r."

"But the sea-water," said Hamish, gravely; "there will no harm come to
you of the sea-water."

"I want to have as little as possible of either sea-water or
rain-water," said Mr. Ogilvie, with decision, "I believe Macleod is half
an otter himself."

Hamish did not like this, but he only said, respectfully.

"I do not think Sir Keith is afraid of a shower of rain whatever."

These gloomy anticipations were surely uncalled for; for during the
whole of the past week the Western Isles had basked in uninterrupted
sunlight, with blue skies over the fair blue seas, and a resinous warmth
exhaling from the lonely moors. But all the same, next morning broke as
if Mr. Ogilvie's forebodings were only too likely to be realized. The
sea was leaden-hued and apparently still, though the booming of the
Atlantic swell into the great caverns could be heard; Staffa, and Lunga,
and the Dutchman were of a dismal black; the brighter colors of Ulva and
Colonsay seemed coldly gray and green; and heavy banks of cloud lay
along the land, running out to Ru-Treshanish. The noise of the stream
rushing down through the fir-wood close to the castle seemed louder than
usual, as if rain had fallen during the night. It was rather cold, too:
all that Lady Macleod and Janet could say failed to raise the spirits of
their guest.

But when Macleod--dressed in his homespun tartan of yellow and
black--came round from the kennels with the dogs, and Hamish, and the
tall red-headed lad Sandy, it appeared that they considered this to be
rather a fine day than otherwise, and were eager to be off.

"Come along, Ogilvie." Macleod cried, as he gave his friend's gun to
Sandy, but shouldered his own. "Sorry we haven't a dog-cart to drive you
to the moor, but it is not far off."

"I think a cigar in the library would be the best thing for a morning
like this," said Ogilvie, rather gloomily, as he put up the collar of
his shooting-jacket, for a drop or two of rain had fallen.

"Nonsense, man! the first bird you kill will cheer you up."

Macleod was right; they had just passed through the wood of young
larches close to Castle Dare, and were ascending a rough stone road that
led by the side of a deep glen, when a sudden whir close by them
startled the silence of this gloomy morning. In an instant Macleod had
whipped his gun from his shoulder and thrust it into Ogilvie's hands. By
the time the young man had full-cocked the right barrel and taken a
quick aim, t