There was a peace in the words that troubled Clementina: he wanted no more than he had, this cold, imperturbable devout fisherman. She did not see that it was the confidence of having all things that held his peace rooted. From the platform of the swivel they looked abroad over the sea. Far north in the east lurked a suspicion of dawn, which seemed, while they gazed upon it, to "languish into life," and the sea was a shade less dark than when they turned from it to go behind the dune. They descended a few paces and halted again. "Did your ladyship ever see the sun rise?" asked Malcolm. "Never in open country," she answered. "Then stay and see it now, my lady. He'll rise just over yonder, a little nearer this way than that light from under his eyelids. A more glorious chance you could not have. And when he rises, just observe, one minute after he is up, how like a dream all you have been in to-night will look. It is to me strange, even to awfulness, how many different phases of things, and feelings about them, and moods of life and consciousness, God can tie up in the bundle of one world, with one human soul to carry it." Clementina slowly sank on the sand of the slope, and like lovely sphinx of northern desert gazed in immovable silence out on the yet more northern sea. Malcolm took his place a little below, leaning on his elbow--for the slope was steep--and looking up at her. Thus they waited the sunrise. Was it minutes or only moments passed in that silence, whose speech was the soft ripple of the sea on the sand? Neither could have answered the question. At length said Malcolm, "I think of changing my service, my lady." "Indeed, Malcolm!" "Yes, my lady. My--mistress does not like to turn me away, but she is tired of me, and does not want me any longer." "But you would never think of finally forsaking a fisherman's life for that of a servant, surely, Malcolm?" "What would become of Kelpie, my lady?" rejoined Malcolm, smiling to himself. "Ah!" said Clementina bewildered, "I had not thought of her. But you cannot take her with you," she added, coming a little to her senses. "There is nobody about the place who could, or rather who would, do anything with her. They would sell her. I have enough to buy her, and perhaps somebody might not object to the encumbrance, but hire me and her together. _Your_ groom wants a coachman's place, my lady." "Oh, Malcolm! do you mean you would be _my_ groom?" cried Clementina, pressing her palms together. "If you would have me, my lady; but I have heard you say you would have none but a married man." "But, Malcolm, don't you know anybody that would--Could you not find some one--some lady--that--I mean, why shouldn't you be a married man?"