“’Deed, sir, that I should ken, for is no my ain sister marriet on Jock Wabster, wha’s cousin by marriage twice removed is the bailie officer o’ the port?  So I can advise ye that there was a boat frae the Isle o’ Man wi’ herrin’s for the great houses, though never a fin o’ them like the halesome fish I carry here in my creel.  Wad ye like to see them, to buy a dozen for the bonny lass that’s waiting for ye?  That were a present to recommend ye, indeed—­far mair than your gaudy flowers, fule ballads, and sic like trash!”

“You cannot remember any other ship of larger size than the Manx fishing-boat?” continued Sholto.

“Weel, no to ca’ cleared frae the port,” Tib went on, “but there was a pair o’ uncanny-looking foreign ships that lay oot there by the Manxman’s Lake for eight days, and the nicht afore yestreen they gaed oot with the tide.  They were saying aboot the foreshore that they gaed west to some other port to tak’ on board the French monzie that cam’ to the Thrieve at the great tournaying!  But I kenna what wad tak’ him awa’ to the Fleet or the Ferry Toon o’ Cree, and leave a’ the pleasures o’ Kirkcudbright ahint him.  Forbye sic herrin’s as are supplied by me, Tib MacLellan, at less than cost price—­as I houp your honour will no forget, when in the course o’ natur’ and the providence o’ God you and her comes to hae a family atween ye.”

Sholto promised that he would not forget when the time alluded to arrived.  Then, turning his jennet off the direct road to Kirkcudbright town, and betaking him through the Ardendee fords, he made all speed towards a little port upon the water of Fleet, at the point where that fair moorland stream winds lazily through the water-meadows for a mile or two, after its brawling passage down from the hills of heather and before it commits itself to the mother sea.

But it was not until he had long crossed it and reached the lonely Cassencary shore that Sholto found his first trace of the lost maidens.  For as he rode along the cliffs his keen eye noted a well-marked trail through the heather approaching the shore at right angles to his own line of march.  The tracks, still perfectly evident in the grassy places, showed that as many as twenty horses had passed that way within the last two or three days.  He stood awhile examining the marks, and then, leading his beast slowly by the bridle, he continued to follow them westward till they became confused and lost near a little jetty erected by the lairds of Cree and Cassencary for convenience of traffic with Cumberland and the Isle of Man.  Here on the very edge of the foreshore, blown by some chance wind behind a stone and wonderfully preserved there, Sholto found a child’s chain of woodbine entwined with daisies and autumnal pheasant’s eye.  He took it up and examined it.  Some of the flowers were not yet withered.  The inter-weaving was done after a fashion he had taught the little Maid of Galloway himself, one happy day when he had walked on air with the glamour of Maud Lindesay’s smiles uplifting his heart.  For that tricksome grace had asked him to teach her also, and he remembered the lingering touch of her fingers ere she could compass the quaint device of the pheasant’s eye peeping out from the midst of each white festoon.