down as if she were afraid to speak to him. This is no flaunting coquette, proud of her wilful caprice. And as for poor Angus, he does his best to propitiate her. They begin talkThey begin talking about the picturesqueness of various cities. Knowing that Miss Avon has lived most of her life, if she was not actually born, in London, he strikes boldly for London. What is there in Venice, what is there in the world, like London in moonlight--with the splendid sweep of her river-and the long lines of gas-lamps-and the noble bridges? But she is all for Edinburgh if Edinburgh had but the Moldau running through that valley, and the bridges of Prague to span it, what city in Europe could compare with it? And the Laird is so delighted with her approval of the Scotch capital that he forgets for the moment his Glaswegian antipathy to the rival city, and enlarges no less on the picturesqueness of it than on its wealth of historical traditions. There is not a stain of blood on any floor that he does not believe in. Then the Sanctuary of Holyrood what stories has he not to tell about that famous refuge? "I believe the mysterious influence of that Sanctuary has gone out and charmed all the country about Edinburgh," said our young Doctor. "I suppose you know that there are several plants, poisonous elsewhere, that are quite harmless in the neighborhood of Edinburgh. You remember I told you, Miss Avon, that evening we went out to Arthur's Seat ?" It was well done, Queen Titania must have thought, to expose this graceless flirt before her new friends. So she had been walking out to Arthur's Seat with him in the summer afternoons? "Y-yes," says the girl. There's noth borhood of Glesca also. ing so particular healthy about the climate of Edinburgh, as far as ever I heard tell of. Quite the reverse-quite the reverse. East winds-fogs-no wonder the people are shilpit looking creatures as a general rule-like a lot o' Paisley weavers. But the ceety is a fine ceety, I will admit that; and many's the time I've said to Tom Galbraith that he could get no finer thing to paint than the view of the High Street at night from Prince's Street-especially on a moonlight night. A fine ceety: but the people themselves!" here the Laird shook his head. And their manner o' speech is most vexsome-a long, singsong kind o' yaumering as if they had not sufficient manliness to say outright what they meant. If we are to have a Scotch accent, I prefer the accent-the very slight accent-ye hear about Glesca. I would like to hear what Miss Avon has to say upon that point. "I am not a very good judge, sir, says Miss Avon prudently. Then on deck. The leaden-black waves are breaking in white foam along the shores of Kingairloch and the opposite rocks of Eilean-na-Shuna; and we are still laboriously beating against the southerly wind; but those silver-yellow gleams in the south have increased, over the softly purple hills of Morvern and Duart. Black as night are the vast ranges of mountains in the north; but they are far behind us; we have now no longer any fear of a white shaft of lightning falling from the gloom overhead. The decks are dry now; camp-stools are in requisition; there is to be a consultation about our future plans after the White Dove has been beached for a couple of days. The Laird admits that, if it had been three days or four days, he would like to run through to Glasgow and to Strathgovan, just to see how they are getting on with the gass-lamps in the Mitherdrum Road; but, as it is, he will write for a detailed report; hence he is free to go wherever we wish. Miss Avon, interrogated, answers that she thinks she must leave us and set out for London, whereupon she is bidden to hold her tongue and not talk foolishness. Our Doctor, also interrogated, looks down on the sitting parliament-he is standing at the tiller-and laughs. "Don't be too sure of getting to Castle Osprey to-night," he says, "whatever your plans may be. The breeze is falling off a bit. But you may put me down as willing to go anywhere with you, if you will let me come. This decision seemed greatly to delight his hostess. She said we could not do without him. She was herself ready to go anywhere now-eagerly embraced the youth's suggestion that there were, according to John of Skye's account, vast numbers of seals in the bays on the western shores of Knadbale; and at once assured the Laird, who said he particularly wanted a sealskin or two and some skarts' feathers for a young lady, that he should not be disappointed. Knapdale, then, it was to be. But in the mean time? Dinner found us in a dead calm. After dinner, when we came on deck, the sun had gone down; and in the pale, tender