t himself before her; for always before her
he set Life, the perfect heart-origin of her and his yet unperfected
humanity, teaching her to hunger and thirst after being righteous like
God, with the assurance of being filled. She had once trusted in Miss
Carmichael, not with her higher being, only with her judgment, and both
her judgment and her friend had misled her. Donal had taught her that
obedience, not to man but to God, was the only guide to holy liberty,
and so had helped her to break the bonds of those traditions which, in
the shape of authoritative utterances of this or that church, lay
burdens grievous to be borne upon the souls of men. For Christ, against
all the churches, seemed to her to express Donal's mission. An air of
peace, an atmosphere of summer twilight after the going down of the
sun, seemed to her to precede him and announce his approach with a
radiation felt as rest. She questioned herself nowise about him.
Falling in love was a thing unsuggested to her; if she was in what is
called danger, it was of a better thing.

The next day she did not appear: mistress Brookes had persuaded her to
keep her bed again for a day or two. There was nothing really the
matter with her, she said herself, but she was so tired she did not
care to lift her head from the pillow. She had slept well, and was
troubled about nothing. She sent to beg Mr. Grant to let Davie go and
read to her, and to give him something to read, good for him as well as
for her.

Donal did not see Davie again till the next morning.

"Oh, Mr. Grant!" he said, "you never saw anything so pretty as Arkie is
in bed! She is so white, and so sweet! and she speaks with a voice so
gentle and low! She was so kind to me for going to read to her! I never
saw anybody like her! She looks as if she had just said her prayers,
and God had told her she should have everything she wanted."

Donal wondered a little, but hoped more. Surely she must be finding
rest in the consciousness of God! But why was she so white? Was she
going to die? A pang shot to his heart: if she were to go from the
castle, it would be hard to stay in it, even for the sake of Davie!
Donal, no more than Arctura, imagined himself fallen in love: he had
loved once, and his heart had not yet done aching--though more with the
memory than the presence of pain! He was utterly satisfied with what
the Father of the children had decreed, and would never love again! But
he did not seek to hide fr