And on this occasion also she was destined to make a new acquaintance. She was idly walking up and down the lilac and cream-hued beach—and trying to persuade herself that she had found a refuge from the perplexities and mortifications that seemed to surround her in the busier world she had left—when a sound she had distantly heard from time to time now rose in tone until there could be no doubt about its nature: it was a human voice, proceeding from the neighbouring bay. She went as close as she could to the intervening promontory; then curiosity led her stealthily to climb the heathery slope; she made her way between rocks and under birches; and at last she paused and listened. It was a man’s voice, of an unnaturally high pitch, and curiously plaintive in its monotonous sing-song. In the perfect silence she distinctly heard these words—
"Oh, my brethren, I charge you—I charge you by all that you hold dearest—that you keep the little children from the ruby wine!"
What could this mean? She pushed her way a little further through the thick underwood, and peered over. There was a small boat drawn up on the shore. Pacing slowly backwards and forwards on the shingle was a man of about twenty-eight or thirty, with a long and lugubrious face, a shaggy brown beard, and deep set eyes. Sometimes his head was bent down, as if in deep thought; and then again he would raise it, and extend his arm, as if addressing the opposite side of the bay, or perhaps Eilean Heimra out at sea; while ever and anon the curious feminine falsetto came back to the admonition—"Oh, my brethren, keep the little children from the ruby wine!"
Mary began to guess. Was this the Minister? Had he returned home; and had he seized the first opportunity to come away over to this solitary place, to rehearse his sermon for the following Sabbath, with appropriate intonation and gesture? She listened again:
"’Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes?’ Ah, my friends, now that I have addressed each section of the community, each member of the family circle, now we come to the little babes—those tender flowers—those blossoms along the rough roadway of life—smiling upon us like the rainbows of the morning—and bedewing the earth with their consecrated tears. When I behold those gems of purest ray serene," continued the Minister, in his elevated chant, "my soul is filled with misgivings and sad prognostications. I observe in my daily walk the example that is set before them; the fathers in Israel are a stumbling-block to their own children; nay, even of the wisest it has been said, ’The priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment.’ My friends, is it not a terrible thing to think of these blessed babes—these innocent tendrils sprouting up into glorious flowers, even as the Rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley—to think of them babbling with red mouths curses they cannot comprehend? Hold them back, I say! Snatch the fatal goblet from them! Let pleasure wave her ambrosial locks when and where she pleases—let mirth and joy prevail—but when the timbrel sounds and the cymbal is heard in the hall—then, at all events let those innocent ones be restrained from the deadly snare—keep, oh, keep the little children from the ruby wine!"