But over it, as over the rugged channel of a sea, flowed the transparent waves of a heavenly delight.
When the service was over, almost before the words of the benediction had left the minister's lips, the people, according to Scotch habit, hurried out of the chapel, as if they could not possibly endure one word more.

But Annie, who was always put up to the top of the pew, because there, by reason of an intruding pillar, it required a painful twist of the neck to see the minister, stood staring at the blind woman as she felt her way out of the chapel.

There was no fear of putting her out by staring at her.

When, at length, she followed her into the open air, she found her standing by the door, turning her sightless face on all sides, as if looking for some one and trying hard to open her eyes that she might see better.

Annie watched her, till, seeing her lips move, she knew, half by instinct, that she was murmuring, "The bairn's forgotten me!" Thereupon she glided up to her and said gently: "If ye'll tell me whaur ye bide, I s' tak ye hame." "What do they ca' _you_, bairn ?" returned the blind woman, in a gruff, almost manlike voice, hardly less unpleasant to hear than her face was to look at.
"Annie Anderson," answered Annie.
"Ow, ay! I thoucht as muckle.