blue-gray of the twilight, the golden star of the Lismore light-house was already shining. Then we had our warning lights put up -the port red light shedding a soft crimson glow on the bow of the dingay, the starboard green light touching with a cold, wan color the iron shrouds. crown all, as we were watching the dark shadows of Lismore island, a thin, white, vivid line-like the edge of a shillingappeared over the low hill; and then the full moon rose into the partially clouded sky. It was a beautiful night. To But we gave up all hope of reaching Castle Osprey. The breeze had quite gone; the calm sea slowly rolled. We went below to books, draughts, and what not, Angus Sutherland alone remaining on deck, having his pipe for his companion. It was about an hour afterward that we were startled by sounds on deck; and presently we knew that the White Dove was again flying through the water. The women took some little time to get their shawls and things ready; had they known what was awaiting them, they would have been more alert. For no sooner were we on deck than we perceived that the White Dove was tearing through the water without the slightest landmark or light to guide her. The breeze that had sprung up had swept before it a bank of sea-fog-a most unusual thing in these windy and change able latitudes; and so dense was this fog that the land on all sides of us had disappeared, while it was quite impossible to say where Lismore light-house was. Angus Sutherland had promptly surrendered the helm to John of Skye, and had gone forward. The men on the lookout at the bow were themselves invisible. “Oh, it is all right, mem!'' called out John of Skye, through the dense fog, in answer to a question. "I know the lay o' the land very well, though I do not see it. And I will keep her down to Duart, bekass of the tide. And then he called out, Round slews her head, with blocks and sails clattering and flapping; there is a scuffle of making fast the lee sheets; then once more the White Dove goes plunging into the unknown. The nonexperts see nothing at all but the fog; they have not the least idea whether Lismore light-house-which is a solid object to run against-is on port or starboard bow, or right astern, for the matter of that. They are huddled in a group about the top of the companion. They can only listen and wait. the shrouds; but he is not quite up at the cross-trees when the voice of John of Skye is heard again. "Mr. Sutherland!" "All right, John !" and the dusky figure comes stumbling down and across the loose sheets on deck. "If ye please, sir," says John of Skye; and the well-known formula means that Angus Sutherland is to take the helm. Captain John goes forward to the bow; the only sound around us is the surging of the unseen waves. I hope you are not frightened, Miss Avon," says Mr. Smith quite cheerfully, though he is probably listening, like the rest of us, for the sullen roaring of breakers in the dark. the hills along the horizon all black under the clear and solemn skies. It is a pleasant sail into the smooth harbor on this enchanted night; the far windows of Castle Osprey are all aglow; the mariners are to rest for a while from the travail of the sea. And as we go up the moonlit road, the Laird is jocular enough, and asks Mary Avon, who is his companion, whether she was prepared to sing "Lochaber no more!" when we were going blindly through the mist. But our young Doctor remembers that hour or so of mist for another reason. There was something in the sound of the girl's voice he cannot forget. The touch of her hand was slight; but his arm has not even yet parted with "No-I am bewildered-1 don't know the thrill of it. what it is all about." "You need not be afraid," Angus Sutherland says to her abruptly, for he will not have the Youth interfere in such matters, "with Captain John on board. He sees better in a fog than most men in daylight." "We are in the safe-keeping of one greater than any Captain John," says the Laird, simply and gravely; he is not in any alarm. Then a call from the bow. "Helm hard down, sir!" "Hard down it is, John !"' Then the rattle again of sheets and sails; and as she swings round again on the other tack, what is that vague, impalpable shadow one sees-or fancies one sees on the starboard bow? "Is that the land, John ?" Angus Sutherland asks as the skipper comes aft. Oh, aye!" says he with a chuckle. "I was thinking to myself it wass the loom of Duart I sah once or twice. And I wass saying to Hector if it wass his sweetheart he will look for he will see better in the night." Then by and by this other object, to which all attention is summoned the fog grows thinner and