"It is a great peety," said he, "that you in the south are not brought up as children to be familiar with the Scotch version of the Psalms of David. It is a fountain-head of poetry that ye can draw from all your life long; and is there any poetry in the world can beat it? And many a time I think that David had a great love for mountains—and that he must have looked at the hills around Jerusalem—and seen them on many a night like this. Ye cannot tell, lassie, what stirs in the heart of a Scotchman or Scotchwoman when they repeat the 121st Psalm:— I to the hills will lift mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid; My safety cometh from the Lord Who heaven and earth hath made. Thy foot He’ll not let slide, nor will He slumber that thee keeps: Behold, He that keeps Israel He slumbers not nor sleeps. Ask your friend Dr. Sutherland—ask him whether he has found anything among his philosophy, and science, and the new-fangled leeterature of the day that comes so near to his heart as a verse of the old Psalms that he learnt as a boy. I have heard of Scotch soldiers in distant countries just bursting out crying, when they heard by chance a bit repeated o’ the Psalms of David. And the strength and reliance of them: what grander source of consolation can ye have? ’As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people from henceforth, even for ever.’ What are the trials of the hour to them that believe and know and hope? They have a sure faith; the captivity is not for ever. Do ye remember the beginning of the 126th Psalm—it reminds me most of all of the Scotch phrase ’laughin’ maist like to greet’ —’When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with singing; then said they among the heathen, The Lord hath done great things for them. The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad. Turn again our captivity, O Lord, as the streams in the south!’" The Laird was silent for a minute or two; there was nothing but the pacing up and down the moonlit deck. "And you have your troubles too, my lass," said he, at length. "Oh, I know—though ye put so brave a face on it. But you need not be afraid; you need not be afraid. Keep up your heart. I am an old man now; I may have but few years to reckon on; but while I live ye will not want a friend.... Ye will not want a friend.... If I forget, or refuse what I promise ye this night, may God do so and more unto me!" But the good-hearted Laird will not have her go to sleep with this solemnity weighing on her mind. "Come, come," he says cheerfully, "we will go below now; and you will sing me a song—the Queen’s Maries, if ye like—though I doubt but that they were a lot o’ wild hizzies." *CHAPTER X.* *"MARY, MARY!"*