to-night."
"Yes, auntie," said Maimie, going to her and putting her arms about her."How happy I have been, and how good you have been to me!"
"And how glad I have been to have you!" said her aunt.
"Oh, I will never forget you! You have taught me so much that I neverknew before. I see everything so differently. It seems easy to be goodhere, and, oh! I wish you were not so far away from me, auntie. I amafraid--afraid--"
The tears could no longer be denied. She put her head in her aunt's lapand sobbed out her heart's overflow. For an hour they sat by the opentrunk, forgetting all about the packing, while her aunt talked to Maimieas no one had ever talked to her before; and often, through the longyears of suffering that followed, the words of that evening came toMaimie to lighten and to comfort an hour of fear and sorrow. Mrs. Murraywas of those to whom it is given to speak words that will not die withtime, but will live, for that they fall from lips touched with the fireof God.
Before they had finished their talk Harry came in, and then Mrs. Murraytold them about their mother, of her beauty and her brightness and hergoodness, but mostly of her goodness.
"She was a dear, dear girl," said their aunt, "and her goodness was ofthe kind that makes one think of a fresh spring morning, so bright,so sweet, and pure. And she was beautiful, too. You will be like her,Maimie," and, after a pause, she added, softly, "And, most of all, sheloved her Saviour, and that was the secret of both her beauty and hergoodness."
"Auntie," said Harry, suddenly, "don't you think you could come to usfor a visit? It would do father--I mean it would be such a great thingfor father, and for me, too, for us all."
Mrs. Murray thought of her home and all its ties, and then said,smiling: "I am afraid, Harry, that could hardly be. Besides, my dearboy, there is One who can always be with you, and no one can take Hisplace."
"All the same, I wish you could come," said Harry. "When I am here Ifeel like doing something with my life, but at home I only think ofhaving fun."
"But, Harry," said his aunt, "life is a very sacred and very preciousthing, and at all costs, you must make it worthy of Him who gave it toyou."
Next morning, when Harry was saying "Farewell" to his aunt, she put herarms round him, and said: "Your mother would have wished you to be anoble man, and you must not disappoint her."
"I will try, auntie," he said, and could say no more.
For the next few weeks the minister and his wife were both busy andanxious. For more than eight years they had labored with their peoplewithout much sign of result. Week after week the minister poured intohis sermons the strength of his heart and mind, and then gave them tohis people with all the fervor of his nature. Week after week his wife,in her women's meetings and in her Bible class, lavished freely uponthem the splendid riches of her intellectual and spiritual powers, andtogether in the homes of the people they wrought and taught. At timesit seemed to the minister that they were spending their strength fornaught, and at such times he bitterly grudged, not his own toils, butthose of his wife. None knew better than he how well fitted she was,both by the native endowments of her mind and by the graces of hercharacter, to fill
the highest sphere, and he sometimes grew impatientthat she should spend herself without stint and reap no adequate reward.
These were his thoughts as he lay on his couch, on the evening of thelast Sabbath in the old church, after a day's work more than usuallyexhausting. The new church was to be opened the following week. Formonths it had been the burden of their prayers that at the dedicationof their church, which had been built and paid for at the cost ofmuch thought and toil, there should be some "signal mark of the divineacceptance." No wonder the minister was more than usually depressedto-night.
"There is not much sign of movement among the dry bones," he said to hiswife. "They are as dry and as dead as ever."
His wife was silent for some time, for she, too, had her moments ofdoubt and fear, but she said: "I think there is some sign. The peoplewere certainly much impressed this morning, and the Bible class was verylarge, and they were very attentive."
"So they are every day," said the minister, rather bitterly. "But whatdoes it amount to? There is not a sign of one of these young people'coming forward.' Just think, only one young man a member of the church,and he hasn't got much spunk in him. And many of the older men remain ashard as the nether millstone."
"I really think," said his wife, "that a number of the young peoplewould 'come forward' if some one would make a beginning. They are allvery shy."
