She had lived here forever, set in the picture with
ash-tree and boulder. But when he came to the door he found sitting
with her, in the checkered space behind the opening, Glenfernie's
inamorata.
Now he remembered her.... He wondered if he had truly ever forgotten
her.
When he had received his welcome he sat down upon the door-step. He
could have touched Elspeth's skirt. When she lowered her eyes they
rested upon his gold-brown head, upon his hand in a little pool of
light.
"Eh, laddie!" said Mother Binning, "but ye grow mair braw each time ye
come!"
Elspeth thought him braw. The wishing-green where they danced, hand in
hand!... Now she knew--now she knew--why her heart had lain so cold
and still--for months, for years, cold and still! That was what hearts
did until the sun came.... Definitely, in this hour, for her now, upon
this stretch of the mortal path, Ian became the sun.
Ian sat daffing, talking. The old woman listened, her wheel idle; the
young woman listened. The young woman, sitting half in shadow, half in
light, put up her hand and drew farther over her face the brim of her
wide hat of country weave. She wished to hide her eyes, her lips. She
sat there pale, and through her ran in fine, innumerable waves human
passion and longing, wild courage and trembling humility.
The sunlight that flooded the door-stone and patched the cottage floor
began to lessen and withdraw.
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