le?"

"I could not."

"Your papa, then," he said, driven to this desperate resource by his
anxiety to save her from pain.

"Not yet--not just yet," she said almost wildly, "for how could I
explain to him? He would ask me what my wishes were: what could I say? I
do not know. I cannot tell myself; and--and--I have no mother to ask."
And here all the strain of self-control gave way, and the girl burst
into tears.

"Sheila, dear Sheila," he said, "why won't you trust your own heart, and
let that be your guide? Won't you say this one word _Yes_, and tell me
that I am to come back to Lewis some day, and ask to see you, and get a
message from one look of your eyes? Sheila, may not I come back?"

If there was a reply it was so low that he scarcely heard it; but
somehow--whether from the small hand that lay in his, or from the eyes
that sent one brief message of trust and hope through their tears--his
question was answered; and from that moment he felt no more misgivings,
but let his love for Sheila spread out and blossom in whatever light of
fancy and imagination he could bring to bear on it, careless of any
future.

How the young fellow laughed and joked as the party drove away again
from the Butt, down the long coast-road to Barvas! He was tenderly
respectful and a little moderate in tone when he addressed Sheila, but
with the others he gave way to a wild exuberance of spirits that
delighted Mackenzie beyond measure. He told stories of the odd old
gentlemen of his club, of their opinions, their ways, their dress. He
sang the song of the Arethusa, and the wilds of Lewis echoed with a
chorus which was not just as harmonious as it might have been. He sang
the "Jug of Punch," and Mackenzie said that was a teffle of a good
song. He gave imitations of some of Ingram's companions at the Board of
Trade, and showed Sheila what the inside of a government office was
like. He paid Mackenzie the compliment of asking him for a drop of
something out of his flask, and in return he insisted on the King
smoking a cigar which, in point of age and sweetness and fragrance, was
really the sort of cigar you would naturally give to the man whose only
daughter you wanted to marry.

Ingram understood all this, and, was pleased to see the happy look that
Sheila wore. He talked to her with even a greater assumption than usual
of fatherly fondness; and if she was a little shy, was it not because
she was conscious of so great a secret? He was eve