ngram would even
consent to receive from his younger companion advice, impetuously urged
and richly illustrated, which he had himself offered in simpler terms
months before. At this very moment he could see that much of Lavender's
romantic conceptions of Sheila's character was only an exaggeration of
some passing hints he, Ingram, had dropped as the Clansman was steaming
into Stornoway. But then they were ever so much more beautiful. Ingram
held to his conviction that he himself was a distinctly commonplace
person. He had grown reconciled to the ordinary grooves of life. But
young Lavender was not commonplace: he fancied he could see in him an
occasional flash of something that looked like genius; and many and many
a time, in regarding the brilliant and facile powers, the generous
impulses and the occasional ambitions of his companion, he wondered
whether these would ever lead to anything in the way of production, or
even of consolidation of character, or whether would merely remain the
passing sensations of an indifferent idler. Sometimes, indeed, he
devoutly wished that Lavender had been born a stonemason.

But all these pleasant and graceful qualities, which had made the young
man an agreeable companion, were a serious danger now; for was it not
but too probable that Sheila, accustomed to the rude and homely ways of
the islanders, would be attracted and pleased and fascinated by one who
had about him so much of a soft and southern brightness with which she
was wholly unfamiliar? This open-hearted frankness of his placed all his
best qualities in the sunshine, as it were: she could not fail to see
the singular modesty and courtesy of his bearing toward women, his
gentle manners, his light-heartedness, his passionate admiration of the
self-sacrifice of others, and his sympathy with their sufferings. Ingram
would not have minded much if Lavender alone had been concerned in the
dilemma now growing imminent: he would have left him to flounder out of
it as he had got out of previous ones. But he had been surprised and
pained, and even frightened, to detect in Sheila's manner some faint
indications--so faint that he was doubtful what construction to put on
them--of a special interest in the young stranger whom he had brought
with him to Borva.

What could he do in the matter, supposing his suspicions were correct?
Caution Sheila?--it would be an insult. Warn Mackenzie?--the King of
Borva would fly into a passion with every