--and
reach in their serenity, each one unharmed, his own obscure house. For
God is with the blind. So is he with all who walk on works of mercy.
This saving band had no fear--and therefore there was no danger--on the
edge of the pitfall or the cliff. They knew the countenances of the
mountains shown momentarily by ghastly gleamings through the fitful
night, and the hollow sound of each particular stream beneath the snow
at places where in other weather there was a pool or a waterfall. The
dip of the hills, in spite of the drifts, familiar to their feet, did
not deceive them now; and then, the dogs in their instinct were guides
that erred not, and as well as the shepherds knew it themselves did
Fingal know that they were anxious to reach Glenco. He led the way, as
if he were in moonlight; and often stood still when they were shifting
their burden, and whined as if in grief. He knew where the bridges
were--stones or logs; and he rounded the marshes where at springs the
wild-fowl feed. And thus Instinct, and Reason, and Faith conducted the
saving band along--and now they are at Glenco--and at the door of the
Hut.

To life were brought the dead; and there at midnight sat they up like
ghosts. Strange seemed they--for a while--to each other's eyes--and at
each other they looked as if they had forgotten how dearly once they
loved. Then as if in holy fear they gazed on each other's faces,
thinking that they had awoke together in heaven. "Flora!" said
Ranald--and that sweet word, the first he had been able to speak,
reminded him of all that had passed, and he knew that the God in whom
they had put their trust had sent them deliverance. Flora, too, knew her
parents, who were on their knees--and she strove to rise up and kneel
down beside them--but she was powerless as a broken reed--and when she
thought to join with them in thanksgiving, her voice was gone. Still as
death sat all the people in the hut--and one or two who were fathers
were not ashamed to weep.

Who were they--the solitary pair--all alone by themselves save a small
image of her on whose breast it lay--whom--seven summers after--we came
upon in our wanderings, before their Shieling in Correi-Vollach at the
foot of Ben Chrulas, who sees his shadow in a hundred lochs? Who but
Ranald and Flora!

* * * * *

Nay, dry up--Daughter of our Age, dry up thy tears! and we shall set a
vision before thine eyes to fill them with unmoistened li