on the fells.
"Careless fellows," she said, "that must have been Stair's band. For
both Fergus and Agnew are more careful!"

Indeed, the trail by which the laden ponies had passed was still clearly
evident, and Jean was roused to anger against the headstrong brother who
had risked bringing all about the house into trouble.

"The others went by the bed of the burn," she said, "why could not
Stair?"

Looking seaward, they saw all things more clearly than usual--the pause
before a storm from the west, prophesied Jean Garland. The island at the
Abbey Burnfoot divided itself into two peaks. They could see the houses
at Donnahadee, and the boats turning sharply about to make for Belfast
Lough, showing a sudden broadside of white canvas as they did so. But
little they minded. At present the sky was glorious, the sea a mirror,
and here was the Maidens' Cove, into which they dipped from the cliff
edge, as suddenly as a kite swoops from the sky. In a moment they were
lost to sight, and only the tinkle of their laughter among the blue,
purple and creamy reflected lights of the cove told where they were.

Outside the sheltered sea rocked and laved the sands with a pleasant
swishing invitation. Presently they looked out from the low mouth of the
cove. All seemed still and lonely, and they were about to step down into
the clear green water of the Atlantic, when a noise came to their ears.
It was the sound of men rowing--many men, and many men at that time and
place meant the pinnace of a King's ship. The thought of Stair's
careless bridle-track high on the heathery side of the fell tortured the
mind of his sister. What could they want? It was too early in the day
for any surprise work in the interests of the Excise. There were no
smuggling cellars near to search--but at that moment the girls of one
accord drew in their heads. They moved stealthily into the dark of the
cove. Here they could not be observed, but they could see a boat's crew
of seamen which went past rapidly in the direction of Abbey Burnfoot,
the salt water sparkling in a rain of silver and pearl from the oars,
and an officer sitting spick and span at the tiller-ropes.

The next moment they were gone and in the clear submerged dark of the
purple dulse that shaded the cavern mouth the girls looked at one
another with dismay in their eyes.

"Can they be going to take Uncle Julian?" said Patsy.

"Uncle Julian--no," exclaimed Jean Garland, "of course not--what woul