“It is important that I should see her,” said Ranald, after a few moments' thought. “I shall wait.” Had Miss St. Clair known him better she would have noticed with some concern the slow fires kindling in his eyes. As it was she became indignant. “That, Mr. Macdonald, you shall not; and allow me to say frankly that your boldness--your insolence--I may say, is beyond all bounds.” “Insolence, and when?” Ranald was very quiet. “You come to the house of your employer, whom you have insulted, and demand to see his daughter.” “I have a right to see her.” “Right? What right have you, pray?” Then Ranald stood up and looked Miss St. Clair full in the face with eyes fairly alight. “Miss St. Clair, have you ever known what it is to love with all your soul and heart?” Miss St. Clair gasped. “Because if not, you will not understand me; if you have you will know why I must see Maimie. It is seven years now since I began to love her. I remember the spot in the woods; I see the big tree there behind her and the rising ground stretching away to the right. I see the place where I pulled her out of the fire. Every morning since that time I have waked with the thought of her; every night my eyes have closed with a vision of her before me. It is for her I have lived and worked. I tell you she is mine! I love her! I love her, and she loves me. I know it.” His words came low, fierce, and swift. Miss St. Clair stood breathless. What a man he looked and how handsome he was! With but a moment's pause Ranald went on, but his voice took a gentler tone. “Miss St. Clair, do you understand me? Yes, I know you do.” The blood came flowing suddenly to her thin cheeks. “You say she is out with Captain De Lacy, and you mean me to think that she is to give herself to him. He loves her, I know, but I say she is mine! Her eyes have told me that. She is mine, I tell you, and no man living will take her from me.” The fire that always slumbered in his eyes was now blazing in full fury. The great passion of his life was raging through his soul, vibrating in his voice, and glowing in his dark face. Miss St. Clair sat silent, and then motioned him to a seat. “Mr. Macdonald,” she said, with grave courtesy, “you are too late, I fear. I did not realize--Maimie will never be yours. I know my niece.” At the sad earnestness of her voice, Ranald's face began to grow pale. “I will wait for her,” he said, quietly. “I beg you will not.” “I will wait,” he repeated, with lips tight pressed. “It is vain, Mr. Macdonald, I assure you. Spare yourself and her. I know what--I could have--” Her voice grew husky. “I will wait,” once more replied Ranald, the lines of his face growing tense.