"Andrew, my son," said the little old man in the boat, "there is the Baintighearna come to the door."
The Gillie Ciotach glanced towards the porch of the cottage; and there, sure enough, was Miss Stanley—and also Martha.
"It is the luck of Friday that is on me," he said, with a laugh; "for I am the one that was to stop all the fighting! Well, come away up to the house, Archie; you are a friendly man; and if she asks why I was taking off my jacket, you will swear to her that I was only searching for my pipe. For a lie is good enough for women at any time."
They got up to the house, and the Gillie Ciotach delivered his parcels, and the newspapers, and one or two letters, and said that Miss Glendinning had sent him over to take back assurances of their safety.
"But I was telling the lady there was no chance of harm," said he; "for we saw Miss Stanley go on board, and we saw Archie's lugger standing in for Heimra, and every one knew there would be good shelter from the storm——"
"And the Sirène, Andrew—have you heard anything of the Sirène?" Mary asked quickly—and her eyes were alert and anxious, if the rest of her features looked tired and worn.
"Aw, the Sirène, mem?" said the Gillie Ciotach, confidently. "I am sure the Sirène is just as safe as any of us. There's no harm coming to the Sirène, mem, as long as Mr. Ross himself is on board. It's the God's truth I'm telling ye, mem. Mr. Ross he would put in to Loch Broom or Loch Ewe; and he knows every anchorage to half a fathom; and, with plenty of chain out, and an anchor-watch, where would the harm be coming to him?"
"You have no doubt of it, Andrew?"
"It's as sure as death, mem!" said the Gillie Ciotach, with an almost angry vehemence.
She seemed a little relieved.