"Oh, what does he sing?"

"I only sing the psalm tunes in church," said Ranald, "and a few hymns."

"Ye gods!" ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie, "psalms and hymns; and how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!"

"Sing something, Kate, won't you?" said Maimie, and Kate, without a word began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's St. Paul:--

"But the Lord is mindful of His own,"

singing it with a power of expression marvellous in so young a girl.

Then, without further request, she glided into the lovely aria, "O Rest in the Lord." It was all new and wonderful to Ranald. He did not dream that such majesty and sweetness could be expressed in music. He sat silent with eyes looking far away, and face alight with the joy that filled his soul.

"Oh, thanks, very much," murmured the lieutenant, when Kate had finished. "Lovely thing that aria, don't you know?"

"Very nice," echoed Mr. Sims, "and so beautifully done, too."

Ranald looked from one to the other in indignant surprise, and then turning away from them to Kate, said, in a tone almost of command: "Sing it again."

"I'll sing something else," she said. "Did you ever hear--"

"No, I never heard anything at all like that," interrupted Ranald. "Sing some more like the last."

The deep feeling showing in his face and in his tone touched Kate.

"How would this do?" she replied. "It is a little high for me, but I'll try."

She played a few introductory chords, and then began that sweetest bit of the greatest of all the oratorios "He shall Feed His Flock." And from that passed into the soul-moving "He Was Despised" from the same noble work. The music suited the range and quality of her voice perfectly, and she sang with her heart thrilling in response to the passionate feeling in the dark eyes fixed upon her face. She had never sung to any one who listened as Ranald now listened to her. She forgot the others. She was singing for him, and he was compelling her to her best. She was conscious of a subtle sense of mastery overpowering her, and with a strange delight she yielded herself to that commanding influence; but as she sang she began to realize that he was thinking not of her, but of her song, and soon she, too, was thinking of it. She knew that his eyes were filled with the vision of "The Man of Sorrows" of whom she sang, and before she was aware, the pathos of that lonely and despised life, set forth in the noble words of the ancient prophet, was pouring forth in the great Master's music.

When the song was ended, no one spoke for a time, and even Mr. Sims was silent. Then the lieutenant came over to the harmonium, and leaning toward Kate, said, in an earnest voice, unusual with him, "Thank you Miss Raymond. That was truly great."

"Great indeed;" said Harry, with enthusiasm. "I never heard you sing like that before, Kate."

But Ranald sat silent, finding no words in which to express the thoughts and feelings her singing had aroused in him.

There is that in noble music which forbids unreality, rebukes frivolity into silence, subdues ignoble passions, soothes the heart's sorrow, and summons to the soul high and holy thoughts. It was difficult to begin the conversation; the trivial themes of the earlier part of the evening seemed foreign to the mood that had fallen upon the company. At length Mr. Sims ventured to remark, with a giggle: "It's awfully fine, don't you know, but a trifle funereal. Makes one think of graves and that sort of thing. Very nice, of course," he added, apologetically, to Kate.

Ranald turned and regarded the little man for some moments in silence, and then, with unutterable scorn, exclaimed: "Nice! man, it's wonderful, wonderful to me whatever! Makes me think of all the great things I ever saw."

"What things?" Kate ventured to say.

For a few moments Ranald paused, and then replied: "It makes me think of the big pine trees waving and wailing over me at night, and the big river rolling down with the moonlight on it--and--other things."

"What other things, Ranald," persisted Kate.

But Ranald shook his head and sat silent for some time. Then he rose abruptly.

"I will be going now," he said.

"You will come again soon, Ranald," said Maimie, coming toward him with a look on her face that reminded him of the days in the Glengarry manse.

She had forgotten all about his red shirt and silk handkerchief. As Ranald caught that look a great joy leaped into his eyes for a moment, then faded into a gaze of perplexity.

"Yes, do come," added Kate.

"Will you sing again?" he asked, bluntly.

"Yes, indeed," she replied, with a slight blush, "if you want me to."

"I will come. When? To-morrow night?"

"Yes, certainly, to-morrow night," said Kate, blushing deeply now, for she noticed the slight smile on Harry's face, and the glance that passed between Mr. Sims and the lieutenant. Then Ranald said good night.

"I have never had such pleasure in my life," he said, holding her hand a moment, and looking into her eyes that sparkled with a happy light.

"That is," he added, with a swift glance at Maimie, "from music or things like that."

Kate caught the glance, and the happy light faded from her eyes.

"Good night," said Ranald, offering his hand to Maimie. "I am glad I came now. It makes me think of the last night at the manse, although I am always thinking of it," he added, simply, with a touch of sadness in his voice. Maimie's face grew hot with blushes.

"Yes," she answered, hurriedly. "Dear Aunt Murray!"

He stood a moment or two as if about to speak, while Maimie waited in an agony of fear, not knowing what to expect in this extraordinary young man. Then he turned abruptly away, and with a good night to De Lacy and a nod to Mr. Sims, strode from the room.

"Great Caesar's ghost!" exclaimed the lieutenant; "pardon me, but has anything happened? That young man now and then gives me a sense of tragedy. What HAS taken place?" he panted, weakly.

"Nonsense," laughed Maimie, "your nervous system is rather delicate."

"Ah, thanks, no doubt that's it. Miss Kate, how do you feel?"

"I," said Kate, waking suddenly, "thank you, quite happy."

"Happy," sighed De Lacy. "Ah, fortunate young man!"

"Great chap, that," cried Harry, coming back from seeing Ranald to the door.

"Very," said De Lacy, so emphatically that every one laughed.

"Some one really ought to dress him, though," suggested Mr. Sims, with a slight sneer.

"Why?" said Kate, quietly, facing him.

"Oh, well, you know, Miss Raymond," stammered Mr. Sims, "that sort of attire, you know, is hardly the thing for the drawing-room, you know."

"He is a shantyman," said Maimie, apologetically, "and they all dress like that. I don't suppose that he has any other clothes with him."

"Oh, of course," assented Mr. Sims, retreating before this double attack.

"Besides," continued Kate, "it is good taste to dress in the garb of your profession, isn't it, Lieutenant De Lacy?"