"It would be most like her--though mind you, Mrs. Caird, she is playing with fire. Ian is a very fascinating man. She will likely get the heartache herself she is sorting out for him. I'll have a talk with the Minister. Think of him trusting that woman! the blind fool! the mortal idiot!" "Not as bad as that." "Ay, and worse, if I had the words I want for his folly. Here is Marion's letter. Tell her I am perfectly annoyed at myself for forgetting it. She must forgive me." "Good-bye, Major. I am glad I came." "Good-bye. You are welcome here. I hope you will come again--soon." And oh, how welcome she was when she reached home. Marion was watching for her, and when Mrs. Caird, as she left the cab, held up the letter Marion was at the door to take it from her hand. Her eyes dilated with rapture when she saw Richard's writing, and, after kissing and thanking her aunt, she ran away with it to her room. There was no offense in that--Mrs. Caird both understood and sympathized with the movement. And when she went into the parlor, an hour afterward, she found Marion rocking gently in the firelight and, with closed eyes, singing softly to herself: "My heart is like a singing bird, Whose nest is in a watered shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree, Whose boughs are bent with sweetest fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell, That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love has come to me." CHAPTER VIII MACRAE LEARNS A HARD LESSON "What though it be the last time we shall meet, Raise your white brow and wreath of golden hair, And fill with music sweet the summer air, Not this again shall draw me to your feet, Peace, let me go." Joyful or sorrowful, the days go by. With what passes in the soul and heart the hours meddle not, but over our physical life they are relentless masters. No matter how full of trouble the heart is, we must enter common life, must have dry eyes and take part in conversation; for the moment we differ from everyone else everyone is surprised. The meals are to be cooked, the parlor swept, callers are to be received, and calls are to be made, and we must dress the body decorously for dinner, though the heart and soul be sitting in sackcloth. Such experiences are very costly; we pay for them with wearisome days and wakeful nights, with wasted energies and lost illusions. Mrs. Caird lifted the life emptied of Donald with the serenity and cheerfulness of her fine nature. She thought of him, and talked of him, and watched for the letters that were sure to come to her, constantly reminding herself how interesting they were certain to be and how glad she was that her boy was having the dew of his youth.