"So you always say," said her husband, with a touch of impatience;"but there is no shyness in other things, in their frolics and theirfightings. I am sure this last outrageous business is enough to breakone's heart."
"What do you mean?" said his wife.
"Oh, I suppose you will hear soon enough, so I need not try to keep itfrom you. It was Long John Cameron told me. It is strange that Hughiehas not heard. Indeed, perhaps he has, but since his beloved Ranald isinvolved, he is keeping it quiet."
"What is it?" said his wife, anxiously.
"Oh, nothing less than a regular pitched battle between the McGregorsand the McRaes of the Sixteenth, and all on Ranald's account, too, Ibelieve."
Mrs. Murray sat in silent and bitter disappointment. She had expectedmuch from Ranald. Her husband went on with his tale.
"It seems there was an old quarrel between young Aleck McRae and Ranald,over what I cannot find out; and young Angus McGregor, who will doanything for a Macdonald, must needs take Ranald's part, with the resultthat that hot-headed young fire-eater Aleck McRae must challenge thewhole clan McGregor. So it was arranged, on Sunday morning, too, mindyou, two weeks ago, after the service, that six of the best of each sideshould meet and settle the business. Of course Ranald was bound to beinto it, and begged and pleaded with the McGregors that he should be oneof the six; and I hear it was by Yankee's advice that his request wasgranted. That godless fellow, it seems, has been giving Ranald dailylessons with the boxing-gloves, and to some purpose, too, as the fightproved. It seems that young Aleck McRae, who is a terrible fighter,and must be forty pounds heavier than Ranald, was, by Ranald's especialdesire and by Yankee's arrangement, pitted against the boy, and bythe time the fight was over, Ranald, although beaten and bruised toa 'bloody pulp,' as Long John said, had Aleck thoroughly whipped. Andnobody knows what would have happened, so fierce was the young villain,had not Peter McGregor and Macdonald Bhain appeared upon the scene. Itappears Aleck had been saying something about Maimie, Long John did notknow what it was; but Ranald was determined to finish Aleck up there andthen. It must have been a disgusting and terrible sight; but MacdonaldBhain apparently settled them in a hurry; and what is more, made themall shake hands and promise to drop the quarrel thenceforth. I fancyRanald's handling of young Aleck McRae did more to bring about thesettlement than anything else. What a lot of savages they are!"continued the minister. "It really does not seem much use to preach tothem."
"We must not say that, my dear," said his wife, but her tone was nonetoo hopeful. "I must confess I am disappointed in Ranald. Well," shecontinued, "we can only wait and trust."
From Hughie, who had had the story from Don, and who had been pledged tosay nothing of it, she learned more about the fight.
"It was Aleck's fault, mother," he said, anxious to screen his hero."He said something about Maimie, that Don wouldn't tell me, at theblacksmith shop in the Sixteenth, and Ranald struck him and knocked himflat, and he could not get up for a long time. Yankee has been showinghim how. I am going to learn, mother," interjected Hughie. "And thenAngus McGregor took Ranald's part, and it was all arranged after church,and Ranald was bound to be in it, and said he would stop the whole thingif not allowed. Don said he was just terrible. It was an awful fight.Angus McGregor fought Peter McRae, Aleck's brother, you know and--"
"Never mind, Hughie," said his mother. "I don't want to hear of it. Itis too disgusting. Was Ranald much hurt?"
"Oh, he was hurt awful bad, and he was going to be licked, too. Hewouldn't keep cool enough, and he wouldn't use his legs."
"Use his legs?" said his mother; "what do you mean?"
"That's what Don says, and Yankee made him. Yankee kept calling to him,'Now get away, get away from him! Use your legs! Get away from him!' andwhenever Ranald began to do as he was told, then he got the better ofAleck, and he gave Aleck a terrible hammering, and Don said if MacdonaldBhain had not stopped them Aleck McRae would not have been able to walkhome. He said Ranald was awful. He said he never saw him like he wasthat day. Wasn't it fine, mother?"
