interests or amuses her, lengthens her life. In _her_ life is the
breath of mine. She is more than my daughter; she is the
guardian-angel of the house. Go where she may, she carries the
air of heaven with her. When you say your prayers, sir, pray God
to leave my daughter here a little longer."

He sighed heavily; his head dropped again on his breast--he left
me.

The hour advanced; the evening meal was set by my bedside. Silent
Peter, taking his leave for the night, developed into speech. "I
sleep next door," he said. "Ring when you want me." My traveling
companion, taking the second bed in the room, reposed in the
happy sleep of youth. In the house there was dead silence. Out of
the house, the low song of the night-wind, rising and falling
over the lake and the moor, was the one sound to be heard. So the
first day ended in the hospitable Shetland house.

CHAPTER XX.

THE GREEN FLAG.

"I CONGRATULATE you, Mr. Germaine, on your power of painting in
words. Your description gives me a vivid idea of Mrs. Van
Brandt."

"Does the portrait please you, Miss Dunross?"

"May I speak as plainly as usual?"

"Certainly!"

"Well, then, plainly, I don't like your Mrs. Van Brandt."

Ten days had passed; and thus far Miss Dunross had made her way
into my confidence already!

By what means had she induced me to trust her with those secret
and sacred sorrows of my life which I had hitherto kept for my
mother's ear alone? I can easily recall the rapid and subtle
manner in which her sympathies twined themselves round mine; but
I fail entirely to trace the infinite gradations of approach by
which she surprised and conquered my habitual reserve. The
strongest influence of all, the influence of the eye, was not
hers. When the light was admitted into the room she was shrouded
in her veil. At all other times the curtains were drawn, the
screen was before the fire--I could see dimly the outline of her
face, and I could see no more. The secret of her influence was
perhaps partly attributable to the simple and sisterly manner in
which she spoke to me, and partly to the indescribable interest
which associated itself with her mere presence in the room. Her
father had told me that she "carried the air of heaven with her."
In my experience, I can only say that she carried something with
her which softly and inscrutably possessed itself of my will, and
made me as unconsciously obedient to her wishes as if I had been
her dog. The love-story of my boyhood, in all its particulars,
down even to the gift of the green flag; the mystic predictions
of Dame Dermody; the loss of every trace of my little Mary of
former days; the rescue of Mrs. Van Brandt from the river; the
apparition of her in the summer-house; the after-meetings with
her in Edinburgh and in London; the final parting which had left
its mark of sorrow on my face--all these events, all these
sufferi ngs, I confided to her as unreservedly as I have confided
them to these pages. And the result, as she sat by me in the
darkened room, was summed up, with a woman's headlong impetuosity
of judgment, in the words that I have just written--"I don't like
your Mrs. Van Brandt!"

"Why not?" I asked.

She answered instantly, "Because you ought to love nobody but
Mary."

"But Mary has been lost to me since I was a boy of thirteen."

"Be patient, and you will find her again. Mary is patient--Mary
is waiting for you. When you meet her, you will be ashamed to
remember that you ever loved Mrs. Van Brandt--you will look on
your separation from that woman as the happiest event of your
life. I may not live to hear of it--but _you_ will live to own
that I was right."

Her perfectly baseless conviction that time would yet bring about
my meeting with Mary, partly irritated, partly amused me.

"You seem to agree with Dame Dermody," I said. "You believe that
our two destinies are one. No matter what time may elapse, or
what may happen in the time, you believe my marriage with Mary is
still a marriage delayed, and nothing more?"

"I firmly believe it."

"Without knowing why--except that you dislike the idea of my
marrying Mrs. Van Brandt?"

She knew that this view of her motive was not far from being the
right one--and, womanlike, she shifted the discussion to new
ground.

"Why do you call her Mrs. Van Brandt?" she asked. "Mrs. Van


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