healthy, so free from restraint, as that among the far Highland hills
and glens, where the clear mountain-air, scented with miles and miles
of heather, seemed to produce a sort of intoxication of good spirits
within one. Then the yachting round the wonderful islands of the
West--the rapid runs of a bright forenoon, the shooting of the wild
sea-birds, the scrambled dinners in the small cabin, the still nights
in the small harbors, with a scent of sea-weed abroad, and the white
stars shining down on the trembling water. Yes, he was going yachting
this autumn: in about a fortnight he hoped to start. His friend was at
present away up Loch Boisdale, in South Uist, and he did not know how
to get there except by going to Skye, and taking his chance of some
boat going over. Where would they go then? He did not know. Wherever
his friend liked. It would be enough for him if they kept always
moving about, seeing the strange sights of the sea and the air and the
lonely shores of those northern islands. Perhaps they might even try
to reach St. Kilda--

"Oh, Mr. Ingram, won't you go and see my papa?"

The cry that suddenly reached him was like the cry of a broken heart.
He started as from a trance, and found Sheila regarding him with a
piteous appeal in her face: she had been listening intently to all he
had said.

"Oh yes, Sheila," he said kindly, and quite forgetting that he was
speaking to her before strangers: "of course I must go and see your
papa if we are any way near the Lewis. Perhaps you may be there then?"

"No," said Sheila, looking down.