HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
describe his last Sabbath evening, two years before, in the Glengarry manse. As he began to picture his aunt and her work, his enthusiasm carried him away, and made him eloquent.
"I tell you," he concluded, "she's a rare woman, and she has a hundred men there ready to die for her, eh, Ranald?"
"Yes," said Ranald, and his deep voice vibrated with intense feeling. "They would just die for her, and why not? She is a great woman and a good." His dark face was transformed, and his eyes glowed with an inner light.
In the silence that followed Kate went to the harmonium and began to play softly. Ranald stood up as to go, but suddenly changed his mind, and went over and stood beside her.
"You sing, don't you?" said Kate, as she played softly.
"You ought to just hear him," said Harry.
"Oh, what does he sing?"
"I only sing the psalm tunes in church," said Ranald, "and a few hymns."
"Ye gods!" ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie, "psalms and hymns; and how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!"
"Sing something, Kate, won't you?" said Maimie, and Kate, without a word began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's St. Paul:—
"But the Lord is mindful of His own,"
singing it with a power of expression marvellous in so young a girl. Then, without further request, she
317
