"I hope Miss Avon won’t let Tom Galbraith or anybody else meddle with the picture." says Angus Sutherland, with some emphasis. "Why, a yacht! Do you think anybody would let a yacht come close to rocks like these! As soon as you introduce any making-up like that, the picture is a sham. It is the real thing now, as it stands. Twenty years hence you could take up that piece of canvas, and there before you would be the very day that you spent here—it would be like finding your old life of twenty years before opened up to you with a lightning-flash. The picture is—why I should say it is invaluable, as it stands." At this somewhat fierce praise, Mary Avon colours a little. And then she says with a gentle hypocrisy— "Oh, do you really think there is—there is—some likeness to the place?" "It is the place itself!" says he warmly. "Because," she says, timidly, and yet with a smile, "one likes to have one’s work appreciated, however stupid it may be. And—and—if you think that—would you like to have it? Because I should be so proud if you would take it—only I am ashamed to offer my sketches to anybody——" "That!" said he, staring at the canvas as if the mines of Golconda were suddenly opened to him. But then he drew back. "Oh, no," he said; "you are very kind—but—but, you know, I cannot. You would think I had been asking for it." "Well," says Miss Avon, still looking down, "I never was treated like this before. You won’t take it? You don’t think it is worth putting in your portmanteau?" At this the young Doctor’s face grew very red; but he said boldly— "Very well, now, if you have been playing fast and loose, you shall be punished. I _will_ take the picture, whether you grudge it me or not. And I don’t mean to give it up now." "Oh," said she, very gently, "if it reminds you of the place, I shall be very pleased—and—and it may remind you too that I am not likely to forget your kindness to poor Mrs. Thompson." And so this little matter was amicably settled—though the Laird looked with a covetous eye on that rough sketch of the rocks of Canna, and regretted that he was not to be allowed to ask Tom Galbraith to put in a touch or two. And so back to the yacht, and to dinner in the silver clear evening; and how beautiful looked this calm bay of Canna, with its glittering waters and green shores, after the grim rocks and the heavy Atlantic waves!