seat
at the side of the pulpit, from which he could catch sight of the
minister's pew, and watched the look of peace and quiet courage grow
upon her face till all the lines of pain and care were quite smoothed
out, he felt his heart fill up with a sense of shame for all his
weakness, and his soul knit itself into the resolve that if he should
have to walk his way, bearing his cross alone, he would seek the same
high spirit of faith and patience and courage that he saw shining in her
gray-brown eyes.

After the service he walked home with the minister's wife, seeking
opportunity for a few last words with her. He had meant to tell her
something of his heart's sorrow and disappointment, for he guessed that
knowing and loving Kate as she did, she would understand its depth and
bitterness. But when he told her of his early departure, and of the fear
that for many years he could not return, his heart was smitten with a
great pity for her. The look of disappointment and almost of dismay he
could not understand until, with difficulty, she told him how she had
hoped that he was to spend some weeks at home and that Hughie might be
much with him.

"I wish he could know you better, Ranald. There is no one about here to
whom he can look up, and some of his companions are not of the best."
The look of beseeching pain in her eyes was almost more than Ranald
could bear.

"I would give my life to help you," he said, in a voice hoarse and
husky.

"I know," she said, simply; "you have been a great joy to me, Ranald,
and it will always comfort me to think of you, and of your work, and I
like to remember, too, how you helped Harry. He told me much about you,
and I am so glad, especially as he is now to be married."

"Yes, yes," replied Ranald, hurriedly; "that will be a great thing for
him." Then, after a pause, he added: "Mrs. Murray, the West is a hard
country for young men who are not--not very firmly anchored, but if at
any time you think I could help Hughie and you feel like sending him to
me, I will gladly do for him all that one man can do for another. And
all that I can do will be a very poor return for what you have done for
me."

"It's little I have done, Ranald," she said, "and that little has been
repaid a thousand-fold, for there is no greater joy than that of seeing
my boys grow into good and great men and that joy you have brought me."
Then she said good by, holding his hand long, as if hating to let him
go.

"I w