CHAPTER VIII.

"O TERQUE QUATERQUE BEATE!" CONSIDER what a task this unhappy man Ingram had voluntarily undertaken! Here were two young people presumably in love. One of them was laid under suspicion by several previous love-affairs, though none of these, doubtless, had been so serious as the present. The other scarcely knew her own mind-or perhaps was afraid to question herself too closely lest all the conflict between duty and inclination, with its fears and anxieties and troubles, should be too suddenly revealed. Moreover, this girl was the only daughter of a solitary and irascible old gentleman living in a remote island; and Ingram had not only undertaken that the love affairs of the young folks should come all right-thus assuming a responsibility which might have appalled the bravest-but was also expected to inform the King of Borva that his daughter was about to be taken away from him.

Of course, if Sheila had been a properly brought-up young lady, nothing of this sort would have been necessary. We all know what the properly broughtup young lady does under such circumstances. She goes straight to her papa and mamma, and says, "My dear papa and mamma, I have been taught by my various instructors that I ought to have No. 164.-VOL. XXVIII.

no secrets from my dear parents; and I therefore hasten to lay aside little any shyness, or modesty, or doubt of my own wishes I might feel, for the purpose of explaining to you the extent to which I have become a victim to the tender passion, and of soliciting your advice. I also place before you these letters I have received from the gentleman in question: doubtless they were sent in confidence to me, but I must banish any scruples that do not coincide with my duty to you. I may say that I respect and even admire Mr. So-and-So; and I should be unworthy of the care bestowed upon my education by my dear parents if I were altogether insensible to the advantages of his worldly position. But beyond this point I am at a loss to define my sentiments; and so I ask you, my dear papa and mamma, for permission to study the question for some little time longer, when I may be able to furnish you with a more accurate report of my feelings. At the same time, if the interest I have in this young man is likely to conflict with the duty I owe to my dear parents, I ask to be informed of the fact; and I shall then teach myself to guard against the approach of that insidious passion which might make me indifferent to the higher calls and interests of life." Happy the man who marries such a woman! No agonizing quarrels and pathetic reconcilia

H

tions, no piteous entreaties, and fits of remorse, and impetuous self-sacrifices, await him; but a beautiful, methodical, placid life, as calm, and accurate, and steadily progressive as the multiplication table. His household will be a miracle of perfect arrangement. The relations between the members of it will be as strictly defined as the pattern of the paper on the walls. And how can a quarrel arise when a dissecter of the emotions is close at hand to say where the divergence of opinion or interest began; and how can a fit of jealousy be provoked in the case of a person who will split up her affections into fifteen parts, give ten-fifteenths to her children, three-fifteenths to her parents, and the remainder to her husband? Should there be any wretched fractions going about, friends and acquaintances may come in for them.

But how was Sheila to go to her father and explain to him what she could not explain to herself? She had never dreamed of marriage. She had never thought of having to leave Borva and her father's house. But she had some vague feeling that in the future lay many terrible possibilities that she did. not as yet dare to look at-until, at least, she was more satisfied as to the present. And how could she go to her father with such a chaos of unformed wishes and fears to place before him? That such a duty should have devolved upon Ingram was certainly odd enough; but it was not her doing. His knowledge of the position of these young people was not derived from her.

But, having got it, he had himself asked her to leave the whole affair in his hands, with that kindness and generosity which had more than once filled her heart with an unspeakable gratitude towards him.

"Well, you are a good fellow!" said Lavender to him, when he heard of this decision.

"Bah!" said the other, with a shrug of his shoulders, "I mean to amuse myself. I shall move you about like pieces on a chess-board, and have a pretty game with you. How to checkmate the king with a knight and a princess

in any number of moves you like-that is the problem; and my princess has a strong power over the king, where she is just now.

"It's an uncommonly awkward business, you know, Ingram," said Lavender, ruefully. "Well, it is. Old Mackenzie is a tough old fellow to deal with; and you'll do no good by making a fight of it. Wait. Difficulties don't look so formidable when you take them one by one, as they turn up. If you really love the girl, and mean to take your chance of getting her, and if she cares enough for you to sacrifice a good deal for your sake, there is nothing to fear."

"I can answer for myself, any way," said Lavender, in a tone of voice that Ingram rather liked the young man did not always speak with the same quietness, thoughtfulness, and modesty.

And how naturally and easily it came about, after all! They were back again at Borva. They had driven round and about Lewis, and had finished up with Stornoway; and, now that they had got back to the island in Loch Roag, the quaint little drawing-room had even to Lavender a homely and friendly look. The big stuffed fishes and the strange shells were old acquaintances; and he went to hunt up Sheila's music just as if he had known that dusky corner for years.

"Yes, yes!" called Mackenzie, "it iss the English songs we will try now."

He had a notion that he was himself rather a good hand at a part song-just as Sheila had innocently taught him to believe that he was a brilliant whistplayer when he had mastered the art of returning his partner's lead-but fortunately at this moment he was engaged with a long pipe and a big tumbler of hot whiskey and water. Ingram was similarly employed, lying back in a cane-bottomed easy chair, and placidly watching the smoke ascending to the roof. Sometimes he cast an eye to the young folks at the other end of the room. They formed a pretty sight, he thought. Lavender was a good-looking fellow enough; and there was some

thing pleasing in the quiet and assiduous fashion in which he waited upon Sheila, and in the almost timid way in which he spoke to her. Sheila herself sat at the piano, clad all in slate-grey silk, with a narrow band of scarlet velvet round her neck; and it was only by a chance turning of the head that Ingram caught the tender and handsome profile, broken only by the outward sweep of the long eyelashes.

