st Martin Cosgrave carried up all the little sticks of
furniture from his cabin and put it in the building. Then he sent for
Ellen Miscal. When the woman came she looked about the place in
amazement.

"Well, of all the sights in the world!" she exclaimed.

Martin Cosgrave was irritated at the woman's attitude.

"We'll have to make the best of it," he said, looking at the furniture.
"I will be marrying Rose Dempsey in the town some days after she lands."

"Rose would never like the suddenness of that," her aunt protested. "She
can be staying with me and marrying from my house.

"I saw the priest about it," Martin Cosgrave said impatiently. "I will
have my way, Ellen Miscal. Rose Dempsey will come up to Kilbeg my wife.
We will come in the gate together, we will walk in to the building
together. I will have my way."

Martin Cosgrave spoke of having his way in the impassioned voice of the
fanatic, of his home-coming with his bride in the half-dreamy voice of
the visionary.

"Have your way, Martin, have your way," the woman said. "And," she
added, rising, "I will be bringing up a few things to put into your
house."

III

Martin Cosgrave spent three days in the town waiting the arrival of Rose
Dempsey. The boat was late. He haunted the railway station, with hungry
eyes scanned the passengers as each train steamed in. His blood was on
fire in his veins for those three days. What peace could a man have who
was waiting to get back to his building and to have Rose Dempsey going
back with him, his wife?

Sometimes he would sit down on the railway bench on the platform,
staring down at the ground, smiling to himself. What a surprise he had
in store for Rose! What would he say to her first? Would he say anything
of the building? No, he would say nothing at all of the building until
they drove across the bridge and right up to the gate! "Rose," he would
then say, "do you remember the hill--the place under the beech trees?"
She was sure to remember that place. It was there they had spent so much
time, there he had first found her lips, there they had quarrelled! And
Rose would look up to that old place and see the building! What would
she think? Would she feel about it as he felt himself? She would, she
would! What sort of look would come into her face? And what would he be
able to tell her about it at all?... He would say nothing at all about
it; that would be the best way! They would say nothing to each other,
but wal