And at last John of Skye says in an undertone to Angus—
"Will the leddies be going below now?"
"Going below!" he says in reply. "They are waiting till we get to anchor. We must be just off Dunvegan Loch now."
Then John of Skye makes his confession.
"Oh, yes; I been into Dunvegan Loch more as two or three times; but I not like the dark to be with us in going in; and if we lie off till the daylight comes, the leddies they can go below to their peds. And if Dr. Sutherland himself would like to see the channel in going in, will I send below when the daylight comes?"
"No, no, John; thank you," is the answer. "When I turn in, I turn in for good. I will leave you to find out the channel for yourself."
And so there is a clearance of the deck, and rugs and camp-stools handed down the companion. Deoch-an-doruis in the candle-lit saloon? To bed—to bed!
It is about five o'clock in the morning that the swinging out of the anchor-chain causes the yacht to tremble from stem to stern; and the sleepers start in their sleep, but are vaguely aware that they are at a safe anchorage at last. And do you know where the brave White Dove is lying now? Surely if the new dawn brings any stirring of wind—and if there is a sound coming over to us from this far land of legend and romance—it is the wild, sad wail of Dunvegan! The mists are clearing from the hills; the day breaks wan and fair; the great grey castle, touched by the early sunlight, looks down on the murmuring sea. And is it the sea, or is it the cold wind of the morning, that sings and sings to us in our dreams—
Dunvegan—oh! Dunvegan!
CHAPTER XI.