"I came up here the next day--I did not know why, but something drew me, and I came. And I sat down here on this stone, and saw you sitting on that stone munching oatcake and cheese, and thought what a greedy little pig I was not to have made you take some of my sandwiches----" "You couldn't have made me. I wouldn't have touched one for----" "I know. But I ought to have made you, all the same. And then I thought of you as you were now--that is, then, you know--and what a great, big, strong soul and body you had become, and what great things you were going to do, and how you had got your heart's desire. And then I thought of myself, and the little I had done with all my opportunities. And after that you insisted on coming into my thoughts at all times, and I could not get rid of you. And then you sailed, and I knew I should never see you again, and life felt hollow and hopeless. And then I saw in the papers about your being murdered. And then you came home, and--here we are. And oh, Ken! it is almost too good to be true." "Not a bit of it, my dear; it is only just beginning." Then he drew out two parcels from his pockets, and hers contained some neat little sandwiches and cookies with jam inside, and his contained oatcakes and cheese. And, being in a raised mood, she laughed till she cried at his oatcakes and cheese, and then insisted on dividing up equally all round, and vowed that his fare was quite as good as her own. "Of course it is," he said. "I knew that all the time. A boy on the hillsides who can't enjoy oatcakes and cheese would deserve to go empty." When they had eaten, they still sat looking out over the water at the hills and lochs opposite. In all likelihood they would never see that fairest of scenes again, and they could not have too much of it. And after they had sat a long time in silence, Blair, leaning forward with his arms on his knees and his eyes drinking in great draughts of delight, said, suddenly--but slowly, as though the words had to be called, or recalled, from afar, and said them, not to her or for her, but to and for something quite outside them both--said them, in fact, as though he were impelled to say them, and could not help himself-- "The hills of God stand fast and sure." The words described those hills opposite exactly. Then a pause, and presently-- "His mighty promises endure For ever and for evermore." Then he fell silent again, and thoughtful, and presently-- "His Mercy is a boundless sea, For ever flowing, full and free." She saw it there before her just as he saw it. And after another pause-- "Through Time into Eternity." She looked at him quietly and questioningly, but his gaze was fixed absorbedly on the opposite shore. It seemed almost as if he had forgotten her for the moment. She was content to watch him and to listen to him-- "And as the wide blue sky above, Encircling us where'er we move."