“Yes,” said Ranald, and his deep voice vibrated with intense feeling. “They would just die for her, and why not? She is a great woman and a good.” His dark face was transformed, and his eyes glowed with an inner light. In the silence that followed Kate went to the harmonium and began to play softly. Ranald stood up as to go, but suddenly changed his mind, and went over and stood beside her. “You sing, don't you?” said Kate, as she played softly. “You ought to just hear him,” said Harry. “Oh, what does he sing?” “I only sing the psalm tunes in church,” said Ranald, “and a few hymns.” “Ye gods!” ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie, “psalms and hymns; and how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!” “Sing something, Kate, won't you?” said Maimie, and Kate, without a word began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's St. Paul:-- “But the Lord is mindful of His own,” singing it with a power of expression marvellous in so young a girl. Then, without further request, she glided into the lovely aria, “O Rest in the Lord.” It was all new and wonderful to Ranald. He did not dream that such majesty and sweetness could be expressed in music. He sat silent with eyes looking far away, and face alight with the joy that filled his soul. “Oh, thanks, very much,” murmured the lieutenant, when Kate had finished. “Lovely thing that aria, don't you know?” “Very nice,” echoed Mr. Sims, “and so beautifully done, too.” Ranald looked from one to the other in indignant surprise, and then turning away from them to Kate, said, in a tone almost of command: “Sing it again.” “I'll sing something else,” she said. “Did you ever hear--” “No, I never heard anything at all like that,” interrupted Ranald. “Sing some more like the last.” The deep feeling showing in his face and in his tone touched Kate. “How would this do?” she replied. “It is a little high for me, but I'll try.” She played a few introductory chords, and then began that sweetest bit of the greatest of all the oratorios “He shall Feed His Flock.” And from that passed into the soul-moving “He Was Despised” from the same noble work. The music suited the range and quality of her voice perfectly, and she sang with her heart thrilling in response to the passionate feeling in the dark eyes fixed upon her face. She had never sung to any one who listened as Ranald now listened to her. She forgot the others. She was singing for him, and he was compelling her to her best. She was conscious of a subtle sense of mastery overpowering her, and with a strange delight she yielded herself to that commanding influence; but as she sang she began to realize that he was thinking not of her, but of her song, and soon she, too, was thinking of it. She knew that his eyes were filled with the vision of “The Man of Sorrows” of whom she sang, and before she was aware, the pathos of that lonely and despised life, set forth in the noble words of the ancient prophet, was pouring forth in the great Master's music.