It was in the afternoon of a bright September day, as the sun was nearing the tops of the pine-trees in the west. His brother was supporting him in his strong arms, while Ranald knelt by the bedside. Near him sat the minister's wife, and at a little distance Kirsty. “Lift me up, Tonal,” said the dying man; “I will be wanting to see the sun again, and then I will be going. I will be going to the land where they will not need the light of the sun. Tonal, bhodaich, it is the good brother you have been to me, and many's the good day we have had together.” “Och, Hugh, man. Are you going from me?” said Macdonald Bhain, with great sorrow in his voice. “Aye, Tonal, for a little.” Then he looked for a few moments at Kirsty, who was standing at the foot of the bed. “Come near me, Kirsty,” he said; and Kirsty came to the bedside. “You have always been kind to me and mine, and you were kind to HER as well, and the reward will come to you.” Then he turned to Mrs. Murray, and said, with a great light of joy in his eyes: “It is you that came to me as the angel of God with a word of salvation, and forever more I will be blessing you.” And then he added, in a voice full of tenderness, “I will be telling her about you.” He took Mrs. Murray's hand and tremblingly lifted it to his lips. “It has been a great joy to me,” said Mrs. Murray, with difficulty steadying her voice, “to see you come to your Saviour, Mr. Macdonald.” “Aye, I know it well,” he said; and then he added, in a voice that sank almost to a whisper, “Now you will be reading the prayer.” And Mrs. Murray, opening her Gaelic Bible, repeated in her clear, soft voice, the words of the Lord's Prayer. Through all the petitions he followed her, until he came to the words, “Forgive us our debts.” There he paused. “Ranald, my man,” he said, raising his hand with difficulty and laying it upon the boy's head, “you will listen to me now. Some day you will find the man that brought me to this, and you will say to him that your father forgave him freely, and wished him all the blessing of God. You will promise me this, Ranald?” said Macdonald Dubh. “Yes, father,” said Ranald, lifting his head, and looking into his father's face. “And, Ranald, you, too, will be forgiving him?” But to this there was no reply. Ranald's head was buried in the bed. “Ah,” said Macdonald Dubh, with difficulty, “you are your father's son; but you will not be laying this bitterness upon me now. You will be forgiving him, Ranald?” “Oh, father!” cried Ranald, with a breaking voice, “how can I forgive him? How can I forgive the man who has taken you away from me?” “It is no man,” replied his father, “but the Lord himself; the Lord who has forgiven your father much. I am waiting to hear you, Ranald.” Then, with a great sob, Ranald broke forth: “Oh, father, I will forgive him,” and immediately became quiet, and so continued to the end.