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once more the man she fell in love with up in Lewis. Perhaps she was mistaken-I don't say anything about it myself."

The terribly cool way in which Ingram talked-separating, defining, exhibiting, so that he and his companion should get as near as possible to what he believed to be the truth of the situation

-was oddly in contrast with the blind and passionate yearning of the other for some glimpse of hope. His whole nature seemed to go out in a cry to Sheila, that she would come back and give him a chance of atoning for the past. At length he rose. He looked strangely haggard, and his eyes scarcely seemed to see the things around him.

"I must go home," he said.

Ingram saw that he merely wanted to get outside and walk about in order to find some relief from this anxiety and unrest, and said

"You ought, I think, to stop here and go to bed. But if you would rather go home, I will walk up with you, if you like."

When the two men went out, the night-air smelt sweet and moist, for rain had fallen, and the city trees were still dripping with the wet and rustling in the wind. The weather had changed suddenly, and now, in the deep blue overhead, they knew the clouds were passing swiftly by. Was it the coming light of the morning that seemed to give depth and richness to that dark blue vault, while the pavements of the streets and the houses grew vaguely distinct and grey? Suddenly in turning the corner into Piccadilly, they saw the moon appear in a rift of those passing clouds; but it was not. the moonlight that shed this pale and wan greyness down the lonely streets. It is just at this moment, when the dawn of the new day begins to tell, that a great city seems at its deadest; and in the profound silence and amid the strange transformations of the cold and growing light, a man is thrown in upon himself, and holds communion with himself, as though he and his own thoughts were all that was left in the world.

Not a

word passed between the two men ; and Lavender, keenly sensitive to all such impressions, and now and again shivering slightly, either from cold or nervous excitement, walked blindly along the deserted streets, seeing far other things than the tall houses, and the drooping trees, and the growing light of the sky.

The day was washed along

It seemed to him at this moment that he was looking at Sheila's funeral. There was a great stillness in that small house at Borvabost. There was a boat -Sheila's own boat-down at the shore there; and there were two or three figures in black in it. grey and rainy; the sea the melancholy shores; the far hills were hidden in mist. And now he saw some people come out of the house into the rain, and the bronzed and bearded men had oars with them, and on the crossed oars there was a coffin placed. They went down the hillside. They put the coffin in the stern of the boat; and in absolute silenceexcept for the wailing of the womenthey pulled away down the dreary Loch Roag till they came to the island where the burial-ground is. They carried the coffin up to that small enclosure, with its rank grass growing green, and the rain falling on the rude stones and memorials. How often had he leaned on that low stone wall, and read the strange inscriptions, in various tongues, over the graves of mariners from distant countries who had met with their death on this rocky coast. Had not Sheila herself pointed out to him, with a sad air, how many of these memorials bore the words "who was drowned;" and that, too, was the burden of the rudelyspelt legends beginning with "Hier rutt in Gott," or "Her under hviler stovit," and sometimes ending with the pathetic "Wunderschen ist unsre Hoffnung." The fishermen brought the coffin to the newly-made grave; the women standing back a bit, old Scarlett MacDonald stroking Mairi's hair, and bidding the girl control her frantic grief, though the old woman herself could hardly speak for her tears and her lamentations. He could read the words "Sheila Mackenzie"

on the small silver plate: she had been taken away from all association with him and his name. And who was this old man with the white hair and the white beard, whose hands were tightly clenched, and his lips firm, and a look as of death in the sunken and wild eyes? Mackenzie was grey a year before

"Ingram," he said, suddenly, and his voice startled his companion, "do you think it is possible to make Sheila happy again ?"

"How can I tell ?" said Ingram.

"You used to know everything she could wish-everything she was thinking about. If you find her out now, will you get to know? Will you see what I can do-not by asking her to come back, not by trying to get back my own happiness-but anything, it does not matter what it is, I can do for her? If she would rather not see me

again, I will stay away. Will you ask her, Ingram ?"

