And then she suddenly bethought her of Miss Hodson’s letter. What?—was Mr. Hodson after the fishing too? And ought not the last tenant to have the refusal? And should not the Duke’s agent know? And why should she not write him a note—just in case no inquiry had been made? She had not much time to think about the matter; but she guessed quickly enough that, if an American millionaire and the son of a Glasgow merchant are after the same thing, and that thing purchasable, the American is likely to get it. And why should Ronald’s wife be stared at and talked to by this young man—however harmless and amiable his intentions? So she went swiftly to her own room and wrote as follows:— ’DEAR MR. CRAWFORD—I have just heard from Miss Hodson, whose father was here last spring, that he is on his way to Europe; and that he hopes to have the fishing again this year. I think I ought to let you know, just in case you should have any other application for the loch. I am sure Miss Hodson will be much disappointed if he does not get it. Yours sincerely, ’MEENIE S. DOUGLAS.’ ’There,’ said she, and there was a little smile of triumph about her mouth, ’if that doesn’t put a spoke in the wheel of Mr. Frank Lauder, poor fellow, I don’t know what will.’ ’Spiteful little cat,’ her sister Agatha would have called her, had she known; but women’s judgments of women are not as men’s. *CHAPTER XIV.* *WANDERINGS IN THE WEST.* On a singularly clear and brilliant morning in February a large and heavy screw-steamer slowly crept out of the land-locked little harbour of Portree, and steadily made away for the north. For her the squally Ben Inivaig at the mouth of the channel had no terrors; indeed, what could any vessel fear on such a morning as this? When they got well out into Raasay Sound, it seemed as if the whole world had been changed into a pantomime-scene. The sky was calm and cloudless; the sea was as glass and of the most dazzling blue; and those masses of white that appeared on that perfect mirror were the reflections of the snow-powdered islands—Raasay, and Fladda, and South Rona—that gleamed and shone and sparkled there in the sun. Not often are the wide waters of the Minch so fair and calm in mid-winter; the more usual thing is northerly gales, with black seas thundering by into Loch Staffin and Kilmaluag Bay, or breaking into sheets and spouts of foam along the headlands of Aird Point and Ru Hunish. This was as a holiday trip, but for the sharp cold. The islands were white as a solan’s wing—save along the shores; the sea was of a sapphire blue; and when they got up by Rona light behold the distant snow-crowned hills of Ross and Cromarty rose faint and spectral and wonderful into the pale and summer-like sky. The men sung ’_Fhir a Bhata_’ as they scoured the brass and scrubbed the decks; the passengers marched up and down, clapping their hands to keep them