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"
I
will
not
forget
it
.
"
"
But
when
you
yourself
are
dead
and
gone
.
.
.
?
"
"
What
matters
it
then
?
"
He
could
have
laughed
at
the
meaninglessness
of
human
fashions
.
He
felt
that
Katrine
and
he
were
in
a
sphere
of
their
own
,
safe
for
ever
from
intrusion
,
a
sphere
independent
of
time
and
space
,
even
of
life
and
death
But
Paradise
had
been
the
spot
where
their
love
had
first
been
born
;
it
had
become
in
the
mind
a
symbol
and
a
mystery
;
let
Paradise
,
therefore
,
receive
the
earthly
covering
of
the
blessed
spirit
,
for
even
the
blessed
have
their
terrestrial
shrines
.
So
it
came
about
that
by
night
-
-
for
Mistress
Grizel
would
not
permit
a
ceremony
so
unconventional
in
daylight
-
-
and
by
the
light
of
the
torches
of
Jock
Dodds
and
Edie
the
falconer
,
the
girl
was
buried
near
the
spring
in
Paradise
,
with
David
and
Mr
.
Fordyce
at
the
grave
’
s
head
and
foot
.
To
the
former
it
was
all
a
waking
dream
.
The
solid
earth
had
become
for
him
bodiless
;
the
sun
’
s
progress
,
human
speech
,
rain
,
wind
,
the
ritual
of
daily
life
,
no
more
than
a
phantasmagoria
:
reality
lay
only
in
that
inner
world
where
Katrine
still
lived
for
him
.
He
abode
solitary
in
the
manse
,
and
refused
to
let
Isobel
return
.
Indeed
he
begged
Mistress
Saintserf
to
keep
her
and
be
kind
to
her
.
"
’
Deed
,
I
will
do
that
,
and
be
glad
to
do
it
,
for
she
’
s
a
skilly
auld
body
and
a
great
stand
-
by
in
the
house
.
But
,
Davie
,
my
man
,
what
is
to
come
o
’
you
?
I
was
lookin
’
to
get
ye
as
a
guidson
,
and
the
Lord
kens
Calidon
needs
a
man
about
the
place
-
-
what
wi
’
the
forty
thousand
merks
to
be
paid
for
Nicholas
’
s
fine
.
.
.
.
"
But
she
saw
that
her
words
fell
on
unheeding
ears
.
David
’
s
eyes
seemed
to
be
looking
beyond
her
to
an
infinite
distance
.
David
rode
to
Kirk
Aller
to
face
the
Presbytery
in
a
blustering
day
of
April
rains
.
The
wind
blew
high
from
the
south
-
west
in
the
leafless
branches
,
and
tossed
the
rotting
leaves
which
should
long
ago
have
been
powdered
by
frosts
and
snows
.
Aller
was
red
with
spate
,
and
in
the
haughs
the
flood
-
water
lay
in
leaden
shallows
.
The
birds
,
who
should
have
been
riotous
in
the
bent
,
were
few
and
silent
;
scarcely
a
plover
or
a
curlew
piped
;
only
from
the
gnarled
firs
of
the
Wood
came
the
croak
of
a
nesting
raven
.
It
was
a
day
to
deaden
a
man
’
s
spirits
,
but
David
regarded
it
not
.
He
was
still
in
his
secluded
world
,
a
chamber
barred
to
all
memories
but
one
.
He
had
no
clear
vision
of
the
home
of
the
blessed
dead
,
and
what
he
had
would
have
been
held
unorthodox
by
the
Kirk
.
Now
he
thought
of
her
in
a
Platonic
mood
as
inhabiting
all
things
lovely
and
pure
,
a
spirit
as
rare
as
the
lingering
light
of
sunset
.
But
more
often
he
pictured
her
as
an
embodied
saint
admitted
into
the
fellowship
of
Christ
,
wrapped
round
with
a
richer
love
than
mortals
knew
,
but
reaching
out
warm
hands
to
his
loneliness
.
And
the
words
that
came
to
his
tongue
were
the
lines
of
Peter
Abelard
:
"
O
quanta
qualia
sunt
illa
sabbata
