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Johnston, Mary, 1870-1936

"Foes"

He had stayed an hour, and though he was not alone with her,
yet he might look at her, listen to her. She was not a chatterer; she
worked or stood, almost as silent as a master painter's subtle picture
stepped out of its frame, or as Pygmalion's statue-maid, flushing with
life, but as yet tongue-holden. Yet she said certain things, and they
were to him all music and wit. The third time had been by the
wishing-green. That was but for a moment, but he counted it great
gain.
"Here," she said, "was where we danced! Mr. Ian Rullock and you and
Robin and the rest of us. Don't you remember? It was evening and there
was a fleet of gold clouds in the sky. It is so near the house. I walk
here when I have a glint of time."
The fourth time, riding Black Alan, he had stopped at the door and
talked with Jarvis Barrow. He was thirsty and had asked for water, and
Jenny had called, "Elspeth, bring the laird a cup frae the well!" She
had brought it, and, taking it from her, all the romance of the world
had seemed to him to close them round, to bear them to some great and
fair and deep and passionate place. The fifth time had been the day
when he went to kirk with White Farm and listened to her voice in the
psalm. The sixth time had been again upon the moor. The seventh time
was this. He had come down through the glen as he had done before.


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