“Indeed, and that is true,” said her father; “and it is not right that a young lass should go about by herself in a boat.”
“But you know very well, papa, I never do that now.”
“Oh, you do not do it now,” grumbled Mackenzie. “No, you do not do it now. But some day you will forget when there is something to be done, and you will run a great danger, Sheila.”
“But she has promised never to go out by herself, haven’t you, Sheila?” her husband said.
“I did; I promised that to you. And I have never been out since by myself.”
“Well, don’t forget, Sheila,” said her father, not very sure but that some sudden occasion might tempt the girl to her old deeds of recklessness.
The two American ladies had little to fear. The Hebrides received them with fair sunshine and smooth seas, and all the day long their occupation was but to watch the wild birds flying from island to island, and mark the gliding by of the beautiful coasts, and listen to the light rushing of the waves as the fresh sea-breeze flew through the rigging. And Sheila was proud to teach them something of the mystery of sailing a small craft, and would give them the tiller sometimes, while her eye, as clear and keen as her father’s, kept watch and ward over the shapely vessel that was making for the Northern seas. One evening she said to her friends, “Do you see that point that runs out on this side of the small island? Round that we enter Loch Roag.”
The last pale light of the sun was shining along the houses of Borvapost as the Princess Sheila passed. The people there had made out the yacht long ere she came close to land, and Mackenzie knew that twenty eager scouts would fly to tell the news to Scarlett and Duncan, so that ample preparation would be made in the newly-finished house down by the sea. The wind, however, had almost died away, and they were a long time getting into Loch Roag in this clear twilight. They who were making their first visit to Sheila’s island sat contentedly enough on deck, however, amazed and bewildered by the beauty of the scene around them. For now the sun had long sunk, but there was a glow all over the heavens, and only in the far East did the yellow stars begin to glimmer over the dark plain of the loch. Mealasabhal, Suainabhal, Cracabhal lifted their grand shoulders and peaks into this wondrous sky, and stood dark and clear there, with the silence of the sea around them.
As the night came on the yellow stars grew more intense overhead, but the lambent glow in the North did not pale.
They entered a small bay. Up there on a plateau of the rocks stood a long, low house, with all its windows gleaming in the dusk. The pinnace was put off from the yacht; in the strange silence of the night the ripples plashed around her prow; her oars struck fire in the water as the men rowed into the land. And then, as Sheila’s guests made their way up to the house, and when they reached the verandah and turned to look at the sea and the loch and the far mountains opposite, they beheld the clear and golden sickle of the moon rising from behind the black outline of Suainabhal into the soft and violet skies. As the yellow moon rose in the South a pathway of gold began to tremble on Loch Roag, and they could see the white curve of sand around the bay. The air was sweet with the cold smell of the sea. There was a murmur of the far Atlantic all around the silent coast.