H. A. Lamb

“ How can that be?”
“This is your child,” said the lad, smiling, and speaking as if he were talking to a child. He glanced at Mary reassuringly. I was afraid we would receive an arrow from her guardians.
It was a long moment that the two of them faced each other, the old man’s countenance tense, and the girl still uneasy. She conquered her fear. It may be that the ties of blood are stronger than we know. Or the lad’s voice, vibrant with love, may have calmed her.
Matthew Burnie took his child’s hand and touched her face. She watched him wonderingly. ”

“ He said this quietly, almost with an air of meditation.
“Man,” cried Stuart, “your daughter is living! I have seen her, talked with her.”
Matthew Burnie shook his head tolerantly. No answering fire showed in his deep-set eyes.
“She died with her mother, lad.”
“But I have seen her. You know the islander fellow said there was a girl child alive in the hills.”
“I have not seen her. She is dead.” ”

“ I have heard much about the spell of the islands. It has crept into the abominations which are guidebooks and tourists’ schedules. Yet I know this much. I returned after an absence of several years to the islands. You can say that the spell was on me, if you like. But the garden of Santo had woven its tendrils around the heart of Matthew Burnie. ”