“Oh, but that is absurd. You timid young folks can’t act for yourselves. You want agents and instruments that have got hardened by use. Fancy the condition of our ancestors, you know, before they had the sense to invent steel claws to tear their food in pieces--what could they do with their fingers? I am going to be your knife and fork, Sheila, and you’ll see what I shall carve out for you. All you’ve got to do is to keep your spirits up, and believe that nothing dreadful is going to take place merely because some day you will be asked to marry. You let things take their ordinary course. Keep your spirits up--don’t neglect your music or your dinner or your poor people down in Borvapost--and you’ll see it will all come right enough. In a year or two, or less than that, you will marry contentedly and happily, and your papa will drink a good glass of whisky at the wedding and make jokes about it, and everything will be as right as the mail. That’s my advice; see you attend to it.” “You are very kind to me,” said the girl, in a low voice. “But if you begin to cry, Sheila, then I throw up my duties. Do you hear? Now look: there goes Mr. Lavender down to the boat with a bundle of rugs, and I suppose you mean me to imperil my precious life by sailing about these rocky channels in the moonlight? Come along down to the shore; and mind you please your papa by singing ‘Love in thine eyes’ with Mr. Lavender, and if you would add to that ‘The Minute Gun at Sea,’ why, you know, I may as well have my little rewards for intermeddling now, as I shall have to suffer afterward.” “Not through me,” said Sheila, in rather an uncertain voice; and then they went down to the Maighdean-mhara. PART IV. CHAPTER VIII. “O TERQUE QUATERQUE BEATE!” Consider what a task this unhappy man Ingram had voluntarily undertaken! Here were two young people presumably in love. One of them was laid under suspicion by several previous love affairs, though none of these, doubtless, had been so serious as the present. The other scarcely knew her own mind, or, perhaps, was afraid to question herself too closely, lest all the conflict between duty and inclination, with its fears and anxieties and troubles, should be too suddenly revealed. Moreover, this girl was the only daughter of a solitary and irascible old gentleman living in a remote island; and Ingram had not only undertaken that the love affairs of the young folks should come all right--thus assuming a responsibility which might have appalled the bravest--but was also expected to inform the King of Borva that his daughter was about to be taken away from him.