"Fine, Hughie!" said his mother. "It is anything but fine. It is simplydisgusting to see men act like beasts. It is very, very sad. I am verymuch disappointed in Ranald."
"But, mother, Ranald couldn't help it. And anyway, I am glad he gavethat Aleck McRae a good thrashing. Yankee said he would never be rightuntil he got it."
"You must not repeat what Yankee says," said his mother. "I am afraidhis influence is not of the best for any of those boys."
"Oh, mother, he didn't set them on," said Hughie, who wanted to be fairto Yankee. "It was when he could not help it that he told Ranald how todo. I am glad he did, too."
"I am very, very sorry about it," said his mother, sadly. It was agreater disappointment to her than she cared to acknowledge either toher husband or to herself.
But the commotion caused in the community by the fight was soonswallowed up in the interest aroused by the opening of the new church,an event for which they had made long and elaborate preparation. The bigbazaar, for which the women had been sewing for a year or more, was heldon Wednesday, and turned out to be a great success, sufficient moneybeing realized to pay for the church furnishing, which they hadundertaken to provide.
The day following was the first of the "Communion Season." In a Highlandcongregation the Communion Seasons are the great occasions of the year.For weeks before, the congregation is kept in mind of the approachingevent, and on the Thursday of the communion week the season opens with asolemn fast day.
The annual Fast Day, still a national institution in Scotland, althoughit has lost much of its solemnity and sacredness in some places, wasoriginally associated with the Lord's Supper, and was observed withgreat strictness in the matter of eating and drinking; and in IndianLands, as in all congregations of that part of the country, the customof celebrating the Fast Day was kept up. It was a day of great solemnityin the homes of the people of a godly sort. There was no cooking ofmeals till after "the services," and indeed, some of them tastedneither meat nor drink the whole day long. To the younger people of thecongregation it was a day of gloom and terror, a kind of day of doom.Even to those advanced in godliness it brought searchings of heart,minute and diligent, with agonies of penitence and remorse. It was aday, in short, in which conscience was invited to take command of thememory and the imagination to the scourging of the soul for the soul'sgood. The sermon for the day was supposed to stimulate and to aidconscience in this work.
For the communion service Mr. Murray always made it a point to have theassistance of the best preachers he could procure, and on this occasion,when the church opening was combined with t
he sacrament, by a specialeffort two preachers had been procured--a famous divine from HuronCounty, that stronghold of Calvinism, and a college professor who hadbeen recently appointed, but who had already gained a reputation as adoctrinal preacher, and who was, as Peter McRae reported, "grand on theAttributes and terrible fine on the Law." To him was assigned the honorof preaching the Fast Day sermon, and of declaring the church "open."
The new church was very different from the old. Instead of the highcrow's nest, with the wonderful sounding-board over it, the pulpit wassimply a raised platform partly inclosed, with the desk in front. Therewas no precentor's box, over the loss of which Straight Rory did notgrieve unduly, inasmuch as the singing was to be led, in the Englishat least, by John "Aleck." Henceforth the elders would sit with theirfamilies. The elders' seat was gone; Peter McRae's wrath at this beingsomewhat appeased by his securing for himself one of the short sideseats at the right of the pulpit, from which he could command a viewof both the minister and the congregation--a position with obviousadvantages. The minister's pew was at the very back of the church.
It was a great assemblage that gathered in the new church to hear theprofessor discourse, as doubtless he would, it being the Fast Day, uponsome theme of judgment. With a great swing of triumph in his voice, Mr.Murray rose and announced the Hundredth Psalm. An electric thrill wentthrough the congregation as, with a wave of his hand, he said: "Let usrise and sing. Now, John, Old Hundred."
Never did John "Aleck" and the congregation of Indian Lands sing asthey did that morning. It was the first time that the congregation, asa whole, had followed the lead of that great ringing voice, and theyfollowed with a joyous, triumphant shout, as of men come to victory.
