, something that perhaps you do not know--the girl loves
you."

Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet
dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something
else, something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him. Then he
became conscious that Donald Ward's eyes were on him--cold, impassive,
unpitying; that Donald Ward was waiting till the throbs of joy and
excitement calmed in him, waiting to speak again.

"Put the thought of the girl from you. She is not for you, nor you for
her. Forget her. It will be better for you and for her. You shall have
work to do soon. Work is for men. Seeing babies in brown eyes is only
for boys."

They left the path which skirted the tops of the cliffs, crossed a field
or two, and joined the road which led to Micah Ward's manse. The sound
of the sea died away, though the smell of it and the feeling of its
neighbourhood were still with them. The savage grandeur of ocean and
cliff no longer oppressed their spirits. It seemed natural to talk of
common things and to leave high themes behind them in the lonely places
they had left. Donald Ward gazed with interest at the white-walled
thatched cottages on the roadside. He commented on the disappearance of
some homestead he remembered, or the building of a new one where none
had been before. It was evident that, in spite of his twenty-five years'
absence, he cherished a clear and accurate recollection of the district
he was passing through. He inquired after the families who had lived
in the different houses, naming them. He learned how one or another had
disappeared, how old men were gone, and sons reigned in their stead. He
even supplied Neal with information now and then about some young man or
girl who had gone to America.

They arrived at the manse. Neal led his uncle through the yard, meaning
to enter as usual by the kitchen door. On the threshold the housekeeper
met him.

"Is that you, Master Neal? You're queer and late. You've had a brave
time gadding with your fine friends and never thinking how you were
leaving your old father to eat his dinner his lone. And who's this
you have with you? What sort of behaviour is this, to be coming here
bringing a stranger with you to a decent, quiet house, and he maybe----"

"Whisht, now, Hannah. Will you hold your whisht (tongue?)?" said Neal.
"It's my uncle I have with me. You ought to be able to remember him."

The old woman came forward to