with that she flounced off to the house, leaving her lover to pursue his road and his reflections as best he might.

Το say the truth, it was not the first time Christina had shown him a little bit of her temper; and though he was warmly attached to her, the unwelcome question would now and then cross his mind whether such outbreaks would be altogether pleasant in his wife. He was one of the most serene, easy-tempered of men, and he could not bear even the semblance of quarrelling. But he generally made some excuse for her. "She's been awfully petted at home, for one thing," he would say to himself. "And after all," his thoughts went on, on the present occasion, "it's just her love for me that makes her so jealous and angry at Isie Donald. What a lucky fellow I am to have won her heart so completely! I hope I shall never give her any real cause for displeasure. Though why she should take such a spite against poor Isie is more than I can guess-unless it's me and Isie being mixed up this way with the choir-work. Well, as to her not being good at the music, it may be a loss to herself-but I'm just as glad it isn't her that comes out every night, fair or foul, to play for us."

CHAPTER II.

S. ADAMNAN'S.

HE church of S. Adamnan stood about in the centre

THE

of the village of Inverranna. It was an unpretentious little building of the stone of the country, with high-pitched roof, bell turret with a single bell, narrow lancet windows, and gable crosses. It stood in a small, neatly-kept, turfed enclosure, not used as a burial ground, but planted with a few trees and with trim gravelled walks leading to the narrow doorway. Inside the arrangements were fairly good. There were open dark-stained seats, a stone font and pulpit, and some coloured glass in the east windows a decently vested altar with the necessary adornments stood at the end of the tiny chancel, flanked by diminutive choir-stalls, and just outside the chancel arch, screened from the church by a

red curtain, stood a small harmonium. Around this Edmund Allardyce, when he entered, somewhat heated by his hurried walk, found his pupils of the choir assembled, consisting of three men and five boys-such were the humble resources of Episcopalian Inverranna, for the worship of the little chapel-and at their head Mr. Wood, its present incumbent.

The Rev. Edwin Wood was an Englishman about twentyeight years of age, tall and handsome, with finely-chiselled regular features, keen grey eyes, and something of a severe expression about the lines of his well-shaped mouth, unhidden by moustache or beard. At this time he had only been for about a year at S. Adamnan's; how long he might remain there was doubtful, as he had found by no means unlimited satisfaction in his cure. A congregation raised in the summer to some hundred odd by flying visitors of varying shades of opinion, and dwindling in the winter to ten or twelve, is a trying one, especially to an English gentleman and scholar; and Mr. Wood was by no means universally popular. Warm, genial, and attractive to his friends, he could be exceedingly repellent where he did not esteem; and he possessed a supreme contempt for the fear or the favour of man. He spoke and acted habitually somewhat as if the world had gone hardly with him hitherto, and he expected that it should do so to the end. But he was a good man and true, in spite of many infirmities. He had come to his northern cure with a desire for work, not for any possible advantages of fishing or shooting with the dream, perhaps, at first, of turning many to the faith which he taught. He was thoroughly conscientious, and grateful to those who met him half-way and helped him-especially grateful to Mr. Edmund Allardyce for the assistance he gave him in forming and training his rough little choir.

He was very anxious to improve the musical portion of his service, but laboured under the disadvantage of being ignorant on the subject himself, neither could his wife help him. He had married, almost out of the schoolroom, a pretty but penniless girl, who though ready to "rough it" courageously with him wherever his lot might be cast, had very little notion of the duties of an active clergyman's

wife. Just now, too, she was entirely engrossed by the care of her first baby, so Mr. Wood was more left to his own resources than ever; and consequently having discovered in Allardyce both aptitude and willingness to help him, he vested the charge of the musical portion of the service entirely in him, only attending the practices to give them. the due clerical sanction, and to enforce his choirmaster's authority.

At the harmonium sat a slight, fragile-looking girl, dressed in poor and faded but neat mourning. From under her quiet straw hat looked out a pale gentle little face, with small delicate features, and clear pensive grey eyes, with dark brows and lashes; the hair, which was of a really pretty shade of auburn, being drawn back and hidden under a net. There was a patient plaintive expression about her face which told that though young she had seen a good deal of sorrow, and in fact poor Isie Donald's life was a hard one. She was the only survivor of a family of five, and had seen her mother and three sisters droop and fade away one after the other. She lived alone with her aged father, never a very tender parent, and now under the pressure of increasing infirmities becoming more "cankered" than ever. He had had a little business, but had not been a successful man; and, though he had a small shop full of miscellaneous articles, called himself "goldsmith and jeweller," and did odd jobs of repairing clocks and watches, the two would have fared but ill without the aid of Isie's deft hands and sewing-machine. Isie was a good plain sewer, and also knew a little of "the dressmaking," and having plenty of patronage both amongst her acquaintance and the summer lodgers at Inverranna, she contrived by diligent work and careful household management to keep the little shop over their heads.