"We have got to find her first," said his companion.

"A young girl like that," said Lavender, taking no heed of the objection, "surely she cannot always be unhappy. She is so young and beautiful, and takes so much interest in many things-surely she may have a happy life."

"She might have had."

"I don't mean with me," said Lavender, with his haggard face looking still more haggard in the increasing light.

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I mean anything that can be doneany way of life that will make her comfortable and contented again-anything that I can do for that, will you try to find it out, Ingram ?"

"Oh yes, I will," said the other, who had been thinking with much foreboding of all these possibilities ever since they left Sloane Street, his only gleam of hope being a consciousness that this time at least there could be no doubt of Frank Lavender's absolute sincerity, of his remorse, and his almost morbid craving to make reparation if that were still possible.

They reached the house at last. There was a dim orange-coloured light shining in the passage. Lavender went on, and

threw open the door of the small room which Sheila had adorned, asking Ingram to follow him. How wild and strange this chamber looked, with the wan glare of the dawn shining in on its barbaric decorations from the sea-coast -on the shells, and skins, and feathers that Sheila had placed around! That white light of the morning was now shining everywhere into the silent and desolate house. Lavender found Ingram a bed-room; and then he turned away, not knowing what to do. He looked into Sheila's room: there were dresses, bits of finery, and what, not, that he knew so well; but there was no light breathing audible in the silent and empty chamber. He shut the door, as reverently as though he were shutting it on the dead; and went down-stairs and threw himself almost fainting with despair and fatigue on a sofa, while the world outside awoke to a new day, with all its countless and joyous activities and duties.

CHAPTER XX.

A SURPRISE.

THERE was no letter from Sheila in the morning; and Lavender, so soon as the post had come and gone, went up to Ingram's room and woke him.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Ingram," he said, "but I am going to Lewis. I shall catch the train to Glasgow at ten."

"And what do you want to get to Lewis for?" said Ingram, starting up. "Do you think Sheila would go straight back to her own people with all this humiliation upon her? And supposing she is not there, how do you propose to meet old Mackenzie ?"

"I am not afraid of meeting any man," said Lavender; "I want to know where Sheila is. And if I see Mackenzie, I can only tell him frankly everything that has happened. He is not likely to say anything of me half as bad as what I think of myself."

"Now listen," said Ingram, sitting up in bed, with his brown beard and greyish hair in a considerably dishevelled condition. "Sheila may have gone home,

but it isn't likely. If she has not, your taking the story up there, and spreading it abroad, would prepare a great deal of pain for her when she might go back at some future time. But suppose you want to make sure that she has not gone to her father's house. She could not have got down to Glasgow sooner than this morning, by last night's train, you know. It is to-morrow morning, not this morning, that the Stornoway steamer starts; and she would be certain to go direct to it at the Glasgow Broomielaw, and go round the Mull of Cantyre instead of catching it up at Oban, because she knows the people in the boat, and she and Mairi would be among friends. If you really want to know whether she has gone north, perhaps you could do no better than run down to Glasgow to-day, and have a look at the boat that starts to-morrow morning. I would go with you myself, but I can't escape the office to-day."

Lavender agreed to do this; and was about to go. But before he bade his friend good-bye, he lingered for a second or two in a hesitating way, and then he said

"Ingram, you were speaking the other night of your going up to Borva. If you should go

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"Of course I shan't go," said the other, promptly. "How could I face Mackenzie when he began to ask me about Sheila? No, I cannot go to Borva while this affair remains in its present condition; and, indeed, Lavender, I mean to stop in London till I see you out of your trouble somehow."

"You are heaping coals of fire on. my head."

If

"Oh, don't look at it that way. I can be of any help to you, I shall expect, this time, to have a return for

it."

"What do you mean?"

"I will tell you when we get to know something of Sheila's intentions."

