“Why, I forgot that, Janet,” said he, laughing in a nervous way—­“I forgot that, though I was talking to Hamish about him only a little while ago.  And I think I might as well go out to meet the Pioneer myself, if the boat has not left yet.  Is there anything you would like to get from Oban, Janet?”

“No, nothing, thank you, Keith,” said she; and then he left; and he was in time to get into the big sailing-boat before it went out to meet the steamer.

This cousin of Hamish, who jumped into the boat when Macleod’s letter had been handed up to the clerk, was a little, black-haired Celt, beady-eyed, nervous, but with the affectation of a sailor’s bluffness, and he wore rings in his ears.  However, when he was got ashore, and taken into the library, Macleod very speedily found out that the man had some fair skill in navigation, and that he had certainly been into a good number of ports in his lifetime.  And if one were taking the Umpire into the mouth of the Thames, now?  Mr. Lang looked doubtfully at the general chart Macleod had; he said he would rather have a special chart, which he could get at Greenock; for there were a great many banks about the mouth of the Thames; and he was not sure that he could remember the channel.  And if one wished to go farther up the river, to some anchorage in communication by rail with London?  Oh yes, there was Erith.  And if one would rather have moorings than an anchorage, so that one might slip away without trouble when the tide and wind were favorable?  Oh yes, there was nothing simpler than that.  There were many yachts about Erith; and surely the pier-master could get the Umpire the loan of moorings.  All through Castle Dare it was understood that there was no distinct destination marked down for the Umpire on this suddenly-arranged voyage of hers; but all the same Sir Keith Macleod’s inquiries went no farther, at present at least, than the river Thames.

There came another letter in dainty pink; and this time there was less trembling in the handwriting, and there was a greater frankness in the wording of the note.

“DEAR KEITH,” Miss White wrote, “I would like to have the
letters; as for the little trifles you mention, it does not much
matter.  You have not said that you forgive me; perhaps it is
asking too much; but believe me you will find some day it was all
for the best.  It is better now than later on.  I had my fears from
the beginning; did not I tell you that I was never sure of myself
for a day? and I am sure papa warned me.  I cannot make you any
requital for the great generosity and forbearance you show to me
now; but I would like to be allowed to remain your friend. 

          
                                                                                                              G.W.”

“P.S.—­I am deeply grieved to hear of your being ill, but hope it is only something quite temporary.  You could not have decided better than on taking a long sea-voyage.  I hope you will have fine weather.”

All this was very pleasant.  They had got into the region of correspondence again; and Miss White was then mistress of the situation.  His answer to her was less cheerful in tone.  It ran thus: