of
two souls, when self is lost, and found again in the being of another.
It was with them,

That ever working miracle of God,
The green and vital mystery of love,
Still budding in the garden of the heart.

The wedding festivities over, all excitement about it quickly
subsided. Christine would be sure to come back again, Cluny would
return at stated periods, and always bring with him the air and flavor
of lands strange and far off. Their farewells would always be short
ones. Their presence would always be a benefaction. There was nothing
to discuss, or wonder over, and the preparations for the herring
season were far behind-hand. They could talk about the wedding later,
at present the nets and the boats were the great anxiety in every
house in the village. So Christine and Cluny with little observation,

Sailed happily into the future,
Wherever their wishes inclined them;
Love and Good Fortune as shipmates,
And Troubles always a mile behind them.[*]

[*] A fisherman's toast or blessing.

CHAPTER XIV

AFTER MANY YEARS

Her life intensive rather than extensive; striking root downward,
deep in the heart, not wide in the world.

A memory of dew and light, threaded with tears.

Not long before the breaking out of the present European war, I was in
London, and needed a typist, so I went to a proper Intelligence Office
on the Strand, and left a request directing them to send any likely
applicant to my hotel for a conversation. On the next afternoon I
heard a woman's voice in an altercation with the bellboy. I opened the
door, and the boy said he could not quite make out the lady; he was
very sorry indeed, but the lady would not explain; and so forth.

The lady looked at the premature little man with contempt, and said a
few passionate words of such unmistakable Scotch, that I felt the
bellboy to be well within the pale of excusable ignorance.

"Are you from the Intelligence Office?" I asked.

"Yes, Madam. At the request of Scott and Lubbock I came to see you
about copying a novel."

"Come in then," and as soon as the door was closed, I offered my hand,
and said only one word--"Fife?"

"Ay," she answered proudly, "Fife! I can speak good English, but the
stupid lad made me angry, and then I hae to tak' to the Scotch. I
don't hae the English words to quarrel wi', and indeed if you want a
few words of that kind, the Scotch words hae a tang in them that
stings like a nettle, e