"For why? The Lord our God is good,"
rolled out the majestic notes of Old Hundred.
"What's the matter, mother?" whispered Hughie, who was standing up inthe seat that he might look on his mother's book.
"Nothing, darling," said his mother, her face radiant through her tears.After long months of toil and waiting, they were actually singing praiseto God in the new church.
When the professor arose, it was an eager, responsive congregation thatwaited for his word. The people were fully prepared for a sermon thatwould shake them to their souls' depths. The younger portion shiveredand shrank from the ordeal; the older and more experienced shiveredand waited with not unpleasing anticipations; it did them good, thatremorseless examination of their hearts' secret depravities. To some itwas a kind of satisfaction offered to conscience, after which they couldmore easily come to peace. With others it was an honest, heroic effortto know themselves and to right themselves with their God.
The text was disappointing. "Above all these things, put on charity,which is the bond of perfectness," read the professor from thatexquisite and touching passage which begins at the twelfth verse of thefifteenth chapter of Colossians. "Love, the bond of perfectness," washis theme, and in simple, calm, lucid speech he dilated upon the beauty,the excellence, and the supremacy of this Christian grace. It was themost Godlike of all the virtues, for God was love; and more than zeal,more than knowledge, more than faith, it was "the mark" of the newbirth.
Peter McRae was evidently keenly disappointed, and his whole bearingexpressed stern disapproval. And as the professor proceeded, extollingand illustrating the supreme grace of love, Peter's hard face grewharder than ever, and his eyes began to emit blue sparks of fire. Thiswas no day for the preaching of smooth things. The people were there toconsider and to lament their Original and Actual sin; and they expectedand required to hear of the judgments of the Lord, and to be summoned toflee from the wrath to come.
Donald Ross sat with his kindly old face in a glow of delight, butwith a look of perplexity on it which his furtive glances in Peter'sdirection did not help to lessen. The sermon was delighting and touchinghim, but he was not quite sure whether this was a good sign in him orno. He set himself now and then to find fault with the sermon, but thepreacher was so humble, so respectful, and above all, so earnest, thatDonald Ross could not bring himself to criticise.
The application came under the third head. As a rule, the application toa Fast Day sermon was delivered in terrifying tones of thunder or in anawful whisper. But to-day the preacher, without raising his voice, beganto force into his hearers' hearts the message of the day.
"This is a day for self-examination," he said, and his clear, quiettones fell into the ears of the people with penetrating power. "Andself-examination is a wise and profitable exercise. It is an exercise ofthe soul designed to yield a discovery of sin in the heart and life, andto induce penitence and contrition and so secure pardon and peace. Buttoo often, my friends," and here his voice became a shade softer,"it results in a self-righteous and sinful self-complaisance. What isrequired is a simple honesty of mind and spiritual illumination, andthe latter cannot be without the former. There are those who are eversearching for 'the marks' of a genuinely godly state of heart, andthey have the idea that these marks are obscure and difficult for plainpeople to discover. Make no mistake, my brethren, they are as easilyseen as are the apples on a tree. The fruits of the spirit are asdiscernible to any one honest enough and fearless enough to look; andthe first and supreme of all is that which we have been considering thismorning. The question for you and for me, my brethren, is simplythis: Are our lives full of the grace of love? Do not shrink from thequestion. Do not deceive yourselves with any substitutes; there are manyoffering zeal, the gift of prayer or of speech, yea, the gift of faithitself. None of these will atone for the lack of love. Let each askhimself, Am I a loving man?"
With quiet persistence he pursued them into all their relations inlife--husbands and wives, fathers and sons, neighbor and neighbor. Hewould not let them escape. Relentlessly he forced them to review theirhabits of speech and action, their attitude toward each other as churchmembers, and their attitude toward "those without." Behind all refugesand through all subterfuges he made his message follow them, searchingtheir deepest hearts. And then, with his face illumined as with divinefire, he made his final appeal, while he reminded them of the Infinitelove that had stooped to save, and that had wrought itself out in theagonies of the cross. And while he spoke his last words, all over thechurch the women were weeping, and strong men were sitting trembling andpale.
