The Press., 1895-01-10

J with wild girl with wild name, who lived upon potatoes in hove1 un- der rock
 And he did not feel ashamed of him self Contrast and inconsistencies had always possessed fascination for him. Did not the spotless white flower of the bog flourish there as purely as though it had not sprung out of the black s1imy substance that held it's root? And Macha, with her shining bare feet and arms, and her face like a poets dream, was all the more enchanting to his imaginaz tion because she had sprung, with her spontaneous loveliness, out of the noun tain and had been nourished and per- fected between the wind and the sun without help from civilization or a. lesson from "art."
 He was going back to the inn that he might have further opportunities of sec ing this girl, and yet he told himself that his admiration for her was merely an abstract idea; that after he had seen her few times and studied her excep- tional beauty and character he would go on his way contented, rejoicing to have perceived that nature can be still so lovely and unspoiled ill her own .se- cret fastnesses, beyond the ken of the world. His rest was broken that night by new excitement, and he wakened in, the dawn to fancy he saw Macha walking with her bare white feet in the rosy light round the margin of the lake. He wanted to hear her voice again and feel the touch of her hand It struck him as remarkable that she had shown no shyness of him, speaking to him as naturally as if he had been her brother, and he divined that this was so because she knew nothng of ranks and classes. Only the supernatural had pow CT to awe her, and she had felt safe and happy as soon as she had assured herself that he was 8 living man. Accustomed to the attentions of women, he would have felt less attraction toward Macha had she shown any desire for his return, The absence of all coquetry in her de. lighted him.
 The girl thought of him, lying on he1 straw bed in the dead Cf the night. There was hole in the roof above her head, hole that would be thatched oyer with heather for the winter, but at present it was good to let ill the air of heaven. Through it Macha could see a star shining i'll the sky, like Q little is- land of splendor in an ocean of dark blue, and the rugged twigs of the broken heather made 8 rough frame for the bit of glory. The beauty of Macha's face lay quenched ill darkness beneath, but her soul escaped through the opening up to the kindred mystery of the star, carrying with it the memory of the event of the evening. Her mind rested with placid wonder on the occurrence of her meeting with the stranger She had not fallen in love with him, as he with her, nor did she dream of such thing
 Roundabout her lay her mother, her grandmother, her little sisters, sleeping soundly, with the love of Macha asleep in their hearts. She loved them passion ately and had no thought or hope for herself apart from them. To work with them, hand and foot, that they might all have enough potatoes and turf to enable them to live together withow more pain than they could endure ttlhik was the one object of her existencH Vague splendors and delicious rest a1 I joy were, she knew, awaiting them ! beyond the gates of the sun The o thing to be desired was that they mi f not be parted meanwhile in their
 gatory on the lonely mountain AS 6i e night crept on and the stars waxed brighter Macha owned to herself th3t the Flying man might have befn 'shim who lives down in the lake, z afker all. Pondering this doubt, she fd4 n asleep.
 The stranger reappe next day aEtd for many days afterward haunted tbe mountain Macha had leave from har mother to accompany him in his search for the wild flowers which, he explained to them, he wanted for scientific pur- poses. The little sisters frisked about them and took their share in the search, dancing like young kids on the edge of precipices, with wild bright eyes and flying locks. Potatoes boiled in the cabin were eaten on the heather, and the long summer days went past like the beads on a golden rosary, told brightly through the fingers. The man was broth erly and kind with the little girls and the elder women, but he recognized a gulf between them and Macha.
 Their speech, translated literally from the Irish, though poetical and musical enough, was not delicately correct, as his ear imagined hers to be. Their swift feet were not white, nor was their clothing spotless. Macha, who bathed in the lake every morning and hung out her yellow hair to dry in the first beams of the sun, and who were her we'll bleached draperies like princess, could not keep young nor old from dye ing their skins and garments in the bog holes. An instinctive personal delicacy had come to Macha with her exceptional beauty At the end of fortnight the stranger told himself that this noun tain flower was worthy of being trans planted into the brightest parterre ever cherished by man. And what month ago would have appeared to him only madness seemed now most sensible.
 Macha came into the cabin one even- ing in the gloaming with a face of dis may.
 ''Mother'' she said, grasping her mothers arm. .- F..