d; it was cold and clammy. Was he dying?

Mrs. Cameron had come over and was standing beside him. She ran down and
brought up the doctor, explaining the young man's state.

[Sidenote: The Doctor's Verdict]

"He will pass away in one of these fainting fits," said the tired man as
he followed her. He was kind in his way, but overwhelmed with work.
"This may revive him for the time being," he went on as they ascended
the cabin stairs, "but he cannot live long. I do feel for that young
fellow, he is so patient. You never hear a word of complaint."

By this time they had reached the sick man. "Here, my good fellow, try
and take this," said the doctor, as Eva Cameron gently raised the young
head on her arm. The large dark eyes were gratefully raised to the
doctor's face, and a slight tinge of colour came to the pale lips.

[Illustration: "NOW I AM GOING TO FAN YOU," SHE SAID.]

"Now I am going to fan you," said Mrs. Cameron, as she sat beside him.
Now and then she sprinkled lavender water on his head and hands.

"Thank you," he said; "how nice that is! Would you sing to me? I heard
you singing the other day."

Eva softly sang a Tasmanian air which was wild and sweet.

"Will you do me a favour?" asked the young man. "Please sing me one of
the dear old psalms. I am Scotch, and at times yearn for them, you would
hardly believe how much."

She sang:

"God is our refuge and our strength,
In straits a present aid:
Therefore, although the earth remove,
We will not be afraid."

As she sang tears rolled down the wan cheek, but a look of perfect peace
came over the pale face. She went on:

"A river is, whose streams do glad
The city of our God,
The holy place, wherein the Lord
Most High hath His abode."

He was asleep, the wan young cheek leaning on his hand in a child-like
attitude of repose. Eva sat and watched him, her heart full of pity. She
did not move, but sat fanning him. Soon Mr. Cameron and Captain Wylie
joined her; as they approached she put her finger on her lips to inspire
silence.

She had no idea what the words of the dear old psalm had been to the
young Highlander--like water to a parched soul, bringing back memories
of childhood, wooded glens, heather-clad hills, rippling burns, and
above all the old grey kirk where the Scotch laddie used to sit beside
his mother--that dear mother in whom