Then the hubbub gradually ceased; for the boats had been swung to the davits, and the _White Dove_ was gently slipping away from her moorings. A fine northerly breeze; a ruffled blue sea; and the south all shining before her! How should we care whither the beautiful bird bore us? Perhaps before the night fell we should be listening for the singing of the mermaid of Colonsay. The wooded shores slowly drew away; the horizon widened; there was no still blue, but a fine windy grey, on the vast plain of the sea that was opening out before us. "Oh, yes, mem!" says John of Skye to Miss Avon. "I wass sure we would get a good breeze for Mr. Sutherland when he will come back to the yat." Miss Avon does not answer: she is looking at the wide sea, and at the far islands, with somewhat wistful eyes. "Would you like to tek the tiller, now, mem?" says the bearded skipper, in his most courteous tones. "Mr. Sutherland was aye very proud to see ye at the tiller." "No, thank you, John," she says. And then she becomes aware that she has—in her absent mood—-spoken somewhat curtly; so she turns and comes over to him, and says in a confidential way— "To tell you the truth, John, I never feel very safe in steering when the yacht is going before the wind. When she is close-hauled I have something to guide me; but with the wind coming behind I know I may make a blunder without knowing why." "No, no, mem; you must not let Mr. Sutherland hear you say that: when he was so prood o’ learnin’ ye; and there is no dancher at ahl of your making a plunder." But at this moment our young Doctor himself comes on deck; and she quickly moves away to her camp-stool, and plunges herself into a book; while the attentive Mr. Smith provides her with a sunshade and a footstool. Dr. Sutherland cannot, of course, interfere with her diligent studies. Meanwhile our hostess is below, putting a few finishing touches to the decoration of the saloon; while the Laird, in the blue-cushioned recess at the head of the table, is poring over _Municipal London_. At length he raises his eyes, and says to his sole companion— "I told ye, ma’am, he was a good lad—a biddable lad—did I not?" "You are speaking of your nephew, of course," she says. "Well; it is very kind of him to offer to turn out of his state-room in favour of Dr. Sutherland; but there is really no need for it. Angus is much better accustomed to roughing it on board a yacht." "I beg your pardon, ma’am," says the Laird, with judicial gravity. "Howard is in the right there too. He must insist on it. Dr. Sutherland is your oldest friend. Howard is here on a kind of sufferance. I am sure we are both of us greatly obliged to ye." Here there was the usual deprecation.