rom which she had weighed in the morning. The captain insisted on
escorting Hilda and her companions on shore.

"In three days, then, at midnight, all will be ready," he whispered, as
he parted from her at the castle landing-place.

CHAPTER FIVE.

LAWRENCE'S EXPEDITION--HILDA'S MARRIAGE IN THE OLD CHAPEL--A STORM.

Although the sun during the middle of the Shetland summer scarcely
ceases to shine, the inhabitants of these isles, like other mortals,
require sleep, and take it at the usual time. Soon after the sea trip
Miss Wardhill had taken on board the "Saint Cecilia," Lawrence
Brindister was seen one afternoon to descend from his room, booted and
spurred, as if for a distant excursion, Hilda, who had her reasons for
so doing, watched him anxiously. He stamped about the house, clattering
his spurs, and muttering to himself, as was his custom, when anything
out of the usual course occupied his mind. At last, going to Surly
Grind's kennel, he loosed the dog, and entering his skiff, crossed the
voe, as if about to proceed to the mainland. Hilda breathed more freely
when he had gone, but seldom had she appeared so distracted, and little
at her ease, as she did till the usual hour of closing the castle gates.
The keys were brought to her, as was the custom, by David Cheyne, the
old butler, or Major Domo. As he made his bow, he cast a hurried glance
at her countenance, and on his way down stairs he shook his head,
muttering to himself, "This foreign gallant will bring no good to the
house of Lunnasting--that I see too well; and the sooner the islands are
quit of him and his ship--for all he looks so brave and so bonnie--the
better it will be for the young mistress."

Hilda, instead of retiring to rest, went to her tower; there she
remained for some time, pacing up and down the room, now glancing out on
the wide ocean, now clasping her hands in a manner expressive of doubt
and indecision.

"It is too late to retract," she exclaimed, at length; "why should I
think of it? What right has my father to complain? He leaves me here
without compunction, and am I to await his tardy permission to act, as I
have a full right to do, without it? No, that point is settled. Then
Bertha suggests that the world will call me unmaidenly, more than
indiscreet, and will say that I have been ready to throw myself into the
arms of the first stranger I have met; but what care I for this little
world of Shetland? I stand on my ow