--I can
see that; for I have been watching you of late, and you are not up to
the right mark. The sooner we all go the better. Do you understand
that?"

He had been talking lightly and cheerfully, not caring who overheard.
She, on the other hand, was anxious and embarrassed, not daring to utter
what was on her mind. At last she said:

"Will you get down for a minute or two, and walk along the road? It is
very sheltered here, and the sun is warm."

He did so, and she took his arm, and they walked away apart in the
sunlight and silence. When they had gone some distance she stopped and
said in a low and earnest voice:

"Don't you know why I cannot go to the Highlands with you? It would kill
me. How could I go back to all those places?"

"I understand that well enough, Violet," said he gently, "but don't you
think you ought to go for the very purpose of conquering that feeling?
There is nothing in that part of the country to inspire you with dread.
You would see it all again in its accustomed light."

She shook her head.

"Very well, then," said he, for he was determined not to let these
gloomy impressions of the girl overcome him. "If not there, somewhere
else. We are not tied to Castle Bandbox. There is plenty of space about
the West Highlands or about the Central Highlands, for the matter of
that. Shall we try to get some lodging in an inn or farmhouse about the
Moor of Rannoch? Or will you try the islands--Jura, or Islay, or Mull?"

She did not answer. She seemed to be in a dream.

"Shall I tell you, Violet," he continued, gravely and gently, "why I
want you to come with us? I am anxious that you and I should be together
as long--as long as that is possible. One never knows what may happen,
and lately--well, we need not speak of it; but I don't wish us to be
parted, Violet."

She burst into a violent fit of crying and sobbing. She had been
struggling bravely to repress this gathering emotion; but his direct
reference to the very thought that was overshadowing her mind was too
much for her. And along with this wild grief came as keen remorse, for
was this the conduct required of an attendant upon an invalid?

"You must forgive me," she sobbed. "I don't know what it is--I have been
very nervous of late--and--and-----"

"There is nothing to cry about, Violet," said he gently. "What is to be,
is to be. You have not lost your old courage! Only let us be together
while we can."

"Oh, my love, my love!" she su