one of the two new poems which she had
got ready for them from the book Miss Cowie had lent her.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Whatever effect the remonstrances of Thomas might or might not have
upon the rest, Annie had heard enough to make her want to go to the
missionar-kirk. For was it not plain that Thomas Crann knew something
that she did not know? and where could he have learned it but at the
said kirk? There must be something going on there worth looking into.
Perhaps there she might learn just what she needed to know; for, happy
as she was, she would have been much happier had it not been for a
something--she could neither describe nor understand it--which always
rose between her and the happiness. She did not lay the blame on
circumstances, though they might well, in her case, have borne a part
of it. Whatever was, to her was right; and she never dreamed of
rebelling against her position. For she was one of those simple
creatures who perceive at once that if they are to set anything right
for themselves or other people, they must begin with their own selves,
their inward being and life. So without knowing that George Macwha
intended to be there, with no expectation of seeing Alec or Curly, and
without having consulted any of the Bruce family, she found herself, a
few minutes after the service had commenced, timidly peering through
the inner door of the chapel, and starting back, with mingled shyness
and awe, from the wide solemnity of the place. Every eye seemed to have
darted upon her the moment she made a chink of light between the door
and its post. How spiritually does every child-nature feel the
solemnity of the place where people, of whatever belief or whatever
intellectual rank, meet to worship God! The air of the temple belongs
to the poorest meeting-room as much as to the grandest cathedral. And
what added to the effect on Annie was, that the reputation of Mr Brown
having drawn a great congregation to hear him preach that evening, she,
peeping through the door, saw nothing but live faces; whereas Mr
Cowie's church, to which she was in the habit of going, though much
larger, was only so much the more empty. She withdrew in dismay to go
up into the gallery, where, entering from behind, she would see fewer
faces, and might creep unperceived into the shelter of a pew; for she
felt "little better than one of the wicked" in having arrived late. So
she stole up the awful stair and into the wide gallery, as a