s if he had not
hitherto realized to himself the absolute ignorance of the remote
princess. Sheila, with some little touch of humor appearing in her
calm eyes, said, "But I am not quite ignorant of all these things. I
have seen pictures of them, and my papa has described them to me so
often that I will feel as if I had seen them all; and I do not think
I should be surprised, except, perhaps, by the noise of the big towns.
It was many a time my papa told me of that; but he says I cannot
understand it, nor the great distance of land you travel over to get
to London. That is what I do not wish to see. I was often thinking of
it, and that to pass so many places that you do not know would make
you very sad."

"That can be easily avoided," he said lightly. "When you go to London,
you must go from Glasgow or Edinburgh in a night-train, and fall fast
asleep, and in the morning you will find yourself in London, without
having seen anything."

"Just as if one had gone across a great distance of sea, and come
to another island you will never see before," said Sheila, with the
gray-blue eyes under the black eyelashes grown strange and distant.

"But you must not think of it as a melancholy thing," he said, almost
anxiously. "You will find yourself among all sorts of gayeties and
amusements; you will have cheerful people around you, and plenty of
things to see; you will drive in beautiful parks, and go to theatres,
and meet people in large and brilliant rooms, filled with flowers and
silver and light. And all through the winter, that must be so cold and
dark up here, you will find abundance of warmth and light, and plenty
of flowers, and every sort of pleasant thing. You will hear no more of
those songs of drowned people; and you will be afraid no longer of the
storms, or listen to the waves at night; and by and by, when you have
got quite accustomed to London, and got a great many friends, you
might be disposed to stay there altogether; and you would grow to
think of this island as a desolate and melancholy place, and never
seek to come back."

The girl rose suddenly and turned to a fuchsia tree, pretending to
pick some of its flowers. Tears had sprung to her eyes unbidden, and
it was in rather an uncertain voice that she said, still managing to
conceal her face, "I like to hear you talk of those places, but--but I
will never leave Borva."

What possible interest could he have in combating this decision so
anxiously, almost