the south-west: not from her came that strange clearness by which all
these objects were defined. Then the young man bethought him of what
Sheila had said of the twilight in these latitudes, and, turning to
the north, he saw there a pale glow which looked as if it were the
last faint traces of some former sunset. All over the rest of the
heavens something of the same metallic clearness reigned, so that the
stars were pale, and a gray hue lay over the sea, and over the island,
the white bays, the black rocks and the valleys, in which lay a
scarcely perceptible mist.

He left the house and went vaguely down to the sea. The cold air,
scented strongly with the seaweed, blew about him, and was sweet and
fresh on the lips and the forehead. How strange was the monotonous
sound of the waves, mournful and distant, like the sound in a
seashell! That alone spoke in the awful stillness of the night, and
it seemed to be telling of those things which the silent stars and the
silent hills had looked down on for ages and ages. Did Sheila really
love this terrible thing, with its strange voice talking in the night,
or did she not secretly dread it and shudder at it when she sang
of all that old sadness? There was ringing in his ears the "Wail of
Dunevegan" as he listened for a while to the melancholy plashing
of the waves all around the lonely shores; and there was a cry of
"Dunevegan, oh! Dunevegan, oh!" weaving itself curiously with those
wild pictures of Sheila in London which were still floating before his
imagination.

He walked away around the coast, seeing almost nothing of the objects
around him, but conscious of the solemn majesty of the mountains and
the stillness of the throbbing stars. He could have called aloud,
"Sheila! Sheila!" but that all the place seemed associated with her
presence; and might he not turn suddenly to find her figure standing
by him, with her face grown wild and pale as it was in the ballad,
and a piteous and awful look in her eyes? Did the figure accuse him?
He scarcely dared look round, lest there should be a phantom Sheila
appealing to him for compassion, and complaining against him with her
speechless eyes for a wrong that he could not understand. He fled from
her, but he knew she was there; and all the love in his heart went out
to her as if beseeching her to go away and forsake him, and forgive
him the injury of which she seemed to accuse him. What wrong had
he done her that he should be haunt