why a knowledge of the tragedy that had come to Dyck Calhoun troubled
her as she had not been troubled since the day she first learned of
Erris Boyne's infidelity to herself.

"Let us go to Dublin, mother," said Sheila with a determined air, after
reading the clipping.

"Why, my dear?"

The woman's eyes, with their long lashes, looked searchingly into her
daughter's face. She felt, as the years went on, that Sheila had gifts
granted to few. She realized that the girl had resources which would
make her a governing influence in whatever sphere of life she should be
set. Quietly, Sheila was taking control of their movements, and indeed
of her own daily life. The girl had a dominating skill which came
in part from herself, and also to a degree from her father; but her
disposition was not her father's-it was her mother's.

Mrs. Llyn had never known Sheila to lie or twist the truth in all her
days. No one was more obedient to wise argument; and her mother had a
feeling that now, perhaps, the time had come when they two must have a
struggle for mastery. There was every reason why they should not go to
Dublin. There Sheila might discover that Erris Boyne was her father, and
might learn the story of her mother's life.

Sheila had been told by her mother that her father had passed away
abroad when she was a little child. She had never seen her father's
picture, and her mother had given her the impression that their last
days together had not been happy. She had always felt that it was better
not to inquire too closely into her father's life.

The years had gone on and then had come the happy visit to Loyland
Towers, where she had met Dyck Calhoun. Her life at that moment had been
free from troublesome emotions; but since the time she had met Dyck at
the top of the hill, a new set of feelings worked in her.

She was as bonny a lass as ever the old world produced--lithe, with a
body like that of a boy, strong and pleasant of face, with a haunting
beauty in the eyes, a majesty of the neck and chin, and a carriage which
had made Michael Clones call her a queen.

She saw Dyck only as, a happy, wild son of the hilltop. To her he was a
man of mettle and worth, and irresponsible because he had been given
no responsibility. He was a country gentleman of Ireland, with all the
interest and peril of the life of a country gentleman.

"Yes, we ought to go to Dublin, mother. We could help him, perhaps,"
Sheila insisted.

The mother