thinner; some one catches sight of a pale, glimmering light on our port quarter; and we know that we have left Lismore light-house in our wake. And still the fog grows thinner, until it is suffused with a pale blue radiance; then suddenly we sail out into the beautiful moonlight, with CHAPTER XXVIII. HIS LORDSHIP. MISS AVON is seated in the garden in front of Castle Osprey, under the shade of a drooping ash. Her book lies neglected beside her, on the iron seat ; she is idly looking abroad on the sea and the mountains, now all aglow in the warm light of the afternoon. There is a clanging of a gate below. Presently up the steep gravel path comes a tall and handsome young fellow, in full shooting accoutrement, with his gun over his shoulder. Her face instantly loses its dreamy expression. She welcomes him with a cheerful "Good-evening!" and asks what sport he has had. For answer he comes across the greensward, places his gun against the trunk of the ash, takes a seat beside her, and puts his hands round one knee. "It is a long story, says the Youth. "Will it bore you to hear it? I've seen how the women in a country house dread the beginning of the talk at dinner about the day's shooting, and yet give themselves up, like the martyrs and angels they are; and-and it is very different from hunting, don't you know, for there the women can talk as much as anybody." Oh! but I should like to hear, really," says she. "It was so kind of a stranger on board a steamer to offer you a day's shooting." 'Well, it was,' says he;" and the place has been shot over only once-on the 12th. Very well; you shall hear the whole story. I met the keeper by appointment, down at the quay. I don't know what sort of a fellow he is-Highlander or Lowlander-I am not such a swell at those things as my uncle is; but I should have said he talked a most promising mixture of Devonshire, Yorkshire, and Westmoreland-" What was his name?" "I don't know," says the other leisurely. "I called him Donald, on chance; and he took to it well enough.. I confess I thought it rather odd he had only one dog with him-an old retriever; but then, don't you know, the moor had been shot over only once; and I thought we might get along. As we walked along to the hill Donald says, 'Dinna tha mind, sir, if a blackcock gets up; knock un ower, knock un ower, sir.' At this point Miss Avon most unfairly bursts out laughing. "Why," she says, what sort of countryman was he if he talked like that? That is how they speak in plays about the colliery districts." "Oh, it's all the same!" says the young man, quite unabashed. I gave him my bag to carry, and put eight or ten cartridges in my pockets. A few mower, sir; a few mower, sir,' says Donald, and crams my pockets full. Then he would have me put cartridges in my gun even before we left the road; and as soon as we began to ascend the hill I saw he was on the outlook for a straggler or two, or perhaps a hare. But he warned me that the shooting had been very bad in these districts this year; and that on the 12th the rain was so persistent that scarcely anybody went Where could we have been on the 12th? surely there was no such rain with us ?" out. this moor as part of his shooting last year; and I assured Donald I did not hunger after slaughter. So we climbed higher and higher. I found Donald a most instructive companion. He was very great on the ownership of the land about here; and the old families, don't you know; and all that kind of thing. I heard a lot about the MacDougalls, and how they had all their possessions confiscated in 1745; and how, when the Government pardoned them, and ordered the land to be restored, the Campbells and Breadalbane, into whose hands it had fallen, kept all the best bits for themselves. I asked Donald why they did not complain; he only grinned; I suppose they were afraid to make a row. Then there was one MacDougall, an admiral or captain, don't you know; and he sent a boat to rescue some shipwrecked men, and the boat was swamped. Then he would send another; and that was swamped too. The Government, Donald informed me, wanted to hang him for his philanthropy; but he had influential friends; and he was let off on the payment of a large sum of money-I suppose out of what the Dukes of Argyll and Breadalbane had left him." The Youth calmly shifted his hands to the other knee. "You see, Miss Avon, this was all very interesting; but I had to ask Donald where the birds were. I'll let loose the doag now,' says he. Well; he did So. You would have thought he had let loose a sky-rocket! It was off and away-up hill and down dale—and all his whistling wasn't of the slightest use. 