grown with her growth and strengthened with her strength. But she knew this-it would cling to her till the last, and never cease but with her fading breath.

Yet, in the midst of her sorrow she felt in a manner soothed, by thinking that He who kept the great waters in the hollow of His hand cared for her, poor weak feeble thing that she was, under His sky, and His help was ready to bind up the wounds from which she bled; and in the midst of her misery she cried, recognising the hand that smote her, "God's will be done! God's will be done."

As Effie sat thus, trying to school herself into resignation to bear meekly the sorrow which none may guess, she heard a step approaching her hidingplace. She thought it would only be some stray fisherman passing near, and she drew the plaid more closely over her head to escape observation.

Nearer and nearer the steps came towards her, and then a voice repeated her name, as one speaks in the crisis of a great emotion-"Effie, Effie, my Effie!" She knew too well the voice that spake, but she could not lift her head. This great joy came upon her as sharply and suddenly as had her sorrow a short time before, and a feeling of faintness stole over her as Davie Gordon seated himself beside her.

"I have come, Effie," he continued, "to see you before I leave. I saw you in the distance, and I thought you would be coming here, so I followed you. I minded how well you liked this place lang syne. And now, Effie, you must promise to be my wife before I go away, and that promise will cheer up my heart over the stormy sea. You mind you said you were my child-wife when you were but a bairn."

But Effie could make no reply, only her head sank lower and lower on her knees. Davie stretched out his hands to her, and said softly, yearningly, "Effie, Effie!" But Effie only wept quietly, glad tears which Davie rightly interpreted, and drew her close to his strong tender heart. And Effie, when she had courage to raise her head, felt and read in that smile, which made soft and lustrous his dark eye, that a love had been given to her such as fell to the lot of few of her sex, but which every true woman feels is a priceless boon-a good man's deep affection, and it made radiant his face with the light of happiness, the one only happiness which gives that light "which never was on sea or shore."

It was a golden afternoon; an autumnal glow hung over them, and the mighty ocean lay aroundso still that every little boat was as perfect in each. line and motion in the water below as in the air

above; and away behind, the yellow stubble fields, in which the reapers were busy, slanted upwards to the hills. As Davie and Effie sat there, in that wonderful mystical stillness and serenity which glorifies autumn days, there came a hush over life and spirit—a deep rest-a feeling of good and promise in all things, for in their hearts was content. A perfect revelation had brought out the ripeness of strong mutual love, as they sat, and heard, and listened to the old, old story, old as Eden, yet ever

new.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Freedom's battle once begun,

Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son,

Though baffled oft is ever won."-BYRON.

O it has come right after a', Effie," exclaimed Jessie Grieve, when she heard of

her friend's engagement to Davie Gordon. "You see my auntie was never wrang in her readin' o' cups."

"But what about the crosses and tears, Jessie?" answered her friend, laughing, "for ye ken that was part of her prophecy."

"I dinna ken that everything comes just as they say," was the puzzled reply; "at least, we'll hope no. Weel, as Mysie aye says, 'Yer ain 'ill no gang past ye,' so you see it had been ordained that you were to get Davie Gordon, an' he would hae come to you frae the ends o' the earth. I wonder," she added. thoughtfully, "what makes lasses sae anxious to get sweethearts; they would save theirsels a heap o' trouble if they would only think o' that—their ain 'ill no gang past them."

To this piece of philosophy Effie made no reply, she was too much engrossed with her own happiness to speculate on these mysteries.

The next day Davie sailed away for a voyage of a few months, and as Effie watched the ship gliding along with its sails full to the wind and the flag floating from the mast, she could with a thankful heart, while the tear of sorrow was still on her cheek, commend him to the care of Him who never slumbers nor sleeps, and whose love was for him, compared with hers, but like an ocean to a drop; and Davie standing on the deck sees not his comrades cheering and waving their hats on the pier, for his eye is filled with one figure alone-his betrothed, and he uncovered his broad manly brow, and lifted his hand as a parting token with almost the deference and reverence he would have saluted a saint. A new world seemed to have been given to him with the consciousness of that girl's love—a soul noble and strong, which comes to a brave good man, when he feels another life has come to him to keep and protect, and which he will hold to for ever.

At Grey Craigs these partings were everyday things; and Effie, after she had seen the last of her lover's ship disappear below the horizon, returned again quietly to her home duties. She had more work to do now, for she must spin the fine yarn for her providing, as her marriage with Davie was fixed for the