And so Frank Lavender found himself once more, as in the old times, in the Euston Station, with the Scotch mail ready to start, and all manner of folks bustling about with that unneces

sary activity which betokens the excitement of a holiday. What a strange holiday was his! He got into a smokingcarriage in order to be alone; and he looked out on the people who were bidding their friends good-bye. Some of them were not very pretty; many of them were ordinary, insignificant, commonplace-looking folks; but it was clear that they had those about them who loved them and thought much of them. There was one man whom, in other circumstances, Lavender would have dismissed with contempt as an excellent specimen of the unmitigated cad. He wore a white waistcoat, purple gloves, and a green sailor's knot with a diamond in it; and there was a cheery, vacuous, smiling expression on his round face as he industriously smoked a cheroot and made small jokes to the friends who had come to see him off. One of them was a young woman, not very goodlooking, perhaps, who did not join in the general hilarity; and it occurred to Lavender that the jovial man with the cheroot was perhaps cracking his little jokes to keep up her spirits. At all events he called her "my good lass" from time to time, and patted her on the shoulder, and was very kind to her. And when the guard came up, and bade everybody get in, the man kissed the girl, and shook hands with her, and bade her good-bye; and then she, moved by some sudden impulse, caught his face in both her hands and kissed him once on each cheek. It was a ridicu lous scene. People who wear green ties with diamond pins care nothing for decorum. And yet Lavender, when he averted his eyes from this parting, could not help recalling what Ingram had been saying the night before, and wondered whether this outrageous person, with his abominable decorations and his genial grin, might not be more fortunate than many a great statesman, or warrior, or monarch.

He turned round to find the cad beside him; and presently the man, with an abounding good-nature, began to converse with him, and explained that it was 'igh 'oliday with him, for that

he had got a pass to travel first-class as far as Carlisle. He hoped they would have a jolly time of it together. He explained the object of his journey in the frankest possible fashion; made a kindly little joke upon the hardship of parting with one's sweetheart; said that a faint heart never won fair lady, and that it was no good crying over spilt milk. She would be all right, and precious glad to see him when he came back in three weeks' time, and he meant to bring her a present that would be good for sore eyes.

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of the man, he shoved a whole bundle of the morning papers into his hands.

"What's your opinion of politics at present, sir?" observed his friend, in an off-hand way.

"I haven't any," said Lavender, compelled to take back one of the newspapers, and open it.

"I think myself, they're in a bad state. That's my opinion. There ain't a man among 'em who knows how to keep down those people. That's my opinion, sir. What do you think?"

"Oh, I think so, too," said Lavender. "You'll find a good article in that paper on University Tests."

The cheery person looked rather blank. "I would like to hear your opinion about 'em, sir," he said. "It ain't much good reading only one side of a question; but when you can talk about it and discuss it, now-▬▬▬▬▬

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"I am sorry I can't oblige you," said Lavender, goaded into making some desperate effort to release himself. "I am suffering from relaxed throat at present. My doctor has warned me against

Should he have to throw the man out talking too much." of the window ?

"Yes."

"The Scotch are a strange race— very," said the genial person, producing a brandy flask. "They drink a trifle, don't they; and yet they keep their wits about them if you've dealings with them. A very strange race of people in my opinion-very. Know the story of the master who fancied his man was drunk Donald, you're trunk,' says he. 'It's a tam lee,' says Donald. 'Donald, ye ken ye're trunk!' says the master. Ah ken ah wish to Kott ah wass!' says Donald. Good story, ain't it, sir?"

Lavender had heard the remarkable old joke a hundred times; but just at this moment there was something odd in this vulgar person suddenly imitating, and imitating very well, the Highland accent. Had he been away up in the north; or had he merely heard the story related by one who had been? Lavender dared not ask, however, for fear of prolonging a conversation in which he had no wish to join. Indeed, to get rid

"I beg your pardon, sir. You don't seem very well-perhaps the throat comes with a little feverishness, you see -a cold, in fact. Now, if I was you, I'd try tannin lozenges for the throat. They're uncommon good for the throat; and a little quinine for the general system that would put you as right as a fiver. I tried it myself when I was down in 'Ampshire last year. And you wouldn't find a drop of this brandy a bad thing either, if you don't mind rowing in the same boat as myself."

Lavender declined the proffered flask, and subsided behind a newspaper. His fellow-traveller lit another cheroot, took up Bradshaw, and settled himself in a

corner.

Had Sheila come up this very line some dozen hours before? Lavender asked himself, as he looked out on the hills, and valleys, and woods of Buckinghamshire. Had the throbbing of the engine and the rattle of the wheels kept the piteous eyes awake all through the dark night, until he pale dawn

showed the girl a wild vision of northern hills and moors, telling her she was getting near to her own country? Not thus had Sheila proposed to herself to return home on the first holiday-time that should occur to them both. He began to think of his present journey as it might have been in other circumstances. Would she have remembered any of those pretty villages which she saw one early morning, long ago, when they were bathed in sunshine, and scarcely awake to the new day? Would she be impatient at the delays at the stations, and anxious to hurry on to Westmoreland and Dumfries, to Glasgow, and Oban, and Skye, and then from Stornoway across the island to the little inn at Garra-na-hina? Here, as he looked out of the window, the first indication of the wilder country became visible in the distant Berkshire hills. Close at hand the country lay green and bright under a brilliant sun; but over there in the east, some heavy clouds darkened the landscape, and the far hills seemed to be placed amid a gloomy stretch of moorland. Would not Sheila have been thrilled by this glimpse of the coming north? She would have fancied that greater mountains lay far behind these rounded slopes, hidden in mist. She would have imagined that no human habitations were near those rising plains of sombre hue, where the red-deer and the fox ought to dwell. And in her delight at getting away from the fancied brightness of the south, would she not have been exceptionally grateful and affectionate towards himself, and striven to please him with her tender ways?

It was not a cheerful journey-this lonely trip to the North. Lavender got to Glasgow that night; and next morning he went down, long before any passengers could have thought of arriving, to the Clansman. He did not go near the big steamer, for he was known to the captain and the steward; but he hung about the quays, watching each person who went on board. Sheila certainly was not among the passengers by the Clansman.

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But she might have gone to Greenock, and waited for the steamer there. cordingly, after the Clansman had started on her voyage, he went into a neighbouring hotel and had some breakfast, after which he crossed the bridge to the station, and took rail for Greenock, where he arrived some time before the Clansman made her appearance. He went down to the quay. It was yet early morning, and a cool fresh breeze was blowing in across the broad waters of the Firth, where the sunlight was shining on the white sails of the yachts and on the dipping and screaming seagulls. Far away beyond the pale blue mountains opposite lay the wonderful network of sea-loch and island through which one had to pass to get to the distant Lewis. How gladly, at this moment, would he have stepped on board the steamer, with Sheila, and put out on that gleaming plain of sea, knowing that by and by they would sail into Stornoway harbour and find the waggonette there. They would not hasten the voyage. She had never been round the Mull of Cantyre; and so he would sit by her side, and show her the wild tides meeting there, and the long jets of white foam shooting up the great wall of rock. He would show her the pale coast of Ireland; and then they would see Islay, of which she had many a ballad and story. They would go through the narrow Sound that is overlooked by the gloomy mountains of Jura. They would see the distant islands where the chief of Colonsay is still mourned for on the still evenings, by the hapless mermaiden, who sings her wild song across the sea. They would keep wide of the dangerous currents of Corryvreckan; and by and by they would sail into the harbour of Oban, the beautiful sea-town where Sheila first got a notion of the greatness of the world lying outside of her native island.

What if she were to come down now from this busy little seaport, which lay under a pale blue smoke and come out upon this pier to meet the free sunlight and the fresh sea-air blowing all about? Surely at a great distance he could

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