Blue sky, blue sea, silver spindrift flying and clouds of silvery gulls—a glimmer of Heaven from the depths of the pit—a glimpse of life through a crack in the casket—and land close on the starboard bow! Sheer cliffs, with the bonny green grass atop all furrowed by the wind—and the yellow-flowered broom and the shimmering whinns blowing.
"Why, it's Scotland," he said aloud, "it's Glenark Cliffs and the Head of Strathlone—my people's fine place in the Old World—where we took root—and—O my God! Yankee that I am, it looks like home!"
The cape of a white fleece cloak fluttered in his face, and he turned and saw Miss Erith at his elbow.
Yellow-haired, a slender, charming thing in her white wind-blown coat, she stood leaning on the spray-wet rail close to his shoulder.
And with him it was suddenly as though he had known her for years—as though he had always been aware of her beauty and her loveliness—as though his eyes had always framed her—his heart had always wished for her, and she had always been the sole and exquisite tenant of his mind.
"I had no idea that we were off Scotland," he said—"off Strathlone
Head—and so close in. Why, I can see the cliff-flowers!"
She laid one hand lightly on his arm, listening; high and heavenly sweet above the rushing noises of the sea they heard the singing of shoreward sky-larks above the grey cliff of Glenark.
He began to tremble. "That nightmare through which I've struggled," he began, but she interrupted:
"It is quite ended, Kay. You are awake. It is day and the world's before you." At that he caught her slim hand in both of his:
"Eve! Eve! You've brought me through death's shadow! You gave me back my mind!"