"I will get a nice warm bed ready for you at once, mem," said the old dame, "with plenty of blankets; and I will bring you something hot and comfortable for you, for you hef got ferry, ferry wet. Dear, dear me!—but we’ll soon hef you made all right; for Mr. Ross would be an angry man, ay, indeed, if he was hearing that Miss Stanley had come to Heimra, and not everything done for her that could be done." But when, after struggling through the blinding rain, they reached the porch, and when Martha had opened the front-door, Miss Stanley did not go further than the hall: she sank exhausted into the solitary chair there. "Martha," she said, "do not trouble about me. I want to ask you a question. Did Mr. Ross say where he was going when he left in the _Sirène_ this morning?" "No, mem—not a word," Martha answered her, "about where he was going, or when he was coming back. It was a strange way of leaving—and in the face of such weather; but young people they hef odd fancies come in their head. Think of this, mem, that he never was near the house last night; he was aweh up the hill; and I’m feared that he was saying good-bye to his mother’s grave, and that it will be long ere we see him back in Heimra again. For he is a strange young man—and not like others. But you’ll come aweh now, mem, and get off your wet things: it is Mr. Ross himself would be terrible angry if you were not well cared for in this house." The day without was sombre and dark; and the light entering here was wan: perhaps that was the cause of the singular alteration in Mary Stanley’s appearance. She—who had hitherto been always and ever the very embodiment of buoyant youth, and health, and high spirits—now looked old. And her eyes were as if night had fallen upon them. CHAPTER VIII. A MISSION. All that day the gale did not abate in fury; nor yet on the next; and even on the third day Gilleasbuig Mor still hesitated about trying to get back to Lochgarra, for the sea was running high, and the wind blew in angry gusts and squalls. But on the morning of this third day communication with the mainland was resumed; for shortly after eleven o’clock a lug-sail boat made its appearance, coming round the point into the little bay; and at a glance Archie knew who this must be—this could be no other than that venturesome dare-devil the Gillie Ciotach, who had doubtless been sent out by Miss Glendinning to gain tidings of her friend. Big Archie went down to the slip, to await the boat’s arrival. And when the Gillie Ciotach, whose sole companion was a little, old, white-headed man called Dugald MacIsaac, came ashore he was in a triumphant mood over his exploit, and had nothing but taunts and jeers for the storm-stayed Archie.