Roderick therefore being unable to find shelter for himself and his sister within five miles of the church and manse of Kilrundle, betook himself to the neighbouring hamlet of Glen Effick, which was beyond the territory of this well-meaning persecutor, but still hovered on the edge of Kilrundle Parish, over which he could raid at will, and hold meetings on the hillside for the faithful of the flock, who gathered in ever increasing crowds to hear him, emulous of the 'Hill Folk' of old, who, as they were often reminded, 'held not their lives dear, but went forth to serve the Lord in the wilderness.' Almost all the cottars in Glen Effick would have been proud to receive the minister and his sister, but their means were less than their desires. The cottages were but small, and a few vacant rooms, scattered here and there throughout the village, were all that could be offered to shelter them and their effects. Hence in one cottage he had his books and made his study, and in this also they both slept. In another, across the road, they took their meals, and had bestowed such of their goods as were in use for that purpose. In a third was Mary's piano and many of her belongings, and there they would probably have spent their evenings, but that an old body, with more zeal than space at her disposal, had insisted on bestowing their tea equipage in her corner cupboard, where it was visible through the glass door, and proved her a mother in Israel. Thither they felt bound to follow it occasionally, that so Luckie Howden might have the glory of making tea for the minister. All this was very tiresome to Mary, and sometimes she thought her patience would break down entirely. During her peaceful and happy life with her father she had imbibed all his ideas. She still clung to the Established Church as her head, and disapproving of the Disruption, she had neither zeal for the cause, nor a pleasing sense of martyrdom to mitigate the worries, discomforts, and privations of her daily life. The one only solace of her lot was her great love for her brother, from whom she had resolved never to part, and with whom she was prepared to endure even greater hardships. An uncle had pressed her strongly to make her home with him, but she could not tear herself from Roderick, and so stayed on. CHAPTER II. A STORM. The rumble of the stage coach past the window died away down the street, and silence fell on the room we have been considering. The scratching of Roderick's pen could be heard in the stillness, save when lost in the momentary roar of a gust descending the chimney, followed by the hiss of its watery burden on the coals, or when a bar of 'The Lass o' Gowrie' escaped for an instant from the suppression in which it was held that the sermon might not be disturbed.