After a short prayer, the professor sat down. Then the minister rose,and for some little time stood facing his people in silence, the gleamin his eyes showing that his fervent Highland nature was on fire.
"My people," he began, and his magnificent voice pealed forth like asolemn bell, "this is the message of the Lord. Let none dare refuse tohear. It is a message to your minister, it is a message to you. You areanxious for 'the marks.' Search you for this mark." He paused whilethe people sat looking at him in fixed and breathless silence. Then,suddenly, he broke forth into a loud cry: "Where are your children atthis solemn time of privilege? Fathers, where are your sons? Why werethey not with you at the Table? Are you men of love? Are you men oflove, or by lack of love are you shutting the door of the Kingdomagainst your sons with their fightings and their quarrelings?" Then,raising his hands high, he lifted his voice in a kind of wailing chant:"Woe unto you! Woe unto you! Your house is left unto you desolate, andthe voice of love is crying over you. Ye would not! Ye would not! O,Lamb of God, have mercy upon us! O, Christ, with the pierced hands,save us!" Again he paused, looking upward, while the people waited withuplifted white faces.
"Behold," he cried, in a soul-thrilling voice, "I see heaven open, andJesus standing at the right hand of God, and I hear a voice, 'Turn ye,turn ye. Why will ye die?' Lord Jesus, they will not turn." Again hepaused. "Listen. Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire.Depart ye! Nay, Lord Jesus! not so! Have mercy upon us!" His voice brokein its passionate cry. The effect was overwhelming. The people swayedas trees before a mighty wind, and a voice cried aloud from thecongregation: "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"
It was Macdonald Dubh. At that loud cry,
women began to sob, and some ofthe people rose from their seats.
"Be still," commanded the minister. "Rend your hearts and not yourgarments. Let us pray." And as he prayed, the cries and sobs subsidedand a great calm fell upon all. After prayer, the minister, instead ofgiving out a closing psalm, solemnly charged the people to go to theirhomes and to consider that the Lord had come very near them, and adjuredthem not to grieve the Holy Spirit of God. Then he dismissed them withthe benediction.
The people went out of the church, subdued and astonished, speaking, ifat all, in low tones of what they had seen and heard.
Immediately after pronouncing the benediction, the minister came down tofind Macdonald Dubh, but he was nowhere to be seen. Toward evening Mrs.Murray rode over to his house, but found that he had not returned fromthe morning service.
"He will be at his brother's," said Kirsty, "and Ranald will drive overfor him."
Immediately Ranald hitched up Lisette and drove over to his uncle's, butas he was returning he sent in word to the manse, his face being not yetpresentable, that his father was nowhere to be found. It was MacdonaldBhain that found him at last in the woods, prone upon his face, and inan agony.
"Hugh, man," he cried, "what ails you?" But there were only low groansfor answer.
"Rise up, man, rise up and come away."
Then from the prostrate figure he caught the words, "Depart from me!Depart from me! That is the word of the Lord."
"That is not the word," said Macdonald Bhain, "for any living man,but for the dead. But come, rise, man; the neighbors will be here in ameenute." At that Black Hugh rose.
"Let me away," he said. "Let me not see them. I am a lost man."
And so his brother brought him home, shaken in spirit and exhausted inbody with his long fast and his overpowering emotion. All night throughhis brother watched with him alone, for Macdonald Dubh would have no oneelse to see him, till, from utter exhaustion, toward the dawning of theday, he fell asleep.
In the early morning the minister and his wife drove over to see him,and leaving his wife with Kirsty, the minister passed at once intoMacdonald Dubh's room. But, in spite of all his reasoning, in spite ofall his readings and his prayers, the gloom remained unbroken except byoccasional paroxysms of fear and remorse.
