enough, "will not save my poor Sheila. She will die of a broken heart.
I can see it in her face. And it is I who have done it--from first to
last it is I who have done it; and now I can do nothing to help her."

That became the burden and refrain of all his reflections. It was he
who had done this frightful thing. It was he who had taken away the
young Highland girl, his good Sheila, from her home, and ruined her
life and broken her heart. And he could do nothing to help her!




CHAPTER XVIII.


SHEILA'S STRATAGEM.


"We met Mr. Ingram to-day," said young Mosenberg ingenuously.

He was dining with Lavender, not at home, but at a club in St. James's
street; and either his curiosity was too great, or he had forgotten
altogether Ingram's warnings to him that he should hold his tongue.

"Oh, did you?" said Lavender, showing no great interest. "Waiter, some
French mustard. What did Ingram say to you?"

The question was asked with much apparent indifference, and the
boy stared. "Well," he said at length, "I suppose there is some
misunderstanding between Mrs. Lavender and Mr. Ingram, for they both