ess that. She has already granted so
much. But I might ask her."

At this moment Lady Macleod's maid came into the hall and said that her
mistress wished to see Miss Macleod.

"Perhaps auntie thinks I am conspiring with you Keith," she said,
laughing, when the girl had gone. "Well, you will leave the whole thing
in my hands, and I will do what I can. And be patient and reasonable,
Keith, even if your mother won't hear of it for a day or two. We women
are very prejudiced against each other, you know; and we have quick
tempers, and we want a little coaxing and persuasion--that is all."

"You have always been a good friend to me, Janet," he said.

"And I hope it will all turn out for your happiness, Keith," she said,
gently, as she left.

But as for Lady Macleod, when Janet reached her room, the haughty old
dame was "neither to hold nor to bind." There was nothing she would not
have done for this favorite son of hers but this one thing. Give her
consent to such a marriage? The ghosts of all the Macleods of Dare would
call shame on her!

"Oh, auntie," said the patient Janet, "he has been a good son to you;
and you must have known he would marry some day."

"Marry?" said the old lady, and she turned a quick eye on Janet herself.
"I was anxious to see him married; and when he was choosing a wife I
think he might have looked nearer home, Janet."

"What a wild night it is!" said Janet Macleod quickly, and she went for
a moment to the window. "The _Dunara_ will be coming round the Mull of
Cantire just about now. And where is the present, auntie, that the young
lady sent you? You must write and thank her for that, at all events; and
shall I write the letter for you in the morning?"

CHAPTER XXIX.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

Lady Macleod remained obdurate; Janet went about the house with a sad
look on her face; and Macleod, tired of the formal courtesy that
governed the relations between his mother and himself, spent most of his
time in snipe and duck shooting about the islands--braving the wild
winds and wilder seas in a great, open lugsailed boat, the _Umpire_
having long been sent to her winter-quarters. But the harsh, rough life
had its compensations. Letters came from the South--treasures to be
pored over night after night with an increasing wonder and admiration.
Miss Gertrude White was a charming letter-writer; and now there was no
restraint at all over her frank confessions and playful humors. Her
letters we