He cast an eye towards the westward horizon and the threatening sky: Janet noticed at once that he was rather pale. "We will have luncheon as they pull us back," said he, in an absent way, as if he was not quite sure of what was happening around him. He got her into the boat, and then followed. The men, not sorry to get away from these jagged rocks, took to their oars with a will. And then he sat silent and distraught, as the two women, muffled up in their cloaks, chatted cheerfully, and partook of the sandwiches and claret that Janet had got out of the basket. "_Fhir a bhata_," the men sang to themselves; and they passed under the great cliffs, all black and thunderous now; and the white surf was springing over the rocks. Macleod neither ate nor drank; but sometimes he joined in the conversation in a forced way; and occasionally he laughed more loudly than the occasion warranted. "Oh yes," he said, "oh yes, you are becoming a good sailor now, Gertrude. You have no longer any fear of the water." "You will become like little Johnny Wickes, Miss White," the cousin Janet said, "the little boy I showed you the other day. He has got to be like a duck in his love for the water. And, indeed, I should have thought he would have got a fright when Keith saved him from drowning; but no." "Did you save him from being drowned?" she said, turning to him. "And you did not tell me the story?" "It was no story," said he. "He fell into the water, and we picked him up somehow;" and then he turned impatiently to the men, and said some words to them in the Gaelic, and there was no more singing of the Farewell to the Boatman after that. They got home to Castle Dare before the rain came on; though, indeed, it was but a passing shower, and it was succeeded by a bright afternoon that deepened into a clear and brilliant sunset; but as they went up through the moist-smelling larch-wood--and as Janet happened to fall behind for a moment, to speak to a herdboy who was by the wayside--Macleod said to his companion,-- "And have you no other word for me, Gertrude?" Then she said with a very gracious smile, "You must be patient, Keith. Are we not very well off as we are? I know a good many people who are not quite so well off. And I have no doubt we shall have courage to meet whatever good or bad fortune the days may bring us; and if it is good, then we shall shake hands over it, just as the village people do in an opera." Fine phrases; though this man, with the dark and hopeless look in his eyes, did not seem to gain much gladness from them. And she forgot to tell him about that engagement which was to last till Christmas; perhaps if she had told him just then he would scarcely have heard her. CHAPTER XXXVI. THE NEW TRAGEDY.