“The English gentleman?” said Mackenzie, with a smile. “No, that anyway 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 around 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.”
And then, as he went out to the front, he hummed aloud, so that Sheila should hear:
Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!
A friend! The word? Good-night! All’s well!
All’s well! Good-night! All’s well!
Ingram followed the old man outside with a somewhat guilty conscience suggesting odd things to him. Would it not be possible now to shut one’s ears for the next half hour? Angry words were only little perturbations in the air. If you shut your ears till they were all over, what harm could be done? All the big facts of life would remain the same. The sea, the sky, the hills, the human beings around you, even your desire of sleep for the night, and your wholesome longing for breakfast in the morning, would all remain, and the angry words would have passed away. But perhaps it was a proper punishment that he should now go out and bear all the wrath of this fierce old gentleman, whose daughter he had conspired to carry off. Mackenzie was walking up and down the path outside, in the cool and silent night. There was not much moon now, but a clear and lambent twilight showed all the familiar features of Loch Roag and the Southern hills, and down there in the bay you could vaguely make out the Maighdean-mharra rocking in the tiny waves that washed in on the white shore. Ingram had never looked on this pretty picture with a less feeling of delight!