The first thing he did on coming home was to buy up his mother’s croft, re-thatch the old house, and put in a poor person to take care of it.

“Guess it may come handy some day,” he said.

His next act was worthy of the son of “Neale the Lord.”  Finding that Captain O’Neill had fallen deeply into debt, he bought up the braggart’s mortgages, turned him out of the Big House, and took up his own abode in it.

Twelve months later he made amends, after his own manner, by marrying one of the Captain’s daughters.  There were two of them.  Isabel, the elder, was a gentle and beautiful girl, very delicate, very timid, and most sweet when most submissive, like the woodland herbs which give out their sweetest fragrance when they are trodden on and crushed.  Bridget, the younger, was rather homely, rather common, proud of her strength of mind and will.

To the deep chagrin of the younger sister, my father selected the elder one.  I have never heard that my mother’s wishes were consulted.  Her father and my father dealt with the marriage as a question of business, and that was an end of the matter.  On the wedding day my father did two things that were highly significant.  He signed the parish register in the name of Daniel O’Neill by right of Letters Patent; and on taking his bride back to her early home, he hoisted over the tower of his chill grey house the stars and stripes of his once adopted country stitched to the flag of his native island.  He had talked less than “Neale the Lord,” but he had thought and acted more.

Two years passed without offspring, and my father made no disguise of his disappointment, which almost amounted to disgust.  Hitherto he had occupied himself with improvements in his house and estate, but now his restless energies required a wider field, and he began to look about him.  Ellan was then a primitive place, and its inhabitants, half landsmen, half seamen, were a simple pious race living in a sweet poverty which rarely descended into want.  But my father had magnificent schemes for it.  By push, energy and enterprise he would galvanise the island into new life, build hotels, theatres, casinos, drinking halls and dancing palaces, lay out race-courses, construct electric railways to the tops of the mountains, and otherwise transform the place into a holiday resort for the people of the United Kingdom.

“We’ll just sail in and make this old island hum,” he said, and a number of his neighbours, nothing loth to be made rich by magic—­advocates, bankers and insular councillors—­joined hands with him in his adventurous schemes.

But hardly had he begun when a startling incident happened.  The old Lord Raa of Castle Raa, head of the O’Neills, the same that had sworn at my grandmother, after many years in which he had lived a bad life abroad where he had contracted fatal maladies, returned to Ellan to die.  Being a bachelor, his heir would have been Captain O’Neill, but my mother’s father had died during the previous winter, and in the absence of direct male issue it seemed likely that both title and inheritance (which, by the conditions of an old Patent, might have descended to the nearest living male through the female line) would go to a distant relative, a boy, fourteen years of age, a Protestant, who was then at school at Eton.