“Perhaps it will not, but it is looking very bad to-day,” said Sheila. “Well, I don’t care,” said the young man, “though it should rain the skies down, if only you would keep in doors, Sheila. But you do go out in such a reckless fashion. You don’t seem to reflect that it is raining.” “I do not get wet,” she said. “Why, when you came up from the shore half an hour ago your hair was as wet as possible, and your face all red and gleaming with the rain.” “But I am none the worse. And I am not wet now. It is impossible that you will always keep in a room if you have things to do; and a little rain does not hurt any one.” “It occurs to me, Sheila,” he observed slowly, “that you are an exceedingly obstinate and self-willed young person, and that no one has ever exercised any proper control over you.” She looked up for a moment with a sudden glance of surprise and pain; but she saw in his eyes that he meant nothing, and she went forward to him, putting her hand in his hand, and saying with a smile, “I am very willing to be controlled.” “Are you really?” “Yes.” “Then hear my commands. You shall _not_ go out in time of rain without putting something over your head or taking an umbrella. You shall _not_ go out in the Maighdean-mhara without taking some one with you besides Mairi. You shall never, if you are away from home, go within fifty yards of the sea, so long as there is snow on the rocks.” “But that is so very many things already; is it not enough?” said Sheila. “You will faithfully remember and observe these rules?” “I will.” “Then you are a more obedient girl then I imagined or expected; and you may now, if you are good, have the satisfaction of offering me a glass of sherry and a biscuit, for, rain or no rain, Lewis is a dreadful place for making people hungry.”