"Dear me, lassie, what is the matter?"
But Mary Avon hastily pulled out her handkerchief, and passed it across her eyes, and said hurriedly—
"Oh, I beg your pardon! it is nothing: I—I was thinking of something else. And is it your move or mine, sir?——"
The Laird looked at her; but her eyes were cast down. He did not pay so much attention to the game after that.
CHAPTER VI.
CERTAINTY.
Next morning there is a lively commotion on board. The squally, blustering-looking skies, the glimpses of the white horses out there on the driven green sea, and the fresh northerly breeze that comes in gusts and swirls about the rigging—all tell us that we shall have some hard work before we pierce the Dorus Mor.
"You won't want for wind to-day, Captain John," says the Youth, who is waiting to give the men a hand at the windlass.
"'Deed, no," says John of Skye, with a grim smile. "This is the kind of day that Dr. Sutherland would like, and the White Dove through the Dorus Mor too!"
However, the Laird seems to take no interest in what is going forward. All the morning he has been silent and preoccupied; occasionally approaching his hostess, but never getting an opportunity of speaking with her alone. At last, when he observes that every one is on deck, and eagerly watching the White Dove getting under weigh, he covertly and quietly touches our Admiral on the arm.