The word had escaped her unwillingly, and it was accompanied by a quick upturning of the face and a frightened look in the beautiful eyes. “Do you wish me to come back?” he said. “I should not wish you to go way from the Lewis through any fault of mine, and say that we should never see you again,” said the girl in measured tones, as if she were nerving herself to make the admission, and yet fearful of saying too much. By this time Mackenzie and Ingram had gone around the big wall of the light-house; there were no human beings on this lonely bit of heath but themselves. Lavender stopped her and took her hand, and said, “Don’t you see, Sheila, how I must never come back to Lewis if all this is to be forgotten? And all I want you to say is, that I may come some day to see if you can make up your mind to be my wife. I don’t ask that yet; it is out of the question, seeing how short a time you have known anything about me, and I cannot wish you to trust me as I can trust you. It is a very little thing I ask--only to give me a chance at some future time, and then, if you don’t care for me sufficiently to marry me, or if anything stands in the way, all you need do is to send me a single word, and that will suffice. This is no terrible thing that I beg from you, Sheila. You needn’t be afraid of it.” But she was afraid; there was nothing but fear and doubt and grief in her eyes, as she gazed in the unknown world laid open before her. “Can’t you ask someone to tell you that it is nothing dreadful--Mr. Ingram, for example?” “I could not.” “Your papa, then,” he said, driven to this desperate resource by his anxiety to save her from pain. “Not yet--not just yet,” she said, almost wildly; “for how could I explain to him? He would ask me what my wishes were; what could I say? I do not know; I cannot tell myself; and--and--I have no mother to ask.” And here all the strain of self-control gave way, and the girl burst into tears. “Sheila, dear Sheila,” he said, “why don’t you trust your own heart, and let that be your guide? Won’t you say this one word, _Yes_, and tell me that I am to come back to Lewis some day, and ask to see you, and get a message from one look of your eyes? Sheila, may not I come back?” If there was a reply it was so low that he scarcely heard it; but somehow--whether from the small hand that lay in his, or from the eyes that sent one brief message of trust and hope through their tears--his question was answered; and from that moment he felt no more misgivings, but let his love for Sheila shine out and blossom in whatever light of fancy and imagination he could bring to bear on it, without any doubts as to the future.