"I think I will go over and have a look at the engravings, too," said Captain Cavendish.
She was sitting at a little stand, all her bright hair loose around her, and shading the pictures. Young McGregor was bending devoutly near her, but not talking, only too happy to be just there, and talking was not the young gentleman's forte.
"Captain Cavendish," said the clear voice, as, without turning round, she held the engraving over her shoulder, "look at this—is it not pretty?"
How had she seen him? Had she eyes in the back of her head? He took the engraving, wondering inwardly, and sat down beside her.
It was a strange picture she had given him. A black and wrathful sky, a black and heaving sea, and a long strip of black and desolate coast. A full moon flickered ghastly through the scudding clouds, and wan in its light you saw a girl standing on a high rock, straining her eyes out to sea. Her hair and dress fluttered in the wind; her face was wild, spectral, and agonized. Captain Cavendish gazed on it as if fascinated.
"What a story it tells!" Nathalie cried. "It makes one think of Charles Kingsley's weird song of the 'Three Fishers.' Well, Charley, what is it?"
"It is the carryall from Redmon come for you," said Charley, who had sauntered up. "If you are done looking at the pictures you had better go home."
Natty pushed the portfolio away pettishly, and rose, half-poutingly.
"What a nuisance, to go so soon!"
Then, catching Captain Cavendish's eye, she laughed good-naturedly.