the night-fishing, and
Malcolm described its pleasures and dangers, and the pleasures of its
dangers, in such fashion that Clementina listened with delight. He dwelt
especially on the feeling almost of disembodiment, and existence as pure
thought, arising from the all-pervading clarity and fluidity, the
suspension and the unceasing motion.

"I wish I could once feel like that," exclaimed Clementina. "Could I not
go with you--for one night--just for once, Malcolm?"

"My lady, it would hardly do, I am afraid. If you knew the discomforts
that must assail one unaccustomed--I cannot tell--but I doubt if you would
go. All the doors to bliss have their defences of swamps and thorny
thickets through which alone they can be gained. You would need to be a
fisherman's sister--or wife--I fear, my lady, to get through to this one."

Clementina smiled gravely, but did not reply, and Malcolm too was silent,
thinking. "Yes," he said at last: "I see how we can manage it. You shall
have a boat for your own use, my lady, and--"

"But I want to see just what you see, and to feel, as nearly as I may,
what you feel. I don't want a downy, rose-leaf notion of the thing. I want
to understand what you fishermen encounter and experience."

"We must make a difference, though, my lady. Look what clothes, what
boots, we fishers must wear to be fit for our work! But you shall have a
true idea as far it reaches, and one that will go a long way toward
enabling you to understand the rest. You shall go in a real fishing-boat,
with a full crew and all the nets, and you shall catch real herrings; only
you shall not be out longer than you please. But there is hardly time to
arrange for it to-night, my lady."

"To-morrow, then?"

"Yes. I have no doubt I can manage it then."

"Oh, thank you!" said Clementina. "It will be a great delight."

"And now," suggested Malcolm, "would you like to go through the village
and see some of the cottages, and how the fishers live?"

"If they would not think me inquisitive or intrusive," answered
Clementina.

"There is no danger of that," rejoined Malcolm. "If it were my Lady
Bellair, to patronize and deal praise and blame, as if what she calls
poverty were fault and childishness, and she their spiritual as well as
social superior, they might very likely be what she would call rude. She
was here once before, and we have some notion of her about the Seaton. I
venture to say there is not a woman in it who is not he