"Ian," I whispered rather than spoke. "Ay," he answered simply, looking at me with his grave, far-seeing eyes. "Ian, have you seen my friends before?" "No, I have never seen them before." "They have been here for--for--many days." "I have not seen them." "Tell me; do you recognise them?" "I have not seen them before." "I mean, do you--do you see any likeness in them to any you know?" "No, I see no likeness." "You are sure, Ian?" "Ay, for sure. And why not?" The old fisherman looked at me with questioning eyes. "Tell me, Ian, do you see any difference in me?" "No, for sure, no." Bewildered, I pondered this new mystery. Were we really three personalities, without as well as within? At that moment the Will turned. I heard his voice fall clearly along the heather-fragrant air-ledges. "We, too, are bewildered by this mystery," he said. So he knew my thought. It was _our_ thought. Yes, for now the Soul turned also; and I heard his sunwarm breath come across the honeysuckles by the roadside. "I, too, am bewildered by this mystery," he said. "Ian," I exclaimed to the old man, who stared wonderingly at us; "Ian tell me this: what like are my companions; how do they seem to you?" The old man glanced at me, startled, then rubbed his eyes as though he were half-awakened from a dream. "Why are you asking that thing?" "Because, Ian, you do not see any likeness in them to myself. I had thought--I had thought they were so like." Macrae put his wavering, wrinkled hand to his withered mouth. He gave a chuckling laugh. "Ah, I understand now. It is a joke you are playing on old Ian." "Maybe ay, and maybe no, Ian; but I do want to know how they seem to you, those two yonder." "Well, well, now, for sure, that friend of yours there, that spoke first, he is just a weary, tired old man, like I am myself, and so like me, now that I look at him, that he might be my wraith. And the other, he is a fine lad, a fisher-lad for sure, though I fear God's gripped his heart, for I see the old ancient sorrow in his eyes." I stared: then suddenly I understood. "Good-day, Ian," I added hurriedly, "and the blessing of Himself be upon you and yours, and upon the nets and the boats." Then I moved slowly towards my companions, who awaited me. I understood now. The old fisherman had seen after his own kind. The Will, the Soul, which for the first time had journeyed outside our common home, had to take upon themselves bodily presences likewise. But these wavering images were to others only the reflection of whoso looked upon them. Old Ian had seen his own tired self and his lost youth. With a new fear the Body called to us, and we to him; and we were one, yet three; and so we went onward together. III