A dead silence: while we idly regard the washed-up stores of sea-shells around us, and patiently await the return of the seals to the rocks. Then a sudden noise that makes one’s heart jump: a couple of terns have discovered us, and the irate birds go wheeling and shrieking overhead with screams that would have aroused the Sleeping Beauty and all her household. In their fright and wrath they come nearer and nearer; at times they remain motionless overhead; but ever continues the shrill and piercing shriek. The face of the Youth is awful to see. Again and again he puts up his rifle; and there is no doubt that, if he were to fire, he might accomplish that feat which is more frequently heard of in novels than elsewhere—shooting a bird on the wing with a rifle. But then he is loth to throw away his last chance. With a gesture of despair, he lowers his weapon, and glances towards the gig. Queen Titania has caught his eye, and he hers. She is laughing. At length we venture to hazard everything. Furtively each rifle is protruded over the ledge of rock; and furtively each head creeps up by the stock, the hand on the trigger-guard. The caution is unnecessary. There is not a sign of any living thing all around the shores. Even the two sea-swallows, alarmed by our moving, have wheeled away into the distance; we are left in undisturbed possession of the island. Then the Youth clambers up to the top of the rocks and looks around. A skart, perched on a far ledge, immediately takes flight—striking the water with his heavy wings before he can get well on his way: thereafter a dead silence. "It was the tern that did that," says the Youth, moodily, as we return to the gig. "The seals must have known well enough." "They generally do contrive to know somehow," is the answer of one who is not much disappointed, and who is still less surprised. But this wicked woman all a-laughing, when we return to the gig! "Come, children," says she, "we shall barely be back in time for lunch; and we shall be all the longer that Angus is not here to sing his ’_Ho, ro, clansmen!_’ But the quicker the sