Dreaming thus, she was startled by a well-known voice; and looking in the direction whence the sound came, she saw her husband in the distance beckoning her to meet him. Nor did she wait for his further eager gesticulations, but at once, with fleet foot, descended the slope, towards the path by which he was approaching. Ere she reached him, however, she realized as never before the secret she was about to confide, and for the first time in her life became self-conscious. How could she meet Matt, and how could she tell him? In a moment her naturalness and girlish buoyancy forsook her. She was lost in a distrait mood. Joy changed to shyness; a hot flush, not of shame, but of restraint, mounted her cheeks. Then she slackened her pace, and for a moment wished that Matt could know all apart from her confession. To how many of nervous temperament is self-consciousness the bane of existence--while the more such try to master it, the more unnatural they become! It separates souls, begetting an aloofness which, misunderstood, ends in mistrust and alienation; and it lies at the root of too many of the fatal misconceptions of life. There are loving hearts that would pay any price to be freed from the self-enfolding toils that wrap them in these crisis hours. And so would Miriam's, for she felt herself shrink within herself at the approach of Matt. She knew nothing of mental moods, never having heard of them, nor being able to account for, or analyze, them. All she knew, poor girl, was that for the first time in her life she was not herself; and as she responded to Matt's warm greeting, she felt she was not the wife, nor the woman, who but a few weeks ago had so affectionately farewelled him, and who but a few moments ago so longed for his return. Nor was Matt unconscious of this change, for as soon as the greeting was over he said, with tones of anxiety in his voice: 'What ails thee, my lass?' 'Who sez as onnythin' ails me?' was her reply, but in a tone of such forced merriment that Matt only grew the more concerned. 'Who sez as onnything ails thee?' cried he. 'Why those bonny een o' thine--an' they ne'er tell lies.' Miriam was walking at his side, her dark eyes seeking the ground, and half hidden by the droop of their long-fringed lids. Indeed, she was too timid to flash their open searching light, as was her wont, into the face of Matt; and when she did look at him, as at times she was forced to, the glance was furtive and the gaze unsteady. 'Come, mi bonny brid (bird),' said her husband, betraying in his voice a deeper concern, 'tell thi owd mon what's up wi thee. I've ne'er sin thee look like this afore. Durnd look on th' grass so mich. Lift that little yed (head) o' thine. Thaa's no need to be ashamed o' showing thi face--there's noan so mony at's better lookin'--leastways, I've sin noan.'