et binds her waving hair, and now he can catch the light of the
morning sun upon it. Streaks of gray, here and there, can be seen, but
they are few; the breeze rallies the loose-flowing strands and they make
merry and are glad together. He can see the pure bosom, lightly robed,
that swells with buoyant life. She is nearer to him now, and the face
swims in upon him across the chasm of long silent years, the same pure
face, still bright with tender love. She is now beside the spring--for
thither was she bent--and the overflowing pail is laid down beside her.

She too glances into the bosom of the water and he wonders if memory
guides the wistful gaze. Does she too see another face preserved against
the years in the pure keeping of the spring? He knows not--but he
thinks, yes, he is sure he saw the movement of the lips, and her face is
again upturned--but its thought is far beyond the sun. He uncovers his
head and joins the holy quest.

She has returned to the cottage and the door is closed; but Michael
Blake has never moved. Now he steps out from behind his shelter and
starts towards the house. Then he stops, turns back and begins to
descend the hill by the same course as had led him up. Yet once more he
turns and gazes long at the dwelling-place, starts towards it, stops
again.

"Not now," he said to himself, "I cannot--it is too light."

And he walked back to the hamlet; he was waiting for the tender dark.

XXIX

"_AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED_"

The little inn seemed to have no guests except the traveller from beyond
the sea. But no such tavern is ever long deserted, for the Scotch
nature, while it may be dry, is ever loyal. Michael Blake had read but a
line or two of the _Edinburgh Scotsman_, ten days of age, when a man
walked solemnly in and sat down beside him. His face, his breath, and
especially his nose, bore eloquent testimony to the aforesaid loyalty of
his nature. He bade Mr. Blake a cheerful good-morning, glancing at the
same time towards the counter beneath which the liquid necessities were
stored.

"It's a fine mornin'," he began.

"A beautiful day," assented Mr. Blake.

"Ye'll no' live aboot these pairts?" inquired the other.

"No, I live far from here."

"Ye'll mebbe be frae Ameriky?" ventured his interrogator, closing in
upon him.

"Yes, I live in Canada," was the response.

"Canady," said the man. "We're gey prood o' Canady the noo. I ken't a
man once wha went to Canady. I had a dri