He was but a fisher-poet—no courtier, no darling of society, no dealer in fine speeches, no clerk of compliments. All the words he had were the living blossoms of thought rooted in feeling. His pure clear heart was as a crystal cup, through which shone the red wine of his love. To himself, Malcolm stammered as a dumb man, the string of whose tongue has but just been loosed: to Clementina his speech was as the song of the Lady to Comus, "divine enchanting ravishment." The God of truth is surely present at every such marriage-feast of two radiant spirits. Their joy was that neither had foiled the hope of the other.
And so the herring-boat had indeed carried Clementina over into Paradise, and this night of the world was to her a twilight of heaven. God alone can tell what delights it is possible for Him to give to the pure in heart who shall one day behold Him. Like two that had died and found each other, they talked until speech rose into silence—they smiled until the dews which the smiles had sublimed claimed their turn and descended in tears.
All at once they became aware that an eye was upon them. It was the sun. He was ten degrees up the slope of the sky, and they had never seen him rise. With the sun came a troublous thought, for with the sun came "a world of men." Neither they nor the simple fisher-folk, their friends, had thought of the thing, but now at length it occurred to Clementina that she would rather not walk up to the door of Lossie House with Malcolm at this hour of the morning. Yet neither could she well appear alone.
Ere she had spoken Malcolm rose. "You won't mind being left, my lady," he said, "for a quarter of an hour or so, will you? I want to bring Lizzy to walk home with you."
He went, and Clementina sat alone on the dune in a reposeful rapture, to which the sleeplessness of the night gave a certain additional intensity and richness and strangeness. She watched the great strides of her fisherman as he walked along the sands, and she seemed not to be left behind, but to go with him every step. The tide was again falling, and the sea shone and sparkled and danced with life, and the wet sand gleamed, and a soft air blew on her cheek, and the lordly sun was mounting higher and higher, and a lark over her head was sacrificing all Nature in his song; and it seemed as if Malcolm were still speaking strange, half-intelligible, altogether lovely things in her ears. She felt a little weary, and laid her head down upon her arm to listen more at her ease.
Now, the lark had seen and heard all, and was telling it again to the universe, only in dark sayings which none but themselves could understand: therefore it is no wonder that, as she listened, his song melted into a dream, and she slept. And the dream was lovely as dream needs be, but not lovelier than the wakeful night. She opened her eyes, calm as any cradled child, and there stood her fisherman.
"I have been explaining to Lizzy, my lady," he said, "that your ladyship would rather have her company up to the door than mine. Lizzy is to be trusted, my lady."
"'Deed, my leddy," said Lizzy, "Ma'colm's been ower guid to me, no to gar me du onything he wad hae o' me. I can haud my tongue whan I like, my leddy. An' dinna doobt my thouchts, my leddy, for I ken Ma'colm as weel's ye du yersel', my leddy."
While she was speaking Clementina rose, and they went straight to the door in the bank. Through the tunnel and the young wood and the dew and the morning odors, along the lovely paths, the three walked to the house together. And oh, how the larks of the earth and the larks of the soul sang for two of them! and how the burn ran with music, and the air throbbed with sweetest life! while the breath of God made a little sound as of a going now and then in the tops of the fir trees, and the sun shone his brightest and best, and all Nature knew that the heart of God is the home of his creatures.
When they drew near the house Malcolm left them. After they had rung a good many times the door was opened by the housekeeper, looking very proper and just a little scandalized.