l.

I always say there is a dumb poet in every explorer; but the poet wasn't
dumb to-day when Martin talked about the cyclone or anticyclone, or
whatever it is which covers the region of the South Pole like a cap, and
determines the weather of a great part of the habitable globe.

"We are going to take from God his word and pass it on to the world," he
said.

After that he made reference (for the first time since his return) to
the difficulties of our position, saying what a glorious thing it would
be to escape to that great free region from the world of civilisation,
with its effete laws and worn-out creeds which enslave humanity.

"Only a month to-day until we start, and you'll be well enough to travel
then, dearest."

"Yes, yes, only a month to-day, and I shall be well enough then,
dearest."

Oh, Mary O'Neill! How much longer will you be able to keep it up, dear?

* * * * *

JULY 17. Martin brought the proofs of his new book from London, and
to-day in the summer-house (bluebells paling out and hanging their
heads, but the air full of the odour of fruit trees) he and Dr.
O'Sullivan and I have been correcting "galleys"--the doctor reading
aloud, Martin smoking his briar-root pipe, and I (in a crater of
cushions) supposed to be sitting as judge and jury.

Such simple, straight, natural writing! There may have been a thousand
errors but my ears heard none of them. The breathless bits about the
moments when death was near; the humorous bits about patching the tent
with the tails of their shirts when an overturned lamp burnt a hole in
the canvas--this was all I was conscious of until I was startled by the
sound of a sepulchral voice, groaning out "Oh Lord a-massy me!" and by
the sight of a Glengarry cap over the top of the fuchsia hedge. Old
Tommy was listening from the road.

We sat late over our proofs and then, the dew having begun to fall,
Martin said he must carry me indoors lest my feet should get wet--which
he did, with the result that, remembering what had happened on our first
evening at Castle Raa, I had a pretty fit of hysterics as soon as we
reached the house.

"Let's skip, Commanther," was the next thing I heard, and then I was
helped upstairs to bed.

* * * * *

JULY 18. What a flirt I am becoming! Having conceived the idea that Dr.
O'Sullivan is a little wee bit in love with me too, I have been playing
him off against Martin.

I