"You're asking me more than I can tell you," said I. "I'm no expert in the classification of colors with the sound of instruments. You'll hear the note of it in your own heart if you listen well enough."
A pensive look came into her eyes. I thought she was trying to see the heather in bloom, to hear in the heart of her that deep warm note of sound which the wealth of its color plays into one's ears. She was endeavoring nothing of the kind; for suddenly she turned to me and, in the most ingenuous way in the world, she asked me why I had never married.
"In the name of God!" said I, "what's that got to do with it?"
"You ought to have married," she continued. "If women have heard you talk about things like that—the heather and the gorse—they must have wanted to marry you."
"I'll try to see the logic of that," I replied, laughing. "I'll try, during the next few days, and then I'll tell you why no woman has ever entertained such feelings of regard for me. Let's go on to the cottage."
Now, how is one to reconcile that with what she said to Cruikshank? I give it up. I shall make no further effort to understand her.
At the end of the boreen there was a gate. Its rusty hinges whistled the lilt of an air as I swung it open—that air which is a part of the great symphony we hear all round us. Then we were out in the open fields; the springy sea-turf was bending beneath our feet. Far on and away the rugged curves of the coast-line wound themselves to the horizon, with here and there a sleepy headland dipping its nose into the glittering sea. For a moment or two the sheep turned their heads to look at us, then, moving away with slowly wandering steps, they continued their browsing.
It was here I stood still again. The kestrel had dropped down the wind and was vanished out of sight. Only the gulls were left, sweeping their endless circles against the blue radiance of the sky. Here and there a frightened sand-martin, darting swiftly through the light, hurried over the edge of the cliff to his home, as though he knew a hawk were near at hand.
After a long silence, I turned to Bellwattle and confessed that she was right.
"Right? About what?" she asked.