bsently, and with little interest in her
tone.

"Yes, a week to-day--sails at three prompt--pilot comes on at a quarter
to--everybody aboard at twelve. But it didn't take quite four-and-twenty
hours to book the berths, and the rest of the day I spent at a lawyer's
office. Can't stomach that breed, somehow; they seem to get all the
clover--maybe it's because they're a drift of sheep with tin cans about
their necks, and can never take a nibble without all the world knowing.
Ha! ha! I wish I'd thought of that when I saw old Shylock."

Paul was rattling on with a glib tongue, and eyes that danced to the
blithe step of an emancipated heart.

In the slumberous fire-light the parson and the itinerant preacher
talked together of the dust and noise in the great world outside these
sleepy mountains.

Greta drew back into the half-light of the window recess, too greedy of
Paul's good spirits to check them.

"Yes, I went to the lawyer's office," he continued, "and drew out a
power of attorney in Hugh's name, and now he can do what he likes with
the Ghyll, just as if it were his own. Much luck to him, say I, and some
bowels, too, please God! But that's not all--not half. This morning--ah,
now, you wise little woman, who always pretend to know so much more than
other folks, tell me what I did in London before leaving it this
morning?"

Greta had hardly listened. Her eyes had dropped to his breast, her arms
had crept about his neck, and her tears were falling fast. But he was
not yet conscious of the deluge.

"What do you think? Why, I went to Doctors' Commons and bought the
license--dirt cheap, too, at the price--and now it can be done any
day--any day--- think of that! So ho! so ho! covering your face,
eh?--up, now, up with it--gently. Do you know, they asked me your
complexion, the color of your eyes, or something--that old Shylock or
somebody--and I couldn't tell for the life of me--there, a peep, just
one wee peep! Why, what's this--what the d---- What villain--what in the
name of mischief is the ma--Why, Greta, you're cry--yes, you are--you
are crying!"

Paul had forced up Greta's face with gentle violence, and now he held
her at arm's length, surveying her with bewildered looks.

Parson Christian twisted about in his chair. He had not been so much
immersed in wars and rumors of wars as to be quite ignorant of what was
going on around him. "Greta is but in badly case," he said, pretending
to laugh. "She has fettled t