Next day, moreover, he was equally successful by the side of the deep brown pools in Glen Muick. He was a pretty fair fisherman, though he had had but small experience with such a mighty engine of a rod as Hamish put into his hands. When, however, he showed Hamish the fine assortment of salmon flies he had brought with him, the old man only shook his head. Thereafter, whenever Hamish went with him, nothing was said about flies until they neared the side of the brawling stream that came pouring down between the gray rocks and the patches of moist brown moor. Hamish would sit down on a stone, and take out a tin box and open it. Then he would take a quick look round--at the aspect of the clouds, the direction of the wind, and so forth; and then, with a nimbleness that any one looking at his rough hands and broad thumbs would have considered impossible, would busk up a weapon of capture that soon showed itself to be deadly enough. And on this last day of Ogilvie's stay at Castle Dare he was unusually lucky--though of course there were one or two heartrending mishaps. As they walked home in the evening--the lowering day had cleared away into a warm sunset, and they could see Colonsay, and Fladda, and the Dutchman's Cap, lying dark and purple on a golden sea--Ogilvie said:-- "Look here, Macleod, if you would like me to take one of these salmon for Miss White, I could take it as part of my luggage, and have it delivered at once." "That would be no use," said he, rather gloomily. "She is not in London. She is at Liverpool or Manchester by this time. I have already sent her a present." Ogilvie did not think fit to ask what; though he had guessed. "It was a parcel of otter-skins," Macleod said. "You see, you might present that to any lady--it is merely a curiosity of the district--it is no more than if an acquaintance were to give me a chip of quartz he had brought from the Rocky Mountains with a few grains of copper or silver in it." "It is a present any lady would be glad to have," observed Mr. Ogilvie, with a smile. "Has she got them yet?" "I do not know," Macleod answered. "Perhaps there is not time for an answer. Perhaps she has forgotten who I am, and is affronted at a stranger sending her a present." "Forgotten who you are!" Ogilvie exclaimed; and then he looked round to see that Hamish and Sandy the red-haired were at a convenient distance. "Do you know this, Macleod? A man never yet was in love with a woman without the woman being instantly aware of it." Macleod glanced at him quickly; then turned away his head again, apparently watching the gulls wheeling high over the sea--black spots against the glow of the sunset. "That is foolishness," said he. "I had a great care to be quite a stranger to her all the time I was in London. I myself scarcely knew--how could she know? Sometimes I thought I was rude to her, so that I should deceive myself into believing she was only a stranger."