"I will give it you back," Ishbel whispered. She had the rowan in her pocket as she stood with Duncan, tampering with her conscience and her promise now. "It was a very foolish thing to promise," he said craftily. "Besides, Rory was afraid of the squalls, that is all--and there will be no squalls at all! You can come with me, and see if there is anything, and if my mother's stories are true. If not, there is no harm done. It is a lovely cave whateffer." Ishbel yielded, as Catriona knew she would yield. Would she see anything? Would the wee folk be there? [Illustration: "I will hef none but Ishbel."--_p. 127._] She found herself in the little boat, and rowing towards the cave before she knew she had consented. The night seemed only a paler day. They rowed close into the shore, till they discovered a place where the rock-face was cleft, and showed a pale light within. There was just space for the boat to float in, passing through a low, overhanging archway. Ishbel drew her breath sharply and clasped her hands, as Duncan paused, watching her face, once they were through it. [Illustration: "It is a pretty boat to take a lass out in."] They were in a deep circular basin, the water, a lovely pale green, darker in the shadows. The rocky sides were cut, here and there, into long narrow openings, into one of which Catriona's piper must have wandered; here Ishbel saw the water lying dark and mysterious, shadow-haunted. Bending over the edge of the boat, she could see the yellow sand far below; in bright sunshine her own fair face would have been reflected. Tiny jelly-fish edged with lilac spots, and with long white fringe, floated beside the seaweed, like strange jewels, and far above them they could see the pale opalescence of the summer sky, soft, exquisite, pearly. Fringing the opening were ferns and heather, and tall fox-gloves, but the fairy bells did not stir in the breathless air. Were the wee folk, the good folk, the green folk, lurking within? If she watched, would she see a tiny face peep out? She waited--watched--and waited--and the time passed. "Duncan, I do not see anything!" Ishbel spoke at last, breathlessly, eagerly. She had forgotten Rory, she had forgotten everything but her desire. "Row me further in, Duncan." He pushed the boat forward, and Ishbel sat with her dark blue eyes--they seemed black in the shadow--strained eagerly forward, listening, waiting. Nothing moved, except that now and then little waves would break with a plashing ripple against the boat. Far up on the rocks, a passing breath of wind now and then swayed the flowers and the grasses; but no fairy face peeped anywhere, there was no tap of dancing feet, no note of elfin music. "Duncan, Duncan, there is nothing, nothing at all!"