wind blew about them, and the gray clouds hurried by, and the old,
strong-bearded man who shook the reins and gave the horses their heads
could have laughed aloud in his joy that he was driving his daughter
home. But Sheila--she sat there as one dead; and Mairi, timidly
regarding her, wondered what the impassable face and the bewildered,
sad eyes meant. Did she not smell the sweet strong smell of the
heather? Had she no interest in the great birds that were circling in
the air over by the Barbhas mountains? Where was the pleasure she used
to exhibit in remembering the curious names of the small lakes they
passed?

And lo! the rough gray day broke asunder, and a great blaze of fire
appeared in the west, shining across the moors and touching the blue
slopes of the distant hills. Sheila was getting near to the region of
beautiful sunsets and lambent twilights and the constant movement and
mystery of the sea. Overhead the heavy clouds were still hurried on
by the wind; and in the south the eastern slopes of the hills and the
moors were getting to be of a soft purple; but all along the west,
where her home was, lay a great flush of gold, and she knew that
Loch Roag was shining there, and the gable of the house at Borvabost
getting warm in the beautiful light.

"It is a good afternoon you will be getting to see Borva again," her
father said to her; but all the answer she made was to ask her father
not to stop at Garrana-hina, but to drive straight on to Callernish.
She would visit the people at Garra-na-hina some other day.

The boat was waiting for them at Callernish, and the boat was the
Maighdean-mhara.

"How pretty she is! How have you kept her so well, Duncan?" said
Sheila, her face lighting up for the first time as she went down the
path to the bright-painted little vessel that scarcely rocked in the
water below.

"Bekaas we neffer knew but that it was this week, or the week before,
or the next week you would come back, Miss Sheila, and you would want
your boat; but it wass Mr. Mackenzie himself, it wass he that did all
the pentin of the boat; and it iss as well done as Mr. McNicol could
have done it, and a great deal better than that mirover."

"Won't you steer her yourself, Sheila?" her father suggested, glad to
see that she was at last being interested and pleased.

"Oh yes, I will steer her, if I have not forgotten all the points that
Duncan taught me."

"And I am sure you hef not done that, Miss Sheila,"