“Don’t be frightened, Sheila,” said her husband.  “They are quite safe.  There are no rocks in our rivers, and the wind does not give us squalls here like those on Loch Roag.  You will see hundreds of those boats by and by, and perhaps you yourself will go out in one.”

“Oh, never, never!” she said, almost with a shudder.

“Why, if the people here heard you they would not know how brave a sailor you are.  You are not afraid to go out at night by yourself on the sea, and you won’t go on a smooth inland river—­”

“But those boats:  if you touch them they must go over.”

She seemed glad to get away from the river.  She could not be persuaded of the safety of the slender craft of the Thames; and indeed for some time after seemed so strangely depressed that Lavender begged and prayed of her to tell him what was the matter.  It was simple enough.  She had heard him speak of his boating adventures.  Was it in such boats as that she had just seen? and might he not be some day going out in one of them, and an accident—­the breaking of an oar, a gust of wind—­

There was nothing for it but to reassure her by a solemn promise that in no circumstances whatever would he, Lavender, go into a boat without her express permission; whereupon Sheila was as grateful to him as though he had dowered her with a kingdom.

This was not the Richmond Hill of her fancy—­this spacious height, with its great mansions, its magnificent elms, and its view of all the westward and wooded country, with the blue-white streak of the river winding through the green foliage.  Where was the farm?  The famous Lass of Richmond Hill must have lived on a farm, but here surely were the houses of great lords and nobles, which had apparently been there for years and years.  And was this really a hotel that they stopped at—­this great building that she could only compare to Stornoway Castle?

“Now, Sheila,” said Lavender after they had ordered dinner and gone out, “mind you keep a tight hold on that leash, for Bras will see strange things in the Park.”

“It is I who will see strange things,” she said; and the prophecy was amply fulfilled.  For as they went along the broad path, and came better into view of the splendid undulations of woodland and pasture and fern, when on the one hand they saw the Thames, far below them, flowing through the green and spacious valley, and on the other hand caught some dusky glimpse of the far white houses of London, it seemed to her that she had got into a new world, and that this world was far more beautiful than the great city she had left.  She did not care so much for the famous view from the hill.  She had cast one quick look to the horizon, with one throb of expectation that the sea might be there.  There was no sea there—­only the faint blue of long lines of country apparently without limit.  Moreover, over the western landscape a faint haze prevailed, that increased in the distance and softened