the galley till the vessel was urged through the water at great speed, and with a steady skimming motion. Sir Angus seemed to swell with the pride of possession as he surveyed his vessel with a seaman's eye, for in his veins, though by centuries diluted, ran the blood of the Norse sea-rovers. Their spirit had fallen upon him, and, standing beside the steersman, he looked the worthy descendant of a race of seakings, with his powerful build, alert stern face, and eyes that shone with the joy of the wave. The day was warm and fine; it was delightful to be afloat upon the bosom of the noble Firth. Lindisfarne watched Largs with its long stretch of firm white sand recede, and then followed his host to the bow, to enjoy an uninterrupted view ahead. The chief's galley was leading. MacDonald signed to the steersman to head for the outer channel, and soon they were passing between Bute and the Cumbraes. The larger Cumbrae showed green and fertile; the smaller, bracken grown. and with steep weather-smoothed cliff faces upon which the sun, high in the heavens, glittered dazzlingly. Slowly Bute sank astern, and the galley drew in close to the shores of Arran, to give the Englishman a better view of that lovely island. On they swept past wild shores and far-stretching beauty-haunted glens. It was a few hours after mid-day, and the shadow of Goatfell lay dark on Brodick Bay. Holy Island drifted by, and they continued skirting the Arran shores in the ever lengthening deepening shadows of the hills, so that when the galley at last rounded the southern point of the island, and headed for Kintyre, it seemed as though they had emerged from the gloom of some vast cathedral into the garish brightness of outer day. Evening came, and a red-gold sunset glow spread wide over land and water. The wind fell away, all was calm and still; and the sun's last rose tints lingered longest on the rippled cloudlets that covered the sky and went down in the far horizon to meet the sea, till they and it were lost in a thick haze. As the light faded out slowly, distant hills grew purple, then black and indistinct, and the gathering greyness of the twilight fell upon the scene. The little cabin had been prepared for the ladies of the party. Now, with one last look at the dance of the silvered wavelets, where the moon cast her broad bright track across the dark silent waters, they went below to fall quickly asleep lulled by the sound of the regularly dipped oars. Early next morning, MacDonald pointed out to Lindisfarne a spot on the rugged shores of Islay to which the galley was approaching. I may not be Lord of the Isles," said he, in a tone halfregretful, half-defiant, "but I'm Lord of Dunyvaig, and nothing short of the King's army will ever dislodge me!" Dunyvaig Castle stood out clear and bold upon its well chosen site as the galleys swept into Lagavulin Bay, with pipers playing gaily in their bows, and MacDonald was loyally welcomed among his own. A gun boomed out from Dunyvaig: it was followed immediately by another from a tower on the west side of the Bay, erected as a guard for the anchorage. A boat, gallantly handled by four oarsmen, put out from the shore, and came to rest gracefully beside the chief's galley. Into her stepped Sir Angus and his guests, preceded by a piper who stood playing in the bows while the boat was rowed swiftly to a small landing place built out from the western fortifications of the castle, where the water entrance was situated. "Welcome to Dunyvaig!" cried Sir Angus MacDonald heartily, when, after passing beneath two portcullises, and mounting endless narrow stairs between walls cut in the solid rock, where torches flaming in the hands of eager ghillies scarce lighted the soul-chilling gloom, his guests stood at last in a room on the main floor of the Castle, and drank of the welcoming cup prepared for them and for the Chief. CHAPTER XV A DAY IN ISLAY A few days after their return to Islay Sir Angus MacDonald and his daughters rode out a-hawking with their guests to the Mull of Oa. The day was beautiful and the party were in the highest spirits, enjoying to the full, despite their several anxieties, the exhilarating sport. Suddenly the Earl of Lindisfarne threw the falcon upon his wrist into the air, uttering as he did so, an exclamation that would have better suited the ears of camps than of ladies. Then, recollecting himself, he turned to his fair companions with apologies: 'That kestrel," said he, viewing the bird that was soaring round and round above them, "is but ill-tamed. She dug her talons into my wrist and I forgot me. Forgive, I pray you, my hasty words." "Tush, man!" quote MacDonald, "what matters it if the bird hurt thee? Islay maids are not so squeamish as courtbred damsels. A man of the world cannot comport himself like yonder priest." He pointed to a white-clad friar who had emerged from a cottage just as Lindisfarne threw up the falcon, and who now was hurrying away with folded arms thrust deep into his ample sleeves and head bowed down as if he prayed. Muriel MacDonald was riding next the Earl, upon his right. "You surprise me, my lord, for Grania is a perfect falcon," she said, "I have never known her aught but well behaved. She is Coll MacDonald's special pet." Sir Angus MacDonald looked round. 