The damp, sweet scent of fern and heather
was in our nostrils; as we climbed we breathed its freshness.
"There is a sort of unearthly loveliness in it all," Hector MacNairn
said to me. His voice was rather like his mother's. It always seemed to
say so much more than his words.
"We might be ghosts," I answered. "We might be some of those the mist
hides because they like to be hidden."
"You would not be afraid if you met one of them?" he said.
"No. I think I am sure of that. I should feel that it was only like
myself, and, if I could hear, might tell me things I want to know."
"What do you want to know?" he asked me, very low. "You!"
"Only what everybody wants to know--that it is really AWAKENING free,
ready for wonderful new things, finding oneself in the midst of wonders.
I don't mean angels with harps and crowns, but beauty such as we see
now; only seeing it without burdens of fears before and behind us. And
knowing there is no reason to be afraid. We have all been so afraid. We
don't know how afraid we have been--of everything."
I stopped among the heather and threw my arms out wide. I drew in a
great, joyous morning breath.
"Free like that! It is the freeness, the light, splendid freeness, I
think of most."
"The freeness!" he repeated. "Yes, the freeness!"
"As for beauty," I almost whispered, in a sort of reverence for visions
I remembered, "I have stood on this moor a thousand times and seen
loveliness which made me tremble.
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