as
this Sheila? Could he take this sheet of paper to his friends in London
and say, Here is the magical princess whom I hope to bring to you from
the North, with all the glamour of the sea around her? He felt
instinctively that there would be an awkward pause. The people would
praise the handsome, frank, courageous head, and look upon the bit of
red ribbon round the neck as an effective artistic touch. They would
hand him back the paper with a compliment, and he would find himself in
an agony of unrest because they had misunderstood the portrait, and seen
nothing of the wonder that encompassed this Highland girl as if with a
garment of mystery and dreams.

So he tore up portrait after portrait--more than one of which would have
startled Ingram by its truth--and then, to prove to himself that he was
not growing mad, he resolved to try a portrait of some other person. He
drew a head of old Mackenzie in chalk, and was amazed at the rapidity
and facility with which he executed the task. Then there could be no
doubt as to the success of the likeness nor as to the effect of the
picture. The King of Borva, with his heavy eyebrows, his aquiline nose,
his keen gray eyes and flowing beard, offered a fine subject; and there
was something really royal and massive and noble in the head that
Lavender, well satisfied with his work, took down stairs one evening.
Sheila was alone in the drawing-room, turning over some music.

"Miss Mackenzie," he said rather kindly, "would you look at this?"

Sheila turned round, and the sudden light of pleasure that leapt to her
face was all the praise and all the assurance he wanted. But he had more
than that. The girl was grateful to him beyond all the words she could
utter; and when he asked her if she would accept the picture, she
thanked him by taking his hand for a moment, and then she left the room
to call in Ingram and her father. All the evening there was a singular
look of happiness on her face. When she met Lavender's eyes with hers
there was a frank and friendly look of gratitude ready to reward him.
When had he earned so much before by a simple sketch? Many and many a
portrait, carefully executed and elaborately framed, had he presented to
his lady friends in London, to receive from them a pretty note and a few
words of thanks when next he called. Here with a rough chalk sketch he
had awakened an amount of gratitude that almost surprised him in the
most beautiful and tender soul in the w