sty's clearing was blue with violets; a white figure
was flitting down it,--coming to him with the sunshine on her golden
hair and the violets at her feet.

Suddenly he was wide awake; not startled, but with all his keen,
woodsman senses alert. Instinctively he reached for his gun.
Something strange in his surroundings had aroused him, he knew. What
was it? He lay listening intently.

And then out of the depths of the darkness came the answer,--a sound,
dim and far off, but echoing melodiously through the leafy arches, a
voice as of an angel, singing:

"The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade
On thy right hand doth stay:
The moon by night thee shall not smite,
Nor yet the sun by day."

Scotty raised himself upon his elbow; the sound of the old psalm,
coming without warning out of the uninhabited darkness, struck him with
awe. Had the forest taken voice, or was it all but a part of his
dream? He listened breathlessly until the psalm was finished and the
silence had again fallen. There seemed something too sweetly
mysterious about the singing to come from a human source. There was an
intense silence for a few moments, then the voice rose again, this time
nearer and more distinct,

"The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green, He leadeth me
The quiet waters by."

Scotty was overwhelmed with a sudden rush of memory. He was reminded
of that day so long ago when the awesome shadows of the winter woods
had terrified him with the first conception of death, and sent him with
unerring instinct to the true refuge.

Who could be wandering in this wild, lonely place at night
singing,--singing the very things calculated to touch the depths of his
soul?

The sound was coming nearer, growing in power, as though the singer
felt the sublime confidence of the words.

"Yea, though I walk through death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill,
For Thou art with me and Thy rod
And staff me comfort still."

And then Scotty recognised the voice. It was one which, once heard,
was not easily forgotten. It belonged to the great preacher, Mr.
McAlpine, the man who years before had come to the Glen, and with his
message from the Eternal roused the place to a better life. But he was
an old man now, and retired from his labours, and how came he to be
wandering in this trackless wilderness after nightfall?

The voice had ceased, and now the sound of footsteps i