O my darling,
my bonnie, bonnie darling, speak to me! Will ye not speak to me just one
little word? O my love, my love, my heart's love! Listen, my darling!"
And she put her lips to his ear, whispering, and then the awful
stillness. Suddenly she lifted her head and scanned his face, and then,
glancing round with a wild surprise in her eyes, she cried, "He will not
speak to me! Oh, he will not speak to me!" I signed to the men, and as
they came forward I went to her and took her hands.

'"Oh," she said with a wail in her voice; "he will not speak to me."
The men were sobbing aloud. She looked at them with wide-open eyes of
wonder. "Why are they weeping? Will he never speak to me again? Tell
me," she insisted gently. The words were running through my head--

'"There's a land that is fairer than day,"

and I said them over to her, holding her hands firmly in mine. She gazed
at me as if in a dream, and the light slowly faded from her eyes as she
said, tearing her hands from mine and waving them towards the mountains
and the woods--

'"But never more here? Never more here?"

'I believe in heaven and the other life, but I confess that for a moment
it all seemed shadowy beside the reality of this warm, bright world,
full of life and love. She was very ill for two nights, and when the
coffin was closed a new baby lay in the father's arms.

'She slowly came back to life, but there were no more songs. The miners
still come about her shop, and talk to her baby, and bring her their
sorrows and troubles; but though she is always gentle, almost tender,
with them, no man ever says "Sing." And that is why I am glad she sang
last week; it will be good for her and good for them.'

'Why does she stay?' I asked.

'Mavor's people wanted her to go to them,' he replied.

'They have money--she told me about it, but her heart is in the grave
up there under the pines; and besides, she hopes to do something for the
miners, and she will not leave them.'

I am afraid I snorted a little impatiently as I said, 'Nonsense! why,
with her face, and manner, and voice she could be anything she liked in
Edinburgh or in London.'

'And why Edinburgh or London?' he asked coolly.

'Why?' I repeated a little hotly. 'You think this is better?'

'Nazareth was good enough for the Lord of glory,' he answered, with
a smile none too bright; but it drew my heart to him, and my heat was
gone.

'How long will she stay?' I asked.

'Till her work is