d turned towards his study, and
Christine followed him. And before she crossed the threshold of the
room, she saw Angus and his Uncle Ballister, sitting at a table on
which there were books and papers.

Angus rose to meet her at once. He did it as an involuntary act. He
did not take a moment's counsel or consideration, but sprang to his
feet with the joyful cry of a delighted boy. And Christine's face
reflected the cry in a wonderful, wonderful smile. Then Angus was at
her side, he clasped her hands, he called her by her name in a tone of
love and music, he drew her closer to his side. And the elder man
smiled and looked at the Domine, who remembered then the little
ceremony he had forgotten.

So he took Christine by the hand, and led her to the stranger, and
in that moment a great change came into the countenance and manner
of the girl, while a peculiar light of satisfaction--almost of
amusement--gleamed in her splendid eyes.

"Colonel Ballister," said the Domine, "I present to you Miss Christine
Ruleson, the friend of your nephew, the beloved of the whole village
of Culraine."

"I am happy to make Miss Ruleson's acquaintance," he replied and
Christine said,

"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Sir. When you know Angus, you
wish to know the man who made Angus well worth the love he wins."

The Domine and Angus looked at the beautiful girl in utter amazement.
She spoke perfect English, in the neat, precise, pleasant manner and
intonation of the Aberdeen educated class. But something in
Christine's manner compelled their silence. She willed it, and they
obeyed her will.

"Sit down at the table with us, Christine," said the Domine. "We want
your advice;" and she had the good manners to sit down, without
affectations or apologies.

"Colonel, will you tell your own tale? There's none can do it like
you."

"It is thus, and so, Miss Ruleson. Two nights ago as I sat thinking of
Angus in Culraine, I remembered my own boyhood days in the village. I
thought of the boats, and the sailors, and the happy hours out at sea
with the nets, or the lines. I remembered how the sailors' wives
petted me, and as I grew older teased me, and sang to me. And I said
to my soul, 'We have been ungratefully neglectful, Soul, and we will
go at once, and see if any of the old playfellows are still alive.' So
here I am, and though I find by the Domine's kirk list that only three
of my day are now in Culraine, I want to do some good thing