There was at least one other pair of eyes watching the trim barque, as her unfurled canvas caught the breeze and she sped away like a graceful gull.  To my sister Jessie, whom, after school, I found sitting by the little pier at the Anchor Close, the vessel seemed to be carrying away one who had suddenly awakened in her a new interest in life.  Captain Gordon had spoken but little with her, he was still but a stranger, but so seldom did she have speech with any man, that this meeting with one so brave and handsome as the captain of the Lydia naturally made a deep impression upon her.

I should not, however, have remarked anything unusual in Jessie—­except perhaps that she was less active with her fingers—­had not my mother, who came out to wash some dishes in the sea, taken notice of my sister’s vacant eyes.

“One would fancy, Jessie,” said my mother—­“one would fancy that there was no wind out yonder that you send so many sighs to fill the captain’s sails.  What like a man is he?”

“Dinna ask such questions, mother,” said Jessie.  “I saw him only in the gloaming.  His voice was like the sighing of the waves and his eyes were like the seal’s.  Ah! he’ll not come back again to Stromness, never again;” and as Jessie gave another sigh the ship disappeared behind the Ness.

For long afterwards Jessie would speak of Captain Gordon, and I noticed with what concern she heard each reference to him, made by either myself or my father.  Even the gun which the captain had given me was some sort of a solace to her, for whenever I was cleaning the weapon she would take it in her hands and admire the elegant workmanship displayed in the ornamented stock and the bright steel barrel, and then lay it down with a gentle sigh, and I knew she was thinking of Mr. Gordon.

Chapter XV.  In Which The Viking’s Amulet Is Proved.

I availed myself of an early opportunity of trying my new gun.  One afternoon I found Robbie Rosson down at the shore side.  He was standing near to my boat, which was moored to the jetty, and looking as though he would give anything for a sail in her.

“Are ye going for a sail today, Hal?” he asked meekly.

“Ay, I’ll go, if you’ll come with me, Robbie,” I agreed.  “If ye like we’ll take a run o’er to Hoy Head.  I’ll bring my gun, and we’ll have a shot at the geese.”

Robbie’s face brightened up at the prospect, and I went indoors to fetch the gun and a supply of ammunition; also my climbing ropes, in case we needed them.

We were soon in the boat.  Robbie took the oars and rowed out until we could hoist the little sail, and then we rounded the Ness and got out into Hoy Sound.  The wind was westward, and the current in our favour, so that we had a grand sail across the sound to the Kame of Hoy—­Robbie at the tiller, and I sitting near him on the windward gunwale.  How our boat danced along and curtsied on the green curling waves!  How her bows lifted and fell and sent a belt of foam alongside and away behind us in a bubbling track!  O, it was glorious, that sail across to Hoy!  Sitting there in the sunshine, the fresh breeze blowing in our faces, we had nothing to do but tend the helm and keep the boat well to the wind, and away we sped.