ther, but out of the tinted
mist swooped first two and then three birds like angels appearing out of
a white heaven. Magnified by the mist Stair hardly recognized the green
and black summer uniform of the golden plover, but he heard their softly
wistful cries everywhere.

And as the mist shifted and flowed everywhere more and more were
revealed, doing sentry duty each on his tussock of bent-grass, while
behind his mate effaced herself upon her four eggs or led her little
flock into the deepest of the growing heather and among the white
meadows of cotton-grass which blew about them, more downy than even the
youngest nestling.

Stair made his way to the most easterly point of the isle--that nearest
to the Burnfoot Bay. Already the fog was bunching and billowing
uneasily. He noted that it was losing its steady, even pour over the
island. "It will lift," he muttered.

And from far away there came the sound of a schooner's mainsail being
brought down as her head came to the wind, the plunge of an anchor, and
then, through a gap in the gloom, the tall, bare mast of a ship in the
direction of the new house of Abbey Burnfoot.

"The _Good Intent_!" he muttered. "She must be very sure of herself to
come to anchor like that. Still that is Captain Penman's business. If he
can discharge his cargo, I can put it out of harm's way. We shall have
two hundred lads on the beach by midnight, and whatever force they may
bring against us, we can go through them with the strong hand!"

CHAPTER V

PATSY'S CONFESSIONS

Patsy had said nothing at home about her race over the moors to save the
Glenanmays lads from the press-gang, and when her Uncle Julian, having
talked to Captain Laurence, approached her on the subject, my lady
replied that she was at the Bothy of Blairmore to help her friend Jean
Garland.

"And where was Jean when the 'press' found you there alone?" said Julian
Wemyss, smiling.

"She was outside, keeping watch for her brothers," said Patsy, looking
at him with bright, clear eyes that could not be other than truthful.

But Uncle Julian had had much experience, and he only smiled more
knowingly than ever.

"And the famous costume which so witched the men of war?" he asked.

"Oh, that," said Patsy, "I had to run, and you can't run fast in a
frieze coat with many capes!"

"No." Uncle Julian nodded his head; "sandals cross-gartered, a bathing
dress and a sash! I would that I had been one of His Majesty's offi