“Fhir a bhata (na horo eile)
          Fhir a bhata (na horo eile)
          Fhir a bhata (na horo eile)
    Chead soire slann leid ge thobh a’ theid u,”

certain it is that the boat swung forward with a new strength, and erelong they beheld in the distance the walls of Castle Dare.  And here was Janet at the small quay, greatly distressed because of the discomfort to which Miss White must have been subjected.

“But I have been telling Sir Keith,” she said, with a sweet smile, “that I have come through the most beautiful place I have ever seen in the world.”

This was not, however, what she was saying to herself when she reached the privacy of her own room.  Her thoughts took a different turn.

“And if it does seem impossible”—­this was her inward speech to herself—­“that those wild murders should have been committed in so beautiful a place, at least there will be a fair chance of one occurring when I tell him that I have signed an engagement that will last till Christmas.  But what good could come of being in a hurry?”

CHAPTER XXXV.

A CAVE IN MULL.

Of love not a single word had so far been said between these two.  It was a high sense of courtesy that on his part had driven him to exercise this severe self-restraint; he would not invite her to be his guest, and then take advantage of the various opportunities offered to plague her with the vehemence and passionate yearning of his heart.  For during all those long winter months he had gradually learned, from the correspondence which he so carefully studied, that she rather disliked protestation; and when he hinted that he thought her letters to him were somewhat cold, she only answered with a playful humor; and when he tried to press her to some declaration about her leaving the stage or about the time of their marriage, she evaded the point with an extreme cleverness which was so good-natured and friendly that he could scarcely complain.  Occasionally there were references in these letters that awakened in his breast a tumult of jealous suspicions and fears; but then again he consoled himself by looking forward to the time when she should be released from all those environments that he hated and dreaded.  He would have no more fear when he could take her hand and look into her eyes.

And now that Miss Gertrude White was actually in Castle Dare—­now that he could walk with her along the lonely mountain-slopes and show her the wonders of the Western seas and the islands—­what was it that still occasioned that vague unrest?  His nervous anxiety that she should be pleased with all she saw? or a certain critical coldness in her glance? or the consciousness that he was only entertaining a passing visitor—­a beautiful bird that had alighted on his hand, and that the next moment would be winging its flight away into the silvery South?

“You are becoming a capital sailor,” he said to her one day, with a proud light on his face.  “You have no fear at all of the sea now.”