He took his seat at the other end of the tombstone and studied her,
wondering what was she. There was infinite import in the question alike
for her and him.

"Ay," she said. "I couldna bear the roof either. It's a habit of mine
to come up here about the gloaming when it's quaiet and caller."

"It was a habit of my mother's also," he said gravely. The recollection
half startled him as he expressed it. He looked around. "I have scarce
been here since. It's peaceful," he said, with a long breath.

"It's no like Glasgow," she replied. "A weary place, yon Glasgow! But
what a day have I had for my homecoming, and what a bonny evening!"

"Indeed, it was a wonderful day," said Archie. "I think I will remember
it years and years until I come to die. On days like this - I do not
know if you feel as I do - but everything appears so brief, and fragile,
and exquisite, that I am afraid to touch life. We are here for so short
a time; and all the old people before us - Rutherfords of Hermiston,
Elliotts of the Cauldstaneslap - that were here but a while since riding
about and keeping up a great noise in this quiet corner - making love
too, and marrying - why, where are they now? It's deadly commonplace,
but, after all, the commonplaces are the great poetic truths."

He was sounding her, semi-consciously, to see if she could understand
him; to learn if she were only an animal the colour of flowers, or had a
soul in her to keep her sweet. She, on her part, her means well in
hand, watched, womanlike, for any opportunity to shine, to abound in his
humour, whatever that might be. The dramatic artist, that lies dormant
or only half awake in most human beings, had in her sprung to his feet