Oh! surely it was a lovely thought in the worshippers of southern lands, to link an act of prayer with the close of day and the setting of the sun. If ever there was an hour for thanksgiving, praise, and adoration, it was this. When should we, poor travellers towards the dark goal of time, find fitter moment to pause, take breath after the journeying of another day, and give a look back to the past, a hope to the future, an aspiration to heaven? At that moment meet, to part almost as soon as met, the splendour and beauty of the day and the soothing solemnity of eve. We can give thanks at once for the gladness that is going, and for the silent rest of coming night. It is the very time for intense and brief worship; for aspiration purer than prayer; for the Sursum corda. I did raise my heart in that hour. Was the word too earthly? I know not; God who gave us hearts that love so warmly alone can tell; but as I sat there by Cornelius, my head, in attitude familiar of old, resting on his shoulder, I thanked Him who had given him to me, for the gift, and blessed Him who had sent him back for the return.
At length we rose, and left the spot where half a day had passed in enjoyment so pure. We followed a green path where we met, and soon outstripped a friendly couple whom we left, slowly lingering in the cool shadow of the winding lane. They looked like lovers, or a newly married pair—young, happy, oblivious of time, and heeding not the passing of hours. Cornelius gave them a stealthy look, and repressed a half smile. I smiled without disguise, for in the gladness of my heart I thought—"the lady may be fair, and the lover may be devoted, but she cannot be more happy than I am now—to feel within mine the arm of Cornelius; and sure am I, that he whom she seems to like so well, is not half so good, ay, nor half so handsome, as he who reared me."
And thus, arm-in-arm, we walked on through landscape scenes that would have gladdened the genial heart of Rubens. The warmth of the setting sun, the rich verdure of the undulating plains, the herds of fair cattle grazing by the green banks and full waters of a calm river, made one feel as if gazing on a land of untroubled peace and untold abundance.
But, oh! how glorious o'er the sea, was the hour thus beautiful on land. We reached the extremity of the downs as the sun began to dip in the broad ocean. Blue, green, purple, and burning gold glanced through every wave; the receding coast slowly vanished through glittering mists; the masts of distant ships rose on the golden horizon like the turreted castle of some enchanted region. As we descended a winding path that gently led to the beach, the sun set and the glorious pageantry suddenly vanished. The first pale stars glittered from the depths of the grey sky; the sea looked of a darker and colder blue, and returned to her fathomless bed with a faint murmur; a chill breeze rose, swept along the coast, then died away again; on all things silence set, and the high arch of heaven rose deep and solemn over the plain of the receding sea. Oh! brief life of ours, how beautiful is thy dwelling-place! How deeply did I then feel in my heart, the presence of that Great Spirit which broods over and hallows all it has given to the eye of man to scan!
We silently walked homeward along the beach, now grey, quiet, and lonely. A low, large moon hung over the silent downs, from which even the melancholy cry of the plover had died away. Everything seemed subdued to repose, and even in the low rush of the breaking waves, as they rose and fell ever again on the shore, there was a murmur inexpressibly soft and soothing to the ear. We did not speak until we reached the foot of the cliff on which Rock Cottage rose. A light burned in one of the windows and spoke of pleasant welcome. Cornelius looked up and said—
"It is a wild-looking place, quite an eagle's nest, and yet there is a strange sense of home about it."
We went up the path, and found the little wooden gate unlocked as usual. Miss O'Reilly came out to meet us, with a shawl thrown over her head. She seized on her brother; I slipped away to my room. When I came down again, in the grey dress after all, I found Kate presiding over a tea-table covered with provisions sufficient for a whole legion of famished travellers, and Cornelius laughing at the extent of her preparations. When the meal was over she took up his sketch-book.
"Oh, Kate!" I cried, "don't look—it is such a shame—he would not sketch at all; he began the little fountain and did not even finish it. Is it not too bad?"
She sat with the open sketch-book on her lap, but looking at us with a pleased, happy smile.
"Yes," she said at length, "it is a shame—but he will do better to- morrow."