Jacob opened his eyes, slowly, unwillingly, thinking the morning was come too soon; and found night instead of the sun, but he felt his Isla’s arms about him, and her warm face pressed to his, and knew that his joy was come back to him. He nestled in the strong, tender arms, and laughed, now wide-awake, and pointed to the fire, telling, with eloquent gestures, what he had done. There was no doubt that his fire had brought her back; happy Jacob! And Isla, kneeling on the sand, holding him in her arms, promised to herself that never again in this world would she and Jacob part. Alas for thee, Isla! Not for us are the promises. CHAPTER VIII. LOCHABER NO MORE! “YOU was thinkin’ of goin’ to-day, was you, Isly?” It was Joe Brazybone who spoke. He was standing on the wharf, at a little distance from the two Herons; there was an air of suppressed excitement about the three which told that some great thing was toward. “Yes, Joe,” said Isla. “You know very well that I am going. Why do you ask me so many times?” “Nothin’; nothin’ at all!” said Joe, hastily. He stood in a curious attitude, with one hand held behind him; and, whenever Isla turned to look at him, he sidled about in a confused, guilty fashion, keeping his face turned resolutely toward her. “Was you goin’ that way, Isly?” he persisted. “Without no bunnit on your head? Ain’t you afraid of ketchin’ somethin’?” Isla laughed. “Mrs. Maynard tried to make me wear a hat,” she said. “I never wore a hat in my life, Joe. I could not see with straw down over my eyes. And what should I catch?” Joe looked miserable. Loyalty forbade him to say plainly that she would be stared at in the city if she went about bareheaded. He glanced nervously behind him, his hands twitching; then at the girl again; but Isla had already forgotten him, and was gazing with all her eyes at the schooner, which was evidently nearly ready to sail. “Will you take me aboard now, Joe?” she said. “I think it must be time.” Joe’s red and brown turned to a deep purple; with a desperate effort he mastered his confusion, and brought his hand round to the front. It held a strange object, which he thrust forward to Isla. “You take this!” he pleaded. “You take this, Isly, and wear it for old Joe. ’Tain’t what I could wish, but ’t will cover your head, and—and keep you from ketchin’ things. Some say ’tis handsome, but I don’t know how that is. Anyway, ’twas the best I could do.” The thing he held out was a bonnet, of vast size and ancient fashion. The front was filled with crushed and faded muslin flowers; the crumpled ribbons and tarnished silk showed that it had lain for years in its box. Isla gazed at it in amazement.