'Tis an Irish bird, Lindisfarne. Coll had her from Antrim and trained her for himself. He called her Grania after our winsome Irish cousin. Grania is Grace in our Gaelic tongue. Call her back, my lord, or she will be away to Dunad." "An Irish bird, ah!" cried the Englishman, and whistled for the falcon. It had been flying aimlessly, puzzled at being cast into the air when no game was in sight. Now it came back obediently and perched upon his wrist. He petted it, speaking softly to it, stroking its dainty feathers with his white jewelled fingers. "Take care, my lord," It was Ella MacDonald who spoke, and there was a mischievous light in her blue eyes. "Perhaps Grania shares her namesake's feelings towards Englishmen. That may be why she made you feel her claws." A slight frown crossed Lindisfarne's brow, and Grace MacDonald, who was riding near Ella, flashed at the fair speaker a look in which embarrassment and annoyance blended, but for which Ella's teasing words alone were not wholly responsible. Sir Angus MacDonald's allusion to Coll had touched Grace more keenly. She felt that she was never safe from reminders of him who had offered her all a man can give a woman. “Grania is tame enough now, Mistress Ella," said the Earl; and, indeed, the bird, evidently accustomed to being petted, appeared to enjoy and invite his caresses. I "Yes, it is a long time since she had such attention. wonder if her master is thinking of his Grania in Mull." Ella sighed a little, and then looked so pointedly at Grace that a hot flush mantled the Irish maiden's cheek. It was sufficiently plain that Ella knew of Coll's attach- 28 ment, and Grace began to be afraid that she had guessed the real cause of his flight to Mull. She wondered whether the girl would betray her to Lady Agnes, and, if so, whether Coll's mother would hate her who had presumed to slight her favourite son. But, then, her upper lip curled in self-contempt and she looked away towards the sea, marvelling how so short a breath as she had drawn of court atmosphere had sufficed to fill her with such vain ideas. During the days the Earl of Lindisfarne had been in Grace MacDonald's company, he had made the most of his opportunities to find favour with her, but she was difficult to lure from her attitude of indifference. In vain he flew the falcon of his finest compliments; in vain he dropped in speaking to the others words she could not fail to hear, baited with praise of her. Yet, despite her distrust and hatred of all members of the race that had harried and hunted those of her kin and country like wild beasts, Grace had been forced to admit to herself, as she listened to Sir Angus MacDonald's account of Lindisfarne's brave plan and its failure, and the Earl's own serious losses, that here was an Englishman who might be esteemed. Lindisfarne, brought into a circle of loyal Catholics, had found himself set up at once by the other members of MacDonald's household for admiration because of his efforts to aid the hapless Mary Stuart, but very much he craved the expression of Grace MacDonald's praise. Now he turned to her, and made an attempt to draw her into conversation. "Do you hawk much in Ireland, Mistress Grace?" he asked. “Ah, sir,” she replied with scarce a look at him, prey there, and not the hunters." He bit his lip. we are the "Pardon me, fair mistress! The question was inopportune. What is your sport?" Our sport?" Grace's voice had a bitterness that hurt him. It is the sport of the hare hunted to the death; of the wild bird swooped at by the eagle! We are likened to wolves by the tyrants that oppress us." Her breath came quickly, and her eyes flashed and Lindisfarne regarded her with even greater admiration than before, though her words stung him. He almost hated to belong to the race she so uncompromisingly called tyrants. The party were riding over a stretch of moorland in full sight of Laggan Bay, and the Big Strand. Sir Angus was a little in advance, whistling a martial air. Ella's thoughts turned upon the last time she and Hector had ridden along the Big Strand; she allowed her horse to lag behind a little. Muriel MacDonald turned to Lindisfarne : "That priest you saw a short time past, will be at Dunyvaig to-night to marry my father's ghillie-more to the girl of his choice. Afterwards he will sup with us. He will be a new acquaintance for you, and one who will be able to bear a better part in converse than we, who count even the going to Edinburgh a journey seldom to be undertaken; for he has travelled far and has visited those southern lands you know so well." The Englishman's rejoinder, though a polished compliment, came slower than was usual with him his tone lacked enthusiasm and his wonted spirits seemed to have deserted him; nor did they return during the remainder of the ride. In the evening the great hall of Dunyvaig Castle was the scene of festivities on a large scale among the servants and fighting men over the wedding of Neill MacDougal. The nuptial knot was tied by Father O'Moore in Dunyvaig chapel, and when Neill brought his Maggie back to the hall, a bride at last, the fun waxed furious. The Earl of Lindisfarne watched the sport for awhile, but there was a thoughtful furrow on his brow, which not even the sight of Highland dances, entered into with more freedom of action than grace of movement, could smooth away. There was something between him and peace, and when he was summoned to join the family at supper, he went a little reluctantly. "My lord, you might have been watching a funeral instead of a wedding feast, by your pensive air!" Lady Agnes Clan Connell rallied him when he appeared. Let me present you to Father O'Moore. He has been telling us of you. Nay, my lord, seek not to flee;" Lindisfarne had started unmistakably and looked indeed as though he wished himself elsewhere. He felt as if a sword was hanging over him suspended by a thread of cobweb texture that a breath might sever. Your good deeds are finding you out," Lady Agnes continued, "thanks to an Irish heart that never forgets a favour." The Earl was plainly mystified and ill at ease. He looked from Lady Agnes to the priest. "I know not what you mean, madam," he said; enlighten me, I pray you." Then Father O'Moore spoke. "You perhaps forget, my lord, a member of our Order whom you rescued from a horse |