But Lora, taking no notice, had sprung into the boat, and was already adjusting the long oars to the old-fashioned wooden thole-pins. Ian followed, grumblingly repeating, "Tha gaoth ruhòr am! Tha coltas stairm' air!"
Once, however, that the wash of the sea caught the wherry, and the shrewd air sent the salt against their faces, the old man appeared to realise that the girl was in earnest. Standing, he laid hold of the sloped mast, to steady himself against the swaying as the tide sucked at the keel and the short waves slapped against the bows, and then gave a quick calculating glance seaward and at the advancing steamer.
Rapidly he gave his directions to Lora to take the helm and to keep the boat to windward:
"Gabh an stiuir, Lora: cum ris a' ghàoth i!"
The next moment the long oars were moving slowly, but powerfully, through the water, and the ferry-boat drove into the open, and there lay over a little with the double swing of wind and tide.
The gloaming was now heavy upon the sea; for a mist had come up with the dipping of the sun, and thickened the dusk.
Suddenly Ian called to Lora to hold the oars. As soon as she had caught them, and was steadying the boat in the cross surge of the water, he lifted a lantern from under the narrow fore-deck, lighted the wick below the seat (after the wind had twice blown the flame into the dark), and then, gripping the mast, waved the signal to and fro overhead.
It was well he thought of this, for the steamer was going at full speed, and would not have slackened.
In a few minutes thereafter the heavy stertorous throb and splash was close by them, while the screw revolved now at quarter-speed.
A hoarse voice came from the Clansman: