Dingwall had been welcomed to the place he occupied to-day by the old minister some evenings before in the manse. He disclosed the picture of his past life, with its darkest shadows unrelieved; and had told of his late repentance. The pastor recognized it as genuine, and there was a light in his eye to-day as he read his Master's message, "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners."
After the usual service was over, Blanche's interest, which had been flagging, began to revive, and she felt glad that her maid was not in attendance to take her home, as she felt curious to know what was coming next.
Presently a hymn was sung to a sad wailing tune, which suited the words. It told of that night on which the Son of Man endured the "eager rage of every foe;" and Blanche felt a knot rise in her throat as she listened to it and tried to join. Never before, she thought, had she felt so sorry for the Lord Jesus Christ, who was "crucified, dead, and buried," though she had heard all about it so many times. And then she suddenly remembered Morag's anxiety to know all about the "good Lord who died on the green hill," and how many questions she used to ask about Him during the first days of their acquaintance; but she never mentioned the subject now, so Blanche concluded that she could not care so much as she did before.
The words of the hymn had brought tears to Morag's eyes, too. But then she quickly remembered the joyful side of the sorrowful story, and thought of Him "who liveth, and was dead, and is alive for evermore."
While the hymn was being sung, four old men, the elders of the kirk, walked slowly in, carrying the plates of bread and cups of wine, which they placed reverently on a white-covered table, where the minister now sat, and which Blanche supposed must be the altar she had been in search of.
The children watched with mingled curiosity and awe while the symbols were passed to all who sat at the long white tables, after the minister had given thanks and read to the congregation the Master's words which He spoke in the upper room at Jerusalem when He commanded that this Feast should be kept by His disciples till He should come again.
Perfect stillness reigned throughout the church; almost every head was bowed, and many a heart went up in silent adoring gratitude to Him who had loved them and given Himself for them.
When the elders had again reverently placed the symbols on the table in front of the pulpit, the stillness was broken by the deep, grave voice of the pastor, speaking words of exhortation to his flock, that they should be "blameless and harmless, the sons of God." A sweet psalm of thanksgiving was sung, and then, with uplifted hands, the minister prayed that the peace of God might rest on the little company; and, at last, the peasants moved away from the long white tables to scatter to their distant homes in the Glen; some of them never to meet again till they gather to the Feast above.
The children sat and watched them as they passed slowly out of the kirk, and then they, too, rose to go. Morag sought her father immediately. She gazed eagerly into his face, as if she expected him to say something; but he only pressed her hand, and turning to Kirsty, he said 'Good-bye,' and then walked away.
"Lat him gang hame his lane, bairn," whispered Kirsty, as she noticed Morag's disappointed look, and her movement to follow, when her father started to go home alone. "I'm thinkin' he'll hae better company wi' him than ony o' us wad mak' Morag, lass."