to the sculling, and we watched the
receding boat from the shore head until she drew close to the
_Seagull_, and we saw Dan climb on board, and the skiff returning.

As we walked back to Alastair's, we saw Belle standing on a ridge of
high ground, with the morning light behind her--dark against the light,
and her eyes straining to the sea; and as we came closer I spoke,
thinking to take her away from her sorrow, but her dark eyes remained
fixed on the schooner, as though she had never heard me. There was a
little mist hanging over the sea.

We sat down to a meal of salted herrings in Alastair's kitchen, the
weans round us still sleepy and barefooted, and with tousled red locks,
which they flung from their eyes with a gesture very like a spirited
Hielan' pony tossing its mane; and when I looked from the door
again--which I was glad enough to do, for the reek was a little nippy
to my eyes--as I looked from the door I saw Belle returning, and with
her no other than Robin McKelvie of the Quay Inn. There was no sign of
the _Seagull_, for a fog had come down on the firth, and even the
melancholy pleasure of seeing Dan's ship again was taken from me.

McKelvie stood at the door, and his face was red with running, and
streaked with white in places with fatigue.

"My father thought ye would make for this place. Rob Beag's no' dead,"
he said; "the devil has more for him to do yet."

[1] Second sight.

CHAPTER XIV.

WE RETURN.

We made the great to-do in Alastair's kitchen between the exceeding
gladness of the news and the foolishness of our flight, and Alastair
himself was rowing in the fog after the _Gull_--only Belle said no
word, but went quietly behind a rick of peats close to the house, and
I, following her in my slow useless way, came on her suddenly, her arms
outstretched to the empty sea, and such a look of anguish on her face
that I was silent. No words at all came from her, but her bosom rose
and fell as she battled with her sorrow.

"The man's not deid," said I, for I felt that was the great news, but
little did I know the woman.

"Dead," she cries--"dead," and laughed. "Would that dog's death have
brought a tear to my eyes. Hamish, Hamish, I have lost my man."

And wondrous fierce and beautiful she was as I left her.

We made our way back by the drove road, Ronny McKinnon and me, and we
were silent for the most part, for there was that in my throat to keep
me from speaking, for Dan was gon