upon the mainland; which, poor girl, she would have been happier
without. For Aros was no place for her, with old Rorie the servant, and
her father, who was one of the unhappiest men in Scotland, plainly bred
up in a country place among Cameronians, long a skipper sailing out of
the Clyde about the islands, and now, with infinite discontent, managing
his sheep and a little 'long shore fishing for the necessary bread. If
it was sometimes weariful to me, who was there but a month or two, you
may fancy what it was to her who dwelt in that same desert all the year
round, with the sheep and flying sea-gulls, and the Merry Men singing and
dancing in the Roost!

CHAPTER II. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS.

It was half-flood when I got the length of Aros; and there was nothing
for it but to stand on the far shore and whistle for Rorie with the boat.
I had no need to repeat the signal. At the first sound, Mary was at the
door flying a handkerchief by way of answer, and the old long-legged
serving-man was shambling down the gravel to the pier. For all his
hurry, it took him a long while to pull across the bay; and I observed
him several times to pause, go into the stern, and look over curiously
into the wake. As he came nearer, he seemed to me aged and haggard, and
I thought he avoided my eye. The coble had been repaired, with two new
thwarts and several patches of some rare and beautiful foreign wood, the
name of it unknown to me.

'Why, Rorie,' said I, as we began the return voyage, 'this is fine wood.
How came you by that?'

'It will be hard to cheesel,' Rorie opined reluctantly; and just then,
dropping the oars, he made another of those dives into the stern which I
had remarked as he came across to fetch me, and, leaning his hand on my
shoulder, stared with an awful look into the waters of the bay.

'What is wrong?' I asked, a good deal startled.

'It will be a great feesh,' said the old man, returning to his oars; and
nothing more could I get out of him, but strange glances and an ominous
nodding of the head. In spite of myself, I was infected with a measure
of uneasiness; I turned also, and studied the wake. The water was still
and transparent, but, out here in the middle of the bay, exceeding deep.
For some time I could see naught; but at last it did seem to me as if
something dark--a great fish, or perhaps only a shadow--followed
studiously in the track of the moving coble. And then I remembered