"'My goodness, and my fortress, my high tower, and my deliverer, my shield, and He in whom I trust, who subdueth the people under me.'" Anon he began to pace the floor as he continued: "'Rid us and deliver us, from the hands of strange children--whose mouth speaketh vanity, and whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood.' Rahal, could there be a better description of Russia--'her right hand of falsehood, her mouth speaking vanity?' David put the very words needed in our mouths when he taught us to say, 'rid us of such an enemy, and of all who strike hands with him!' Yes, rid us. We want to be rid of all such dead souls! Rid us." Then Rahal reminded her husband that only recently his physician had warned him against all excitement, especially of anger, and so finally induced him to take a sedative and go to sleep. But sleep was far from her. She sat down in her own room and closed her eyes against all worldly sights and sounds. Her soul was trying to reach her son's soul and impress upon it her own trust in the love and mercy of the "God of battles." She had hoped that some word or thought of Boris would come back to her in such a personal manner that she would feel that he was thinking of her and of the many sweet spiritual confidences they had had together. But nothing came, no sign, no word, no sudden, flashing memory of some special promise. All was void and still until she heard the voices of Thora and Ian. Then she went down to them and found that the evil news had met them on their way home. She asked Ian if he had any knowledge of the whereabouts of Boris. Ian thought he might be at sea, as his ship was at Spithead among the carrying ships of the navy. "If he had been in Alma's fight, you might have heard from him," he added. "It would be his first battle and he would want to write to you about it. That would be only natural." "Well, then, I will look for good news. If bad news is coming, I will not pay it the compliment of going to meet it. Have you had a pleasant day? Where first did you go?" "To the land-locked Bay of Stromness which was full of ships of all sizes, of schooners, and of little skiffs painted a light green colour like the pleasure skiffs of Kirkwall." "And the town?"