He now resigned the boat to its fate, and expected every moment to see it dashed upon the isle of Ibris, or swept through the little channel that lay between it and the shore, and through which a strong current was running. By a miracle they passed these isles, and were swept to the seaward. "A ship! a ship! dear Archibald--look, my lord--a ship!" exclaimed Sybil, as, with an expression of the most extravagant joy, she threw her arm towards it--"a rescue from the jaws of death!" Eagerly the earl raised his drooping head; and lo! a stately merchant ship, with her large foresail set, but her topsails and square spritsail close reefed, was standing northward across the Firth from the harbour of North Berwick. Ashkirk waved his grey plaid, and in a few minutes, by the altered course of the vessel, it was evident they had been observed by the mariners, who were seen crowding the high forecastle, the still higher poop, and low waist, which was profusely covered with religious emblems, and she had a large blue Scottish cross painted in the centre of each of her sails. "If it should be a ship of the king--one of Barton's fleet!" muttered the earl; who, before her appearance, had been entertaining visions of founding a chapel to St. Bryde of Douglas, on the bleak rocks of Fidra, if they escaped from their present perils. On came the ship, looming largely, with the water plashing under her gilded bows, which rose and fell on the heaving water. Manned by eight stout mariners, a boat shot off towards the castaways, and in a short time the half-lifeless Sybil and the earl, scarcely less exhausted, were conveyed on board the strange ship, which proved to be the _Saint Adrian_, a large vessel belonging to the monks of the May, who in those days possessed many trading barks, and trafficked largely with the Hanse Towns, Flanders, and the Baltic. Once safely on board, the necessity of caution prevailed over the earl's piety, and concealing the rank of Sybil and himself under feigned names, he merely stated that they had been accidentally blown off the coast. A run of a few hours brought the ship to the Isle of May, whose cliffs of dark green rock, with the seafowl floating in clouds above them, rise precipitously on the east, and descend to foam-beaten reefs on the west. On this verdant island stood a chapel dedicated to St. Adrian, who had been murdered there in his hermitage, by the pagan Danes, in the year 870; near it stood a priory belonging to St. Mary of Pittenween, the monks of which received the rescued fugitives with every hospitality; and there necessity compelled them to reside for several weeks; for in that remote place there was seldom any intercourse with the main land. Of all that was passing in the capital Sybil and her lover were happily ignorant.