“It is very good of you to leave Sheila quite unbiased in her choice,” said Ingram:  “many fathers would have been sorely tempted by that deer forest.”

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 man 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 any one?”

“Not for any one 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 you don’t think you see before you now some one who might take on him the charge of Sheila’s future?” said Ingram, looking toward 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 toward 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.”

Mackenzie walked out of the room, and said aloud in the hall, “Ay, are you coming, Mr. Ingram?  It iss a fine night this night, and the wind is in a very good way for the weather.”