"There is no forgiveness! There is no forgiveness!" was the burden ofhis cry.
In vain the minister proclaimed to him the mercy of God. At length hewas forced to leave him to attend the "Question Meeting" which was to beheld in the church that day. But he left his wife behind him.
Without a word, Mrs. Murray proceeded to make the poor man comfortable.She prepared a dainty breakfast and carried it in to him, and then shesat beside him while he fell into a deep sleep.
It was afternoon when Macdonald Dubh awoke and greeted her with hiswonted grave courtesy.
"You are better, Mr. Macdonald," she said, brightly. "And now I willmake you a fresh cup of tea"; and though he protested, she hurried out,and in a few moments brought him some tea and toast. Then, while helay in gloomy silence, she read to him, as she did once before from hisGaelic psalm book, without a word of comment. And then she began to tellhim of all the hopes she had cherished in connection with the opening ofthe new church, and how that day she had felt at last the blessing hadcome.
"And, O, Mr. Macdonald," she said, "I was glad to hear you cry, for thenI knew that the Spirit of God was among us."
"Glad!" said Macdonald Dubh, faintly.
"Yes, glad. For a cry like that never comes but when the Spirit of Godmoves in the heart of a man."
"Indeed, I will be thinking that He has cast me off forever," he said,wondering at this new phase of the subject.
"Then you must thank Him, Mr. Macdonald, that He has not so done; andthe sure proof to you is that He has brought you to cry for mercy. Thatis a glad cry, in the ears of the Saviour. It is the cry of the sheep inthe wilderness, that discovers him to the shepherd." And then, withoutargument, she took him into her confidence and poured out to him all herhopes and fears for the young people of the congregation, and especiallyfor Ranald, till Macdonald Dubh partly forgot his own fears in hers. Andthen, just before it was time for Kirsty to arrive from the "QuestionMeeting," she took her Gaelic Bible and opened at the Lord's Prayer, asshe had done once before.
"It is a terrible thing to be unforgiven, Mr. Macdonald," she said,"by man or by God. And God is unwilling that any of us should feel thatpain, and that is why he is so free with his offer of pardon to all whocome with sorrow to him. They come with sorrow to him now, but they willcome to him some day with great joy." And then she spoke a little of thegreat company of the forgiven before the throne, and at the very last,a few words about the gentle little woman that had passed out fromMacdonald Dubh's sight so many years before. Then, falling on her knees,she began in the Gaelic,
"Our Father which art in Heaven."
Earnestly and brokenly Macdonald Dubh followed, whispering the petitionsafter her. When they came to
"Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors,"
Macdonald Dubh broke forth: "Oh, it is a little thing, whatever! It islittle I have to forgive." And then, in a clear, firm voice, he repeatedthe words after her to the close of the prayer.
Then Mrs. Murray rose, and taking him by the hand to bid him goodby, she said, slowly: "'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, yourheavenly Father will also forgive you your trespasses.' You haveforgiven, Mr. Macdonald."
"Indeed, it is nothing," he said, earnestly.
"Then," replied Mrs. Murray, "the Lord will not break his promise toyou." And with that she went away.
On Saturday morning the session met before the service for the day. Inthe midst of their deliberations the door opened and Macdonald Bhainand his brother, Macdonald Dubh, walked in and stood silent beforethe elders. Mr. Murray rose astonished, and coming forward, said toMacdonald Bhain: "What is it, Mr. Macdonald? You wish to see me?"
"I am here," he said, "for my own sake and for my brother's. We wish tomake confession of our sins, in that we have not been men of love, andto seek the forgiveness of God."
The minister stood and gazed at him in amazed silence for some moments,and then, giving his hand to Macdonald Dubh, he said, in a voice huskywith emotion: "Come away, my brother. The Lord has a welcome for you."
And there were no questions that day asked in the session beforeMacdonald Dubh received his token.