ious at first of nothing
save the intense relief of the sense of his great strength about her. She
seemed to have been fighting the cliff and resisting the gaping darkness,
until she was utterly worn out. Now she yielded to his gentle insistence,
and sank into safety. Her cheek rested against his rough coat, and it
seemed to her more soothing than the softest pillow. With a sigh of
content, she folded her hands upon her breast, and he laid one of his big
ones firmly over them both. She felt so safe, and held.

Then she heard Jim Airth's voice, close to her ear.

"We are not alone," he said. "You must try to sleep, dear; but first I
want you to realise that we are not alone. Do you know what I mean? _God
is here._ When I was a very little chap, I used to go to a Dame-school in
the Highlands; and the old dame made me learn by heart the hundred and
thirty-ninth psalm. I have repeated parts of it in all sorts of places of
difficulty and danger. I am going to say my favourite verses to you now.
Listen. 'Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from
Thy presence?... If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the
uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thy
right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me;
even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from
Thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are
both alike to Thee.... How precious also are Thy thoughts unto me, O God!
how great is the sum of them. If I should count them they are more in
number than the sand: when I awake I am still with Thee.'"

The deep voice ceased. Lady Ingleby opened her eyes. "I was nearly
asleep," she said. "How good you are, Jim."

"No, I am not good," he answered. "I'm a tough chap, full of faults, and
beset by failings. Only--if you will trust me, please God, I will never
fail you. But now I want you to sleep; and I don't want you to think
about me. I am merely a thing, which by God's providence is allowed to
keep you in safety. Do you see that wonderful planet, hanging like a lamp
in the sky? Watch it, while I tell you some lines written by an American
woman, on the thought of that last verse."

And with his cheek against her soft hair, and his strong arms firmly
round her, Jim Airth repeated, slowly, Mrs. Beecher Stowe's matchless
poem:

"Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bi