The note of bitter disappointment in her voice roused Duncan. Once or twice he had essayed to speak, having no desire for a silent adventure, but Ishbel had raised her little brown hand sharply. He might disturb the fairies. At last the silence had chilled even her. It was all of no use. She could see and hear nothing. "We will chust be going home then," he said practically, caring not at all for her disappointment, for, of course, it was all "foolishness." "Maybe they are not dancing to-night; we will better chust go home." "She said I would be sure to see them." There was a sob in her voice; as he pushed the boat out, she crushed the rowans bitterly in her lap, and they fell into the bottom of the boat. She remembered Rory suddenly, as, once outside, she noticed that the weather had changed during her long waiting, that the light seemed obscured, that there were white horses leaping in the distance, and that the wind swept sharply in their faces as they looked seaward. It would be dangerous now to keep quite close to the rocks, for a heavy groundswell had risen. Duncan, glancing round, expended some forcible Gaelic, for he knew he would need all his muscles to row the clumsy boat, if they were to be safe, and he hated trouble. He would have to keep out to sea to avoid the rocks. During the long pull home, through the now angry waters, Ishbel sat quite silent. When Duncan bade her "Bale!" almost furiously, the boat having an ugly leak, she did so almost mechanically. Nothing seemed to matter. There were no fairies, and she would have to tell Rory she had broken her word! They found a sandy, sheltered bay at last where they could land. Duncan alone knew how hard had been the struggle against wind and tide in the clumsy and leaky craft; but Ishbel did not see a tall waiting figure on the shore, till she was preparing to leap from the boat. Then a strong hand took hers, and she glanced, with a startled cry, to see Rory himself, grim, grave, silent, with something new in his face which chilled her through and through. How was he there? He helped Duncan to pull up the boat, almost disdainfully, looking at it when it lay out of the water with a kind of scornful rage. "It is a pretty boat," he said then in Gaelic, "a pretty boat to take a lass out in, I will be saying that, Duncan MacLeod." MacLeod called to Ishbel sharply, making no reply, and all three walked up to the cottage in heavy silence. The night, grown gusty and wet, seemed to have changed as suddenly and mysteriously as Ishbel's life. At the door she paused and faced her lover; his silence galled and tormented her. "Well!" she said, "well!" If she had pleaded with him--been penitent, sorrowful! Alas! it was no penitent face which met his, and jealousy and wrath broke forth fiercely, sweeping love aside.