—Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. ’ ‘No, sister, I know that, but—’ ‘You needn’t tell me. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone.
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