own attention does not wander sometimes.
Some things are more important than others," said the minister's wife, a
name or two passing through her mind, which it would not have been wise
to utter even to the silent Allison; "but," added she, "we can all join
in the Psalms and in the prayers."

Allison's answer was a slow movement of her head from side to side, and
a look sadder than words. A pang of sympathy smote through the soft
heart of her mistress.

"Allie," said she, laying her hand on her arm, "you pray also?"

"Lang syne--I used to pray--maybe. I'm no' sure."

She had left her work and was standing erect, with her hands, loosely
clasped, hanging down before her. Her eyes, with the same hopeless look
in them, were turned toward the window, through which the relenting sun
was sending one bright gleam before he went away, after a day of mist
and rain.

"I do not understand you, Allison," said Mrs Hume.

"It could not have been right prayer, ye ken, since it wasna answered."

"But the answer may be to come yet. It may come in God's way, not in
yours."

"Can the dead live again?" said Allison with dilating eyes.

"Surely, they will live again. Is it your father, Allie? or your
mother? They served the Lord, you said yourself, and they are now in
His presence. Death is not a dreadful thing to come to such as they,
that you should grudge it."

Allison had sunk down on a low stool, and laid her face on her arm, but
she raised it now as she answered:

"But they didna just die. They were killed. Their hearts were broken
by the one they loved best in the world. _That_ cannot be changed.
Even the Lord himself cannot blot out that and make it as if it had
never been."

"The Lord himself! Was there sin in it, Allie? But do you not mind?
`The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.' It _can_
be blotted out. It is never too late for that."

But Allison made no answer. Rising with a cry she turned and went out
without a word.

Mrs Hume was greatly moved, wishing earnestly that she had not spoken.
If the minister had been in his study, she would have gone to him with
her trouble. But he was out. So she went into the parlour, where she
had only little Marjorie for company. She had not even Marjorie for the
moment, for the child had fallen asleep in her absence. As she thought
about it, she was not so sure that she had made a mistake, or that there
was anything to regret. Better