re marrying without it--just for money and titles and
all to that. But I can't believe it, I really can't! They've got their
troubles same as ourselves, poor things, and what's the use of their
fine clothes and grand carriages when the dark days come and the night's
falling on them?"

It was harder than ever to speak now, so I got up to look at some silver
cups that stood on the mantelpiece.

"Martin's," said his mother, to whom they were precious as rubies. "He
won them at swimming and running and leaping and climbing and all to
that. Aw, yes, yes! He was always grand at games, if he couldn't learn
his lessons, poor boy. And now he's gone away from us--looking for South
Poles somewheres."

"I know--I saw him in Rome," said I.

She dropped her porridge-stick and looked at me with big eyes.

"Saw him? In Rome, you say? After he sailed, you mean?"

I nodded, and then she cried excitedly to the doctor who was just then
coming into the house, after washing his hands under the pump.

"Father, she saw himself in Rome after he sailed."

There was only one _himself_ in that house, therefore it was not
difficult for the doctor to know who was meant. And so great was the
eagerness of the old people to hear the last news of the son who was the
apple of their eye that I had to stay to breakfast and tell them all
about our meeting.

While Martin's mother laid the tables with oat-cake and honey and bowls
of milk and deep plates for the porridge, I told the little there was to
tell, and then listened to their simple comments.

"There now, doctor! Think of that! Those two meeting in foreign parts
that used to be such friends when they were children! Like brother and
sister, you might say. And whiles and whiles we were thinking that some
day . . . but we'll say no more about that now, doctor."

"No, we'll say no more about that now, Christian Ann," said the doctor.

Then there was a moment of silence, and it was just as if they had been
rummaging among half-forgotten things in a dark corner of their house,
and had come upon a cradle, and the child that had lived in it was dead.

It was sweet, but it was also painful to stay long in that house of
love, and as soon as I had eaten my oat-cake and honey I got up to go.
The two good souls saw me to the door saying I was not to expect either
of them at the Big House on my wedding-day, because she was no woman for
smart clothes, and the doctor, who was growing rheumatic, had give