Isie had one advantage over her compeers which proved eventually of some service to her. At some more fortunate period of her life, when she had had visions of fitting herself for a schoolmistress or perhaps a very elementary nursery governess, Isie's education had included a little music, of a very humble kind, but still she could play, and play from notes. The instrumental music of S. Adamnan's had hitherto been supplied by an amateur, who only undertook

to play at the morning service. But with the institution of his choir, Mr. Wood became ambitious to render his evensong chorally attractive; and accordingly thought himself very fortunate when his energetic assistant Allardyce discovered Isie's buried talent and secured her services as accompanyist for the Sunday afternoons and weekly practices. Isie's family and training were Presbyterian, but she had some friends belonging to "the chapel," as S. Adamnan's was called by the country people, and a certain leaning towards its worship, which had led her occasionally to attend the evening service. Her father belonged to the Free Kirk, and set himself resolutely against Isie's becoming a "joined member" of any other; though he did not object to her giving her services to S. Adamnan's choir of an evening, after she had attended her own place of worship in the forenoon.

She looked up with a quiet little smile as Edmund Allardyce entered; and after he had whispered an apology to Mr. Wood for being the last to arrive, and wiped his heated brow, he went and stood up before his class and the practice commenced.

It consisted in the mere rehearsal of hymns and chants for the ensuing Sunday, and the performance was altogether of a humble kind. The singers were new to their work and bashful. Allardyce possessed the natural qualifications of a correct ear and a strong, useful if not very rich voice, in quality something of a high barytone; but with the exception of having once attended a few tonic-sol-fa classes in the town, and sung occasionally as a supernumerary in a town church choir, he had had no teaching but his own. And being, as we have said, a farmer's son, he retained, honest man that he was, a good deal of his "native Doric," insomuch that he was not particularly sensitive to any faults of pronunciation on the part of his pupils. The accompaniment, too, was by no means artistic. Isie Donald was ignorant of harmony and innocent of expression stops, and she went on from first to last with one monotonous sameness of tone, sometimes with the right bass, sometimes with the wrong, and not unfrequently with no bass at all. Mr. Wood stood or sat in an adjacent seat, keeping a strict surveillance over the behaviour of the boys, which was in

general most demure, though there was little predominance of their voices; one youngster of twelve, the son of one of the singing men, mainly supporting the treble part. The lesson lasted for a good hour, by the end of which the daylight had begun to decline, and Mr. Allardyce's voice had become a trifle hoarse with the exertion of leading. The class broke up, Edmund and Isie, whose homes were contiguous, walking down the road together.

"It's awful warm the night," he remarked presently. am sure you must be tired playing."

"I

Oh, no," she answered, but the tone was a little weary. "I think we're coming on firstrate," he continued, by way of encouragement. "I wish we hadn't so many changes. It puts them out singing to a different hand morning and evening." Isie said nothing, and he went on : "Mr. Wood's very ill about getting you to play twice a day. He said so last Sunday. Miss Lennox isn't caring how soon she gives up now, she don't fall in with these plain chants, she told Mr. Wood so. And he's meaning to speak to ye about it. Is there any chance you'd be able ?"

Isie shook her head with a mournful little smile. "I'm afraid it's quite impossible," she said. "My father's been pressing me very much about joining, lately. He says he thinks shame to me to be so old and not a joined member.1 There's to be classes for young scholars soon, and he wishes me to attend them so as to join at the October fast. So I will just need to do it, I suppose."

"Ye're not caring about it yourself, then ?"

"No, I'm not," Isie answered, honestly. "I like the worship of the chapel, and I like Mr. Wood's preaching a heap better than Mr. Duncan's. Sometimes when I've been listening to him I seem to feel I couldn't be doing right to join any other," and she sighed.

"Wouldn't you speak to Mr. Wood first then ?"

"I'm not willing to trouble Mr. Wood."

"Mr. Wood disna consider it trouble."

"Not with his own folk, may be," answered Isie. "But that time before when I spoke till him—at least it was he rather that began he spoke some hard kind, I thought, as though he was not pleased with me for hesitating, and 1 I.e. communicant.