in a very quiet way,

Oh soft be thy slumbers by Tigh-na-linne's waters:
Thy late-wake was sung by MacDiarmid's fair daughters;
But far in Lochaber the true heart was weeping
Whose hopes are entombed in the grave where thou'rt sleeping.

It was the lament of the young girl whose lover had been separated
from her by false reports, and who died before he could get back to
Lochaber when the deception was discovered. And the wild, sad air that
the girl is supposed to sing seemed so strange with those new chords
that this boy-musician gave it that Sheila sat and listened to it as
though it were the sound of the seas about Borva coming to her with a
new voice and finding her altered and a stranger.

"I know nearly all of those Highland songs that Mr. Ingram has got,"
said the lad.

"I did not know he had any," Sheila said.

"Sometimes he tries to sing one himself," said the boy with a smile,
"but he does not sing very well, and he gets vexed with himself in
fun, and flings things about the room. But you will sing some of those
songs, madame, and let me hear how they are sung in the North?"

"Some time," said Sheila. "I would rather listen just now to all you
can tell me about Mr. Ingram--he is such a very old friend of mine,
and I do not know how he lives."

The lad speedily discovered that there was at least one way of keeping
his new and beautiful friend profoundly interested; and indeed he went
on talking until Lavender came into the room in evening dress. It
was eleven o'clock, and young Mosenberg started up with a thousand
apologies and hopes that he had not detained Mrs. Lavender. No, Mrs.
Lavender was not going out: her husband was going round for an hour
to a ball that Mrs. Kavanagh was giving, but she preferred to stay at
home.

"May I call upon you to-morrow afternoon, madame?" said the boy as he
was leaving.

"I shall be very glad if you will," Sheila answered.

And as he went along the pavement young Mosenberg observed to his
companion that Mrs. Lavender did not seem to have gone out much,
and that it was very good of her to have promised to go with him
occasionally into Kensington Gardens.

"Oh, has she?" said Lavender.

"Yes," said the lad with some surprise.

"You are lucky to be able to get her to leave the house," her husband
said: "I can't."

Perhaps he had not tried so much as the words seemed to imply.

CHAPTER XVII.

GUESSES.

"Mr. Ingram," cried young Mosenberg, b