And lo! the rough gray day broke asunder, and a great blaze of fire appeared in the west, shining across the moors and touching the blue slopes of the distant hills.  Sheila was getting near to the region of beautiful sunsets and lambent twilights and the constant movement and mystery of the sea.  Overhead the heavy clouds were still hurried on by the wind; and in the south the eastern slopes of the hills and the moors were getting to be of a soft purple; but all along the west, where her home was, lay a great flush of gold, and she knew that Loch Roag was shining there, and the gable of the house at Borvabost getting warm in the beautiful light.

“It is a good afternoon you will be getting to see Borva again,” her father said to her; but all the answer she made was to ask her father not to stop at Garrana-hina, but to drive straight on to Callernish.  She would visit the people at Garra-na-hina some other day.

The boat was waiting for them at Callernish, and the boat was the Maighdean-mhara.

“How pretty she is!  How have you kept her so well, Duncan?” said Sheila, her face lighting up for the first time as she went down the path to the bright-painted little vessel that scarcely rocked in the water below.

“Bekaas we neffer knew but that it was this week, or the week before, or the next week you would come back, Miss Sheila, and you would want your boat; but it wass Mr. Mackenzie himself, it wass he that did all the pentin of the boat; and it iss as well done as Mr. McNicol could have done it, and a great deal better than that mirover.”

“Won’t you steer her yourself, Sheila?” her father suggested, glad to see that she was at last being interested and pleased.

“Oh yes, I will steer her, if I have not forgotten all the points that Duncan taught me.”

“And I am sure you hef not done that, Miss Sheila,” Duncan said, “for there wass no one knew Loch Roag better as you, not one, and you hef not been so long away; and when you tek the tiller in your hand it will all come back to you, just as if you wass going away from Borva the day before yesterday.”

She certainly had not forgotten, and she was proud and pleased to see how well the shapely little craft performed its duties.  They had a favorable wind, and ran rapidly along the opening channels, until in due course they glided into the well-known bay over which, and shining in the yellow light from the sunset, they saw Sheila’s home.

Sheila had escaped so far the trouble of meeting friends, but she could not escape her friends in Borvabost.  They had waited for her for hours, not knowing when the Clansman might arrive at Stornoway; and now they crowded down to the shore, and there was a great shaking of hands, and an occasional sob from some old crone, and a thousand repetitions of the familiar “And are you ferry well, Miss Sheila?” from small children who had come across from the village in defiance of mothers and fathers.  And Sheila’s face brightened into a wonderful gladness, and she had a hundred questions to ask for one answer she got, and she did not know what to do with the number of small brown fists that wanted to shake hands with her.