Then from psalm to psalm she passed, selecting such parts as suited her purpose, until Macdonald turned to her again and said, admiringly: "It is yourself that has the bonnie Gaelic." "I am afraid," she said, with a smile, "it is not really good, but it is the best a south country woman can do." "Indeed, it is very pretty," he said, earnestly.
Then the minister's wife said, timidly, "I cannot pray in the Gaelic." "Oh, the English will be very good," said Macdonald, and she knelt down and in simple words poured out her heart in prayer.

Before she rose from her knees she opened the Gaelic Bible, and turned to the words of the Lord's Prayer.
"We will say this prayer together," she said, gently.
Macdonald, bowing his head gravely, answered: "It is what she would often be doing with me." There was still only one woman to this lonely hearted man, and with a sudden rush of pity that showed itself in her breaking voice, the minister's wife began in Gaelic, "Our Father which art in heaven." Macdonald followed her in a whisper through the petitions until they came to the words, "And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors," when he paused and would say no more.

Mrs.Murray repeated the words of the petition, but still there was no response.

Then the minister's wife knew that she had her finger upon a sore spot, and she finished the prayer alone.
For a time she sat silent, unwilling to probe the wound, and yet too brave to flinch from what she felt to be duty.
"We have much to be forgiven," she said, gently.

"More than we can ever forgive." Still there was silence.
"And the heart that cannot forgive an injury is closed to the forgiveness of God." The morning sun was gleaming through the treetops, and Mrs.Murray was worn with her night's vigil, and anxious to get home.