r beside her. The square of scarlet
flannel, which she always wore pinned on her shoulders, made a bit of
bright colour in the gloom, her wrinkled hands were clasped on her lap,
and a far-away look came into her wonderful dark eyes.

Morva looked up from her work.

"Are you seeing anything, mother?"

"No, no, child, nothing. Make haste with the supper," said Sara.

And when Morva had divided the porridge in the three shining black
bowls, they drew round the bare oak table, on which the red of the
setting sun made a flickering pattern of the mallow bush growing on the
garden hedge. They talked about the farm work, the fishing, the lime
burning, the fate of the _Lapwing_, which had sailed in the autumn and
had never returned, until, when supper was over, Will rose to go with a
stretch and a yawn.

"Ann wants me to give the white calf his medicine to-night, mother,"
said Morva.

"Wilt come with me now?" said Will, "for I am going."

"Yes, go," said the old woman, "go together."

But as the two young people went out under the low doorway she looked
after them pensively, and remained long looking up at the evening sky,
which the open door revealed. At last she tied up her herbs and began
washing her bowls, and while engaged at her work she sang. Her voice
had the pathetic tremble of old age, but was still true and musical,
for she had once been a singer among singers, and the song that she
sang--who shall describe it? from what old stores of memory did it come
to light? from what old wells of ancient folklore and tradition did it
spring? But Sara was full of songs and hymns--of the simplest and
oldest--of the rocky path--of the golden summit--of the angelic
host--of the cloud of witnesses--but of the more modern hymns of church
festivals or chapel revivals, of creeds and shibboleths, she knew
nothing!

Outside on the heath and gorse Will and Morva made their way along the
narrow sheep paths, until, reaching the green sward where two could
walk abreast, he drew nearer, and passing his arm round her shoulders,
turned her gently towards the side of the cliff, where jutting crags
and stunted thorns made "sheltered nooks for lovers' seats."

"Come, sit down here, Morva," he said; "all day I have wanted to talk
to thee. Dost know what kept me so long at Castell On to-day? Dost
know what grand thing is opening out before me? Dost know, lass, the
time is coming when I will be able to put rings on thy fingers, an