dness like that which
must have pressed on his spirit, thinking of all the money he had paid
for his home, and the beautiful things in it--all the money he would
have to make out of his brain to clear away the debt. "When I do build
my house, I shall have a gallery like this in the library," I said,
thinking Basil was close behind me, as he had been; but instead, there
was Sir S. standing silently by. Basil had gone into the study, or
perhaps into the tiny "Speak a bit," to look at the wall-panelling taken
from Queen Mary's bed at Jedburgh.

"That's just what I was thinking about my library," Sir S. answered, as
if I had spoken to him.

"Haven't you got one yet?" I asked.

"Only an embryo library in a flat in New York--a rather nice flat. But a
flat isn't home. And you know--you ought to know--the house of my heart
is on a faraway island."

"The island of Dhrum?"

"Yes. I've just begun to realize that I never have had and never can
have a real home out of the Highlands. Would you think me an
interloper--you and the other grand MacDonalds--if I, the crofter's boy,
should develop an ambition like Sir Walter's--oh, not so worthy or
splendid, because _I'm_ neither worthy nor splendid--if I should wish to
have the great house of the MacDonalds of Dhrum, not let to me for a
term of years as it is now, but bought and paid for as my own?"

"Can the MacDonalds sell?"

"Yes, and will, if I'll pay his price. You see, he has no son, only a
daughter; and she, having failed to bring off a match or two----"

(I didn't let my eyes twinkle, or my face do that weird thing, "break
into a smile"; but Jack Morrison told me that Miss MacDonald had "set
her cap at the great Somerled," and torn it off and stamped on it in
rage because--this is Jack's slang--Sir S. "wasn't taking any.")

--"Having failed to bring off a match or two, has settled down into
old-maidhood. She's an enthusiastic suffragette, and hates living out of
London. The Mac of D. considers his club his castle, or a good deal
better; and as he's the last of the line--not a male heir, no matter how
distant--he can do as he likes with his ancestral stronghold. You know,
I suppose, your father was born at Dunelin Castle?'

"Yes," I said. "I wish I'd been born there, instead of at Hillard
House."

"So do I wish it. If you had been, I should have no hesitation
in--er--in building the gallery round the library wall."

"You think you really will decide to buy the castle