“Oh yes,” said Mackenzie, waking up—­“oh yes, we will see what is to be done.  There will be the boat wanted for the funeral—­” He recalled himself with an impatient gesture.  “Bless me!” he said, “what was I saying?  You must ask some one else—­you must ask Mr. Ingram.  Hef you not sent for Mr. Ingram?

“Oh yes, sir, I have sent to him; and he will most likely come in the afternoon.”

“Then there are the executors mentioned in the will—­that wass something you should know about—­and they will tell you what to do.  As for me, it is ferry little I will know about such things.”

“Perhaps your daughter, sir,” suggested Mrs. Paterson, “would tell me what she thinks should be done with the rooms.  And as for luncheon, sir, if you would wait—­”

“Oh, my daughter?” said Mr. Mackenzie, as if struck by a new idea, but determined all the same that Sheila should not have this new responsibility thrust on her—­“My daughter?—­well, you was saying, mem, that my daughter would help you?  Oh yes, but she is a ferry young thing, and you wass saying we must hef luncheon?  Oh yes, but we will not give you so much trouble, and we hef luncheon ordered at the other house whatever; and there is the young girl there that we cannot leave all by herself.  And you hef a great experience, mem, and whatever you do, that will be right:  do not have any fear of that.  And I will come round when you want me—­oh yes, I will come round at any time—­but my daughter, she is a ferry young thing, and she would be of no use to you whatever—­none whatever.  And when Mr. Ingram comes you will send him round to the place where my daughter is, for we will want to see him, if he hass the time to come.  Where is Shei—­where is my daughter?”

Sheila had quietly left the room and stolen into the silent chamber in which the dead woman lay.  They found her standing close by the bedside, almost in a trance.

“Sheila,” said her father, taking her hand, “come away now, like a good girl.  It is no use your waiting here; and Mairi—­what will Mairi be doing?”

She suffered herself to be led away, and they went home and had luncheon; but the girl could not eat for the notion that somewhere or other a pair of eyes were looking at her, and were hideously laughing at her, as if to remind her of the prophecy of that old woman, that her friends would sit down to a comfortable meal and begin to wonder what sort of mourning they would have.

It was not until the evening that Ingram called.  He had been greatly surprised to hear from Mrs. Paterson that Mr. Mackenzie had been there, along with his daughter; and he now expected to find the old King of Borva in a towering passion.  He found him, on the contrary, as bland and as pleased as decency would admit of in view of the tragedy that had occurred in the morning; and indeed, as Mackenzie had never seen Mrs. Lavender, there was less reason why he should wear the outward semblance of grief.  Sheila’s father asked her to go out of the room for a little while; and when she and Mairi had gone, he said cheerfully, “Well, Mr. Ingram, and it is a rich man you are at last.”