st and the winds
are round us--it is here that I would be loving to kiss you."

"Kiss me, then," she cried, "for I have been dreaming of such?"

Always when I am on the hill I will be looking at that little rocky
place, and seeing these two, brave and proud and young and loving,
seeing them clasped heart to heart on that high wind-swept space
against the sky, with the little curls and whirls of mist and the sun
licking up the floating wreaths. So must the young gods have loved.

And they sat there with the wild-fowl only and the sheep to be seeing
them.

"Bryde," cried the girl, looking at her man with great starry eyes and
her cheeks aglow, "Bryde, will it anger you if I will be telling
something."

For answer he smiled down at her.

"Mhari nic Cloidh did tell me this would come, and there is more to
come. There is to be a journey we will be making together--and listen,
for these will be her words, 'And his hand will be over yours at the
rough places, and he will lead you to the land of the pleasant ways,
the wide green meadows, starred with flowers and the blue of sparkling
seas,'--are not these good words?"

"My heart would be in such a land," said he. "My dear, could you be
trusting yourself to me in the great new land, for the farming is in
the very marrow of my bones. Would you be grieving for your own folk,
and your own hills, in that new land, where the cattle would be grazing
knee-deep in grass, and the horses roaming in herds, long-tailed and
with great tangled manes--roaming on the great pastures?"

"I would be loving that place!" she cried.

"There would be the house-building. By a stream the house would be,
where there would be fishing, and the byres and the stables and the
dykes to be building, and you would be loving to see the little foals
near to you, and the young calves in the joy of living, running
daftlike races in the sunshine."

"Bryde, is it not the land of the Ever Young you will be showing me?"

"It is a young land, a land for strong youth. I could be getting
ground there," said he, "in that far America; but would you not be
vexed when the years went by--vexed at the strange faces, and yearning
for the cold splash of the sea in summer, and the green of the waving
bracken, the purple of the hills, and the sound of voices that you
would be knowing?"

"Would I not be having you, Bryde? Is there anything I could be
wishing for more than that? I am loving that land, and," she