island."

"And you don't think you see before you now some one who might take
on him the charge of Sheila's future?" said Ingram, looking toward
Lavender.

"The English gentleman?" said Mackenzie with a smile. "No, that any
way is not possible."

"I fancy it is more than possible," said Ingram, resolved to go
straight at it. "I know for a fact that he would like to marry your
daughter, and I think that Sheila, without knowing it herself almost,
is well inclined toward him."

The old man started up from his chair: "Eh? what! my Sheila?"

"Yes, papa," said the girl, turning round at once.

She caught sight of a strange look on his face, and in an instant was
by his side: "Papa, what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing, Sheila, nothing," he said impatiently. "I am a little tired
of the music, that is all. But go on with the music. Go back to the
piano, Sheila, and go on with the music, and Mr. Ingram and me, we
will go outside for a little while."

Mackenzie walked out of the room, and said aloud in the hall, "Ay, are
you coming, Mr. Ingram? It iss a fine night this night, and the wind
is in a very good way for the weather."

And then, as he went out to the front, he hummed aloud, so that Sheila
should hear,

Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!
A friend! The word! Good-night! All's well!
All's well! Good-night! All's well!

Ingram followed the old man outside, with a somewhat guilty conscience
suggesting odd things to him. Would it not be possible now to shut
one's ears for the next half hour? Angry words were only little
perturbations in the air. If you shut your ears till they were all
over, what harm could be done? All the big facts of life would remain
the same. The sea, the sky, the hills, the human beings around you,
even your desire of sleep for the night and your wholesome longing for
breakfast in the morning, would all remain, and the angry words would
have passed away. But perhaps it was a proper punishment that he
should now go out and bear all the wrath of this fierce old gentleman,
whose daughter he had conspired to carry off. Mackenzie was walking up
and down the path outside in the cool and silent night. There was
not much moon now, but a clear and lambent twilight showed all the
familiar features of Loch Roag and the southern hills, and down there
in the bay you could vaguely make out the Maighdean-mhara rocking in
the tiny waves that washed in on the white shore. Ingram had never