The girl stops with a surprised look, as if she had scarcely been listening to herself; then she says lightly:—
"Oh, don't you know the sailor's song—I forget what they call it:—
A strong sou-wester's blowing, Billy, can't you hear it roar now,
Lord help 'em, how I pities all unhappy folks on shore now.
"You have become a thorough sailor, Miss Avon," says Angus Sutherland, who has overheard the last quotation.
"I—I like it better—I am more interested," she says, timidly, "since you were so kind as to show me the working of the ship."
"Indeed," says he, "I wish you would take command of her, and order her present captain below. Don't you see how tired his eyes are becoming? He won't take his turn of sleep like the others; he has been scarcely off the deck night or day since we left Canna; and I find it is no use remonstrating with him. He is too anxious; and he fancies I am in a hurry to get back; and these continual calms prevent his getting on. Now the whole difficulty would be solved, if you let me go back by the steamer; then you could lie at Portree here for a night or two, and let him have some proper rest."
"I do believe, Angus," says his hostess, laughing in her gentle way, "that you threaten to leave us just to see how anxious we are to keep you."
"My position as ship's doctor," he retorts, "is compromised. If Captain John falls ill on my hands whom am I to blame but myself?"
"I am quite sure I can get him to go below," says Mary Avon, with decision—"quite sure of it. That is, especially," she adds, rather shyly, "if you will take his place. I know he would place more dependence on you than on any of the men."