Into the cloud-walled heaven they all looked. It is in such moments that
a man knows himself.

Old Cameron, lifting up his strong, voice again, was bewailing the sin
of the world. "We sinners have not loved Thee, O Christ. We have not
trusted Thy love. We have not been zealous for Thy glory. This--this is
our sin. All else Thou would'st have mended in us; but this--this is our
sin. Have mercy! Have mercy! Have mercy!" Long confession came from him
slowly, bit by bit, as if sent forth, in involuntary cries, from a heart
rent by the disappointment of waiting. In strong voice, clear and true,
he made himself one with the vilest in this pleading, and all the vices
with which the soul of man has degraded itself were again summed up by
him in this--"We have not loved Thee. We have not trusted Thy love. We
are proud and vain; we have loved ourselves, not Thee."

How common the night was--just like any other night! The clouds, as one
looked at them, were seen to swing low, showing lighter and darker
spaces. How very short a time can we endure the tensest mood! It is like
a branding iron, which though it leaves its mark forever, cannot be
borne long. The soul relaxes; the senses reclaim their share of us.

Some men came rather rudely out from under the trees, and loitered near.
Perhaps all present, except Cameron, noticed them. Alec did; and felt
concerning them, he knew not why, uneasy suspicion. He noticed other
things now, although a few minutes before he had been insensible to all
about him. He saw that the lady he waited upon had dropped her face into
her hands; he saw that her disdainful and independent mood was melted.
Strangely enough, his mind wandered back again to her first companion,
and he wondered that she had not sent back for him or mourned his
absence. He was amazed now at his own assumption that design, not