so far; and George is in better health and spirits. Ah! how
much happiness there is in life if we only have the patience to wait for
it.

"2d October.--Another letter. They are safe in the harbor of Lerwick,
the chief port in the Shetland Islands. The weather has not latterly
been at all favorable. But the amendment in George's health remains. He
writes most gratefully of Sir James's unremitting kindness to him. I am
so happy, I declare I could kiss Sir James--though he _is_ a great man,
and a Commissioner for Northern Lights! In three weeks more (wind and
weather permitting) they hope to get back. Never mind my lonely life
here, if I can only see George happy and well again! He tells me they
have passed a great deal of their time on shore; but not a word does
he say about meeting any ladies. Perhaps they are scarce in those wild
regions? I have heard of Shetland shawls and Shetland ponies. Are there
any Shetland ladies, I wonder?"

CHAPTER XVII. SHETLAND HOSPITALITY.

"GUIDE! Where are we?"

"I can't say for certain."

"Have you lost your way?"

The guide looks slowly all round him, and then looks at me. That is his
answer to my question. And that is enough.

The lost persons are three in number. My traveling companion, myself,
and the guide. We are seated on three Shetland ponies--so small in
stature, that we two strangers were at first literally ashamed to get on
their backs. We are surrounded by dripping white mist so dense that we
become invisible to one another at a distance of half a dozen yards. We
know that we are somewhere on the mainland of the Shetland Isles. We see
under the feet of our ponies a mixture of moorland and bog--here, the
strip of firm ground that we are standing on, and there, a few feet off,
the strip of watery peat-bog, which is deep enough to suffocate us if
we step into it. Thus far, and no further, our knowledge extends. This
question of the moment is, What are we to do next?

The guide lights his pipe, and reminds me that he warned us against the
weather before we started for our ride. My traveling companion looks
at me resignedly, with an expression of mild reproach. I deserve it. My
rashness is to blame for the disastrous position in which we now find
ourselves.

In writing to my mother, I have been careful to report favorably of my
health and spirits. But I have not confessed that I still remember the
day when I parted with the one hope and renounced the one love which
made