"Shenac, I have asked Cousin Shenac to be my wife." Shenac stood
perfectly still in her surprise and dismay. Yes, she _ was_ dismayed.
I have heard it said that the tidings of a brother's engagement rarely
bring unmixed pleasure to a sister. I daresay there is some truth in
this. Many sisters make their brothers their first object in life--
pride themselves on their talents, their worth, their success, live in
their lives, glory in their triumphs; till a day comes when it is softly
said of some stranger, or some friend--it may be none the pleasanter to
hear because it is a friend--"She is more to him than you could ever
be." Is it only to jealous hearts, ignoble minds, that such tidings
come with a shock of pain? Nay, the truer the heart the keener the
pain. It may be short, but it is sharp. The second thought may be, "It
is well for him; I am glad for him." But the pang is first, and
inevitable.
Allister had been always first, after Hamish, in Shenac's heart--perhaps
not even after Hamish. She had never thought of him in connection with
any change of this kind. In all her plans for the future, no thought of
possible separation had come. She stood perfectly still, till her
brother touched her.
"Well, Shenac?"
Then she moved on without speaking. She was searching about among her
astonished and dismayed thoughts for something to say, for she felt that
Allister was waiting for her to speak. At last she made a grasp at the
question they had been discussing, and said hurriedly,--
"But there is nothing to vex Shenac in that, surely?"
"No; unless she is right in thinking that you will not be glad too."
"I am glad it is Shenac. I would rather it would be Shenac than any one
else in the whole world--"
"I was sure of it," said her brother, kissing her fondly.