'He's a bit wild,' Donald had to admit ; but if I had kent you were agoin' shootin' earlier in the morning, I would have given him a run or two to take the freshness hoff. But on a day like this, sir, there's no scent; we will just have to walk them up; they'll lie as close as a water-hen.' So we left the dog to look after himself; and on we pounded. Do you see that long ridge of rugged hill ?" He pointed to the coast-line beyond the bay. "Yes." We had to climb that, to start with; and not even a glimpse of a rabbit all the way up. Ave a care, sir,' says Donald; and I took down my gun from my shoulder, expecting to walk into a whole covey at least. 'His lordship shot a brace and a alf of grouse on this wery knoll the last day he shot over the moor last year.' And now there was less talking, don't you know; and we went cautiously through the heather, working every bit of it, until we got right to the end of the knoll. 'It's fine heather,' says Donald; bees would dae well here. On we went; and Donald's information began again. He pointed. out a house on some distant island where Alexander III. was buried. But where are the birds?' I asked of him at last. 'Oh,' says he, his lordship was never greedy after the shootin'! A brace or two afore luncheon was all he wanted. He baint none o' your greedy ones, he baint. His lordship shot a hare on this very side last year-a fine long shot.' We went on again: you know what sort of a morning it was, Miss Avon ?" "It was hot enough even in the shelter of the trees." "Up there it was dreadful: not a breath of wind: the sun blistering. And still we ploughed through that knee-deep heather, with the retriever sometimes coming within a mile of us; and Donald back to his old families. It was the MacDonnells now; he said they had no right to that name; their proper name was MacAlister-Mack Mick Alister, I think he said. 'But where the dickens are the birds?' I asked. 'If we get a brace afore luncheon, we'll do fine,' said he; and then he added, 'There's a braw cold well down there that his lordship aye stopped at.' The hint was enough; we had our dram. Then we went on, and on, and on, and on, until I struck work, and sat down, and waited for the luncheon basket." "We were so afraid Fred would be late," she said; "the men are all so busy down at the yacht." "What did it matter?'' the Youth said resignedly. "I was being instructed. He had got further back still now, to the Druids, don't you know, and the antiquity of the Gaelic language. What was the river that ran by Rome?' 'The Tiber,' I said. And what,' he asked, Tober in Gaelic but a spring or fountain?' And the Tamar in Devonshire was the same thing. And the various Usks-uska, it seems, is the Gaelic for was water. Well, I'm hanged if I know what that man did not talk about !'' "But surely such a keeper must be invaluable," remarked the young lady innocently. "Perhaps. I confess I got a little bit tired of it; but no doubt the poor fellow was doing his best to make up for the want of birds. However, we started again after luncheon. And now we came to place after place where his lordship had performed the most wonderful feats last year. And, mind you, the dog wasn't ranging so wild now; if there had been a ghost of a shadow of a feather in the whole district we must have seen it. Then we came to another well where his lordship used to stop for a drink. Then we arrived at a crest where no one who had ever shot on the moor had ever failed to get a brace or two. A brace or two! What we flushed was a covey of sheep that flew like mad things down the hill. Well, Donald gave in at last. He could not find words to express his astonishment. His lordship had never come along that highest ridge without getting at least two or three shots. And when I set out for home, he still stuck to it; he would not let me take the cartridges out of my gun; he assured me his lordship never failed to get a snipe or a blackcock on the way home. Confound his lordship!" "And is that all the story?" says the young lady, with her eyes wide open. "Yes, it is," says he, with a tragic gloom on the handsome face. 64 You have not brought home a single bird?" 66 "Not a feather !-never saw one." Not even a rabbit?" "Nary rabbit !" 44 Why, Fred was up here a short time ago, wanting a few birds for the yacht. "Oh, indeed," says he, with a sombre contempt. "Perhaps he will go and ask his lordship for them. In the mean time, I'm going in to dress for dinner. I suppose his lordship would do that, too, alter having shot his thirty brace." You must not, anyway, she says. "There is to be no dressing for dinner to-day; we are all going down to the yacht after." 66 "At all events," he says, "I must |