"Angus," she says, briskly, "are we not going very near Jura, if it is West Loch Tarbert we are making for?"
He turned to her then, and she saw by his face that something had happened.
"You have spoken to her, Angus?" she said, in a low voice; and her earnest, kind eyes regarded the young man as if to anticipate his answer.
"Yes."
For a second or so he seemed disinclined to say more; but presently he added, scarcely looking at her—
"I am sorry that I must leave you the first time we get near land."
"Oh, Angus!"
It was almost a cry—uttered in that low, piteous voice. Then he looked at her.
"You have been very kind to me," said he, so that no one should hear. "It is only a misfortune. But I wish I had never seen the White Dove."
"Oh, Angus; don't say that!"