the songs of Zion." And she had sung in
the strange land, among the strange people, with her heart breaking
with thoughts of the sea and the hills and the rude and sweet and
simple ways of the old bygone life she had left behind her.

"Sheila!"

She thought it was her father calling to her, and she rose with a
cry of joy. For one wild moment she fancied that outside were all the
people she knew--Duncan and Scarlett and Mairi--and that she was once
more at home, with the sea all around her, and the salt, cold air.

"Sheila, I want to speak to you."

It was her husband. She went to the door, opened it, and stood there
penitent and with downcast face.

"Come, you must not be silly," he said with some kindness in his
voice. "You have had no dinner. You must be hungry."

"I do not care for any: there is no use troubling the servants when I
would rather lie down," she said.

"The servants! You surely don't take so seriously what I said about
them, Sheila? Of course you don't need to care what the servants
think. And in any case they have to bring up dinner for me, so you may
as well come and try."

"Have you not had dinner?" she said timidly.

"Do you think I could sit down and eat with the notion that you might
have tumbled into the Thames or been kidnapped, or something?"

"I am very sorry," she said in a low voice, and in the gloom he felt
his hand taken and carried to her lips. Then they went down stairs
into the dining-room, which was now lit up by a blaze of gas and
candles.

During dinner of course no very confidential talking was possible,
and indeed Sheila had plenty to tell of her adventures at Richmond.
Lavender was now in a more amiable mood, and was disposed to look
on the killing of the roebuck as rather a good joke. He complimented
Sheila on her good sense in having gone in at the Star and Garter for
lunch; and altogether something like better relations was established
between them.

But when dinner was finally over and the servants dismissed, Lavender
placed Sheila's easy-chair for her as usual, drew his own near hers,
and lit a cigarette.

"Now, tell me, Sheila," he said, "were you really vexed with me when
you went up stairs and locked yourself in your room? Did you think I
meant to displease you or say anything harsh to you?"

"No, not any of those things," she said calmly: "I wished to be
alone--to think over what had happened. And I was grieved by what you
said, for I think you cannot