"Oh, auntie, I am so glad Keith is going away now in the yacht! and you must not be vexed at all or troubled if he stays a long time; for what else can make him well again? Why, you know that he has not been Keith at all of late,--he is quite another man--I do not think any one would recognize him. And surely there can be no better cure for sleeplessness than the rough work of the yachting; and you know Keith will take his share, in despite of Hamish; and if he goes away to the South, they will have watches, and he will take his watch with the others, and his turn at the helm. Oh, you will see the change when he comes back to us!" The old lady's eyes had slowly filled with tears. "And do you think it is sleeplessness, Janet," said she, "that is the matter with our Keith? Ah, but you know better than that, Janet." Janet Macleod's face grew suddenly red; but she said, hastily,-- "Why, auntie, have I not heard him walking up and down all the night, whether it was in his own room or in the library? And then he is out before any one is up: oh yes, I know that when you cannot sleep the face grows white and the eyes grow tired. And he has not been himself at all--going away like that from every one, and having nothing to say, and going away by himself over the moors. And it was the night before last he came back from Kinloch, and he was wet through, and he only lay down on the bed, as Hamish told me, and would have slept there all the night, but for Hamish. And do you not think that was to get sleep at last that he had been walking so far, and coming through the shallows of Loch Scridain, too? Ah, but you will see the difference, auntie, when he comes back on board the _Umpire_, and we will go down to the shore, and we will be glad to see him that day." "Oh yes, Janet," the old lady said, and the tears were running down her face, "but you know--you know. And if he had married you, Janet, and stayed at home at Dare, there would have been none of all this trouble. And now--what is there now? It is the young English lady that has broken his heart; and he is no longer a son to me, and he is no longer your cousin, Janet; but a broken-hearted man, that does not care for anything. And you are very kind, Janet; and you would not say any harm of any one. But I am his mother--I--I--well, if the woman was to come here this day, do you think I would not speak? It was a bad day for us all that he went away--instead of marrying you, Janet." "But you know that could never have been, auntie," said the gentle-eyed cousin, though there was some conscious flush of pride in her cheeks. "I could never have married Keith." "But why, Janet?" "You have no right to ask me, auntie. But he and I--we did not care for each other--I mean, we never could have been married. I hope you will not speak about that any more, auntie."