A hundred yards or so further along the road walked another traveller. He carried a knapsack on his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. When the song reached his ears he stopped, listened carefully, and then waited for the singer to overtake him. It seemed as if the young man was too glad at heart to sing through one song. He began again, and his voice was full of passion, as if he had abandoned himself to the inspiration of his words-- “Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee.” “Neal Ward,” said the man who waited. The singer paused. “I’m Neal Ward, my friend, who ever are you? And I know your voice. I know it. Let me see your face, man. You’re Jemmy Hope. As I’m a living man, you’re Jemmy Hope. I couldn’t have asked a better meeting.” He seized Hope’s hand and wrung it heartily. He held it firm. “There’s no man in the world I’d rather have met to-night. But I might have guessed I’d meet you. When a man’s happy every wish of his heart comes to him. It’s only the poor devils who are sad that have to wait and sigh for what they want and never get it.” “So you are happy, Neal. I am right glad of it. It makes me happy, too, for all that’s come and gone, to listen to your singing. Give me a share of your good news, Neal. We want good news in Ireland now-a-days. What makes you happy?” “I’m to be married to-morrow, Jemmy Hope. To-morrow, to-morrow, man. Isn’t that enough to make me happy?” He put his arm round Hope, and led him along the road. He walked as if there were music in his ears which made him want to dance. “She’s the best girl in all the world,” he said, “the bravest and the truest and the sweetest-- ‘Or were I a monarch o’ the globe, With thee to reign, with thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.’ Haven’t I the right to be happy, James Hope? Tell me that.” “You have the best gift that God has got to give to man,” said Hope, “and I that speak to you know. I have my own dear Rose. I have found that the love of a good woman made all my trouble easy, turned sorrow of heart into a kind of gladness, brought joy out of disappointment, made poverty sweet to bear.” “But I’m not poor,” said Neal, “I have a home to offer her, a home not unworthy of her. I have money to give her what she wants. I shall take her across the sea in a fine ship that I own myself, in a cabin I have fitted out for her, fine enough for a crowned queen, but not fine enough for her-- “‘Blair in Athol’s mine lassie, Fair Dunkeld is mine lassie, St. Johnston’s bower and Hunting Tower, And a’ that’s mine is thine, lassie.’ Oh, man, but I have cause for my happiness. I have the world before me, good work to do, good money to earn, and her love like a “perpetual sun-shine to make life fair to me.” Then suddenly his voice changed.