The dramatic artist, that lies dormant or only half awake in most human beings, had in her sprung to his feet in a divine fury, and chance had served her well.

She looked upon him with a subdued twilight look that became the hour of the day and the train of thought; earnestness shone through her like stars in the purple west; and from the great but controlled upheaval of her whole nature there passed into her voice, and rang in her lightest words, a thrill of emotion.
"Have you mind of Dand's song ?" she answered.

"I think he'll have been trying to say what you have been thinking." "No, I never heard it," he said.

"Repeat it to me, can you ?" "It's nothing wanting the tune," said Kirstie.
"Then sing it me," said he.
"On the Lord's Day?
That would never do, Mr.Weir!" "I am afraid I am not so strict a keeper of the Sabbath, and there is no one in this place to hear us, unless the poor old ancient under the stone." "No that I'm thinking that really," she said.

"By my way of thinking, it's just as serious as a psalm.