not, after all, banished forever into that cold
region of art in which her father would fain keep her--somewhat
bewildered him at first. The victim might be reclaimed from the altar
and restored to the sphere of simple human affections, natural duties,
and joy? And if he--

Suddenly, and with a shock of delight that made his heart throb, he
tried to picture this beautiful fair creature sitting over there in that
very chair by the side of the fire, her head bent down over her sewing,
the warm light of the lamp touching the tender curve of her cheek. And
when she lifted her head to speak to him--and when her large and lambent
eyes met his--surely Fionaghal, the fair poetess from strange lands,
never spoke in softer tones than this other beautiful stranger, who was
now his wife and his heart's companion. And now he would bid her lay
aside her work, and he would get a white shawl for her, and like a ghost
she would steal out with him into the moonlight air. And is there enough
wind on this summer night to take them out from the sombre shore to the
open plain of the sea? Look now, as the land recedes, at the high walls
of Castle Dare, over the black cliffs, and against the stars. Far away
they see the graveyard of Inch Kenneth, the stones pale in the
moonlight. And what song will she sing now, that Ulva and Colonsay may
awake and fancy that some mermaiden is singing to bewail her lost lover?
The night is sad, and the song is sad; and then, somehow, he finds
himself alone in this waste of water, and all the shores of the islands
are silent and devoid of life, and there is only the echo of the sad
singing in his ears--

He jumps to his feet, for there is a knocking at the door. The gentle
Cousin Janet enters, and hastily he thrusts that letter into his pocket,
while his face blushes hotly.

"Where have you been, Keith?" she says, in her quiet, kindly way.
"Auntie would like to say good-night to you now."

"I will come directly," said he.

"And now that Norman Ogilvie is away, Keith," said she, "you will take
more rest about the shooting; for you have not been looking like
yourself at all lately; and you know, Keith, when you are not well and
happy, it is no one at all about Dare that is happy either. And that is
why you will take care of yourself."

He glanced at her rather uneasily; but he said, in a light and careless
way,--

"Oh, I have been well enough, Janet, except that I was not sleeping well
one or two nights.