ance. Except that when she's twenty-one
I shall make over certain money of my son's to her, I have washed my
hands of the girl."

"I haven't. That's not the kind of washing to make them clean."

"You reproach me, sir!" She glared at him.

"Not at all, madam. Even if I would venture, there's no need, for I
think your bark is worse than your bite."

Again she almost twinkled at the wretch's daring. There was excitement
in it, which she had not experienced since early married days. Then she
had had to do with another MacDonald, and even a Hillard could without
disgrace afford to be mastered by a MacDonald of Dhrum.

"When I've put your granddaughter into more suitable guardianship than
mine," Somerled went on quickly, "I'll write and tell you."

"Suitable guardianship! It will be some time before I get that letter."

"I thank you for the compliment."

"It was not one."

"You're not to blame if I choose to take it as such."

"I am not to blame in any way in this matter."

"There I'm no judge. It's my own actions I must look after." And again
he smiled.

"I advise you to be careful, sir, between Barbara Ballantree and
Barribel MacDonald. I wish you joy of them both."

"And what of Aline West?" The question whispered itself in Somerled's
ears.

But Mrs. MacDonald knew nothing of Aline West. And Somerled was
beginning to think that, for all the boasted sagacity of experience, he
knew not much more.

"Thank you for your kind wishes," he said non-committally. "And now I
will wish you a good day."

He put out his hand, and, to her own intense surprise when she thought
of it afterward, Mrs. MacDonald gave hers. Over the prominent knuckles
the old skin lay soft and loose. The grim woman was vaguely pathetic to
Somerled in his youth and strength and full tide of success. The touch
of the would-be iron hand in the velvet glove of faded age made him
conscious of his vast advantage over her. He went away filled with hope,
and a curious new joy of life, which was partly the excitement of
battle.

"The _heather moon_!" he found himself saying, as he passed out of the
ill-kept, once lovely garden where Barrie had often dreamed. Perhaps the
thought came then because here and there a patch of heather glorified
the weeds, or perhaps because Barrie's dreams still empurpled their
birthplace.

IX

When luncheon-time drew near and Somerled was absent, Aline's heart
misgave her. It was useless to argue that he mu