"Love in thine eyes for ever plays," Sheila sang, with her father keeping time by patting his forefinger on the table.

"He in thy snowy bosom strays," sang Lavender; and then the two voices joined together—

"He makes thy rosy lips his care,

And walks the mazes of thy hair."

Or were there not three voices? Surely, from the back part of the room, the musicians could hear a wandering bass come in from time to time, especially at such portions as Ah, he never, ah, he never never touched thy heart! which old Mackenzie considered very touching. But there was something quaint, and friendly, and pleasant in the pathos of those English songs which made them far more acceptable to him than Sheila's wild and melancholy legends of the sea. He sang "Ah, he never, never touched thy heart!" with an outward expression of grief, but with much. inward satisfaction. Was it the quaint phraseology of the old duets that awoke in him some faint ambition after histrionic effect? At all events, Sheila proceeded to another of his favourites"All's Well"—and here, amid the brisk music, the old Highlandman had an excellent opportunity of striking in at random.

"The careful watch patrols the deck

To guard the ship from foes or wreck—" these two lines he had absolutely mastered, and always sang them, whatever might be the key he happened to light on, with great vigour. He soon went

From that point, however, Sheila and her companion wandered away into fields of melody whither the King of Borva could not follow them; so he was content to resume his pipe and listen placidly to the pretty airs. He caught but bits and fragments of phrases and sentiments; but they evidently were comfortable, merry, good-natured songs for young folks to sing. There was a good deal of love-making, and rosy morns appearing, and merry zephyrs, and such odd things, which, sung briskly and gladly by two young and fresh voices, rather drew the hearts of contemplative listeners to the musicians.

"They sing very well whatever," said Mackenzie, with a critical air, to Ingram, when the young people were so busily engaged with their own affairs as apparently to forget the presence of the others. "Oh, yes, they sing very well whatever; and what should the young folks sing about but making love, and courting, and all that?"

"Natural enough," said Ingram, looking rather wistfully at the two at the other end of the room. "I suppose Sheila will have a sweetheart some

day?"

'Oh, yes, Sheila will hef a sweetheart some day," said her father, goodhumouredly. "Sheila is a good-looking girl; she will hef a sweetheart some day."

She will marry too, I suppose," said Ingram, cautiously.

"Oh, yes, she will be marrying, Sheila will be marrying-what will be the life of a young girl if she does not marry?"

At this moment, as Ingram afterwards described it, a sort of "flash of inspiration" darted in upon him, and he resolved there and then to brave the wrath of the old king, and place all the conspiracy before him, if only the

music kept loud enough to prevent his being overheard.

"It will be hard on you to part with Sheila when she marries," said Ingram, scarcely daring to look up.

"Oh, ay, it will be that," said Mackenzie, cheerfully enough. "But it is everyone will hef to do that; and no great harm comes of it. Oh, no, it will

But

not be much whatever; and Sheila she will be very glad in a little while after, and it will be enough for me to see that she is ferry contented and happy. The young folk must marry, you will see, and what is the use of marrying if it is not when they are young? Sheila, she will think of none of these things. It was young Mr. MacIntyre of Sutherland-you hef seen him last year in Stornoway-he hass three thousand acres of a deer-forest in Sutherland-and he will be ferry glad to marry my Sheila. But I will say to him, 'It is not for me to say yes or no to you, Mr. MacIntyre; it is Sheila herself will tell you that.' But he wass afraid to speak to her; and Sheila herself will know nothing of why he came twice to Borva the last year."

"It is very good of you to leave Sheila quite unbiassed in her choice," said Ingram; "many fathers would have been sorely tempted by that deerforest."

Old Mackenzie laughed a loud laugh of derision, that fortunately did not stop Lavender's execution of "I would that my love would silently."

"What the teffle," said Mackenzie, "hef I to want a deer-forest for my Sheila Sheila is no fisherman's lass. She has plenty for herself, and she will marry just the young man she wants to marry, and no other one-that is what she will do, by Kott!"

All this was most hopeful. If Mackenzie had himself been advocating Lavender's suit, could he have said more? But notwithstanding all these frank and generous promises-dealing with a future which the old Highlandman considered as indefinitely remote— Ingram was still afraid of the announcement he was about to make.

"Sheila is fortunately situated," he said, "in having a father who thinks only of her happiness. But I suppose she has never yet shown a preference for anyone ?"

"Not for anyone but yourself," said her father, with a laugh.

And Ingram laughed too, but in an embarrassed way, and his sallow face grew darker with a blush. Was there not something painful in the unintentional implication that of course Ingram could not be considered a possible lover of Sheila's, and that the girl herself was so well aware of it that she could openly testify to her regard for him?

"And it would be a good thing for Sheila," continued her father, more gravely, "if there wass any young man about the Lewis that she would tek a liking to; for it will be some day I can no more look after her, and it would be bad for her to be left alone all by herself in the island."

"And don't you think you see before you now some one who might take on him the charge of Sheila's future?" said Ingram, looking towards Lavender.

"The English gentleman?" said Mackenzie, with a smile. "No; that any way is not possible."

I fancy it is more than possible," said Ingram, resolved to go straight at it. "I know for a fact that he would like to marry your daughter, and I think that Sheila, without knowing it herself almost, is well-inclined towards him."

The old man started up from his

chair.

"Eh what! my Sheila?"

"Yes, papa," said the girl, turning round at once.

She caught sight of a strange look on his face, and in an instant was by his side.

"Papa, what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing, Sheila, nothing," he said, impatiently. "I am a little tired of the music, that is all. But go on with the music. Go back to the piano, Sheila, and go on with the music; and Mr. Ingram and me, we will go outside for a little while."