She looked so noble standing before him, so fair and tall, her hair yellow as down, her eyes cool and calm and blue as night; her whole attitude so serene, assured and majestic, that Peter rose uneasily, left his glass unfinished, and went away with a very confused “good night.”

In the morning the first thing he did when he reached his office, was to send for the offending sailor.

“Geordie, my Margaret says there are plenty folk as bad as thou art; so, thou’lt just see to the steeking o’ the boat, an’ be ready to sail her—­or upset her—­i’ ten days again.”

“I’ll keep her right side up for Margaret Sinclair’s sake—­tell her I said that, Master.”

“I’se do no promising for thee Geordie.  Between wording an’ working is a lang road, but Kirkwall an’ Stromness kens thee for an honest lad, an’ thou wilt mind this—­things promised are things due.”

Insensibly this act of forbearance lightened Peter’s whole day; he was good-tempered with the world, and the world returned the compliment.  When night came, and he watched for Margaret on the sands, he was delighted to see that Ronald was with her.  The lad had come home and nothing was now remembered against him.  That night it was Ronald told him fairy-stories of great cities and universities, of miles of books and pictures, of wonderful machinery and steam engines, of delicious things to eat and drink.  Peter felt as if he must start southward by the next mail packet, but in the morning he thought more unselfishly.

“There are forty families depending on me sticking to the shop an’ the boats, Ronald, an’ I canna go pleasuring till there is ane to step into my shoes.”

Ronald Sinclair had all the fair, stately beauty and noble presence of his sister, but yet there was some lack about him easier to feel than to define.  Perhaps no one was unconscious of this lack except Margaret; but women have a grand invention where their idols are concerned, and create readily for them every excellency that they lack.  Her own two years’ study in an Edinburgh boarding-school had been very superficial, and she knew it; but this wonderful Ronald could read Homer and Horace, could play and sketch, and recite Shakespeare and write poetry.  If he could have done none of these things, if he had been dull and ugly, and content to trade in fish and wool, she would still have loved him tenderly; how much more then, this handsome Antinous, whom she credited with all the accomplishments of Apollo.

Ronald needed all her enthusiastic support.  He had left heavy college bills, and he had quite made up his mind that he would not be a minister and that he would be a lawyer.  He could scarcely have decided on two things more offensive to his father.  Only for the hope of having a minister in the family had Peter submitted to his son’s continued demands for money.  For this end he had bought books, and paid for all kinds of teachers and tours, and sighed over the cost of Ronald’s different hobbies.  And now he was not only to have a grievous disappointment, but also a great offence, for Peter Sinclair shared fully in the Arcadean dislike and distrust of lawyers, and would have been deeply offended at any one requiring their aid in any business transaction with him.