Yet his was the only irritated face in the boat as the men bent over their oars. The young girl and her father looked placidly at the receding ship, and waved their hands to the grave, resigned face over the taffrail. The consul examined them more attentively. The father's face showed intelligence and a certain probity in its otherwise commonplace features. The young girl had more distinction, with, perhaps, more delicacy of outline than of texture. Her hair was dark, with a burnished copper tint at its roots, and eyes that had the same burnished metallic lustre in their brown pupils. Both sat respectfully erect, as if anxious to record the fact that the boat was not their own to take their ease in; and both were silently reserved, answering briefly to the consul's remarks as if to indicate the formality of their presence there. But a distant railway whistle startled them into emotion. “We've lost the train, father!” said the young girl. The consul followed the direction of her anxious eyes; the train was just quitting the station at Bannock. “If ye had not lingered below with Jamie, we'd have been away in time, ay, and in our own boat,” said the father, with marked severity. The consul glanced quickly at the girl. But her face betrayed no consciousness, except of their present disappointment. “There's an excursion boat coming round the Point,” he said, pointing to the black smoke trail of a steamer at the entrance of a loch, “and it will be returning to St. Kentigern shortly. If you like, we'll pull over and put you aboard.” “Eh! but it's the Sabbath-breaker!” said the old man harshly. The consul suddenly remembered that that was the name which the righteous St. Kentigerners had given to the solitary bold, bad pleasure-boat that defied their Sabbatical observances. “Perhaps you won't find very pleasant company on board,” said the consul smiling; “but, then, you're not seeking THAT. And as you would be only using the boat to get back to your home, and not for Sunday recreation, I don't think your conscience should trouble you.” “Ay, that's a fine argument, Mr. Consul, but I'm thinkin' it's none the less sopheestry for a' that,” said the father grimly. “No; if ye'll just land us yonder at Bannock pier, we'll be ay thankin' ye the same.” “But what will you do there? There's no other train to-day.” “Ay, we'll walk on a bit.” The consul was silent. After a pause the young girl lifted her clear eyes, and with a half pathetic, half childish politeness, said: “We'll be doing very well--my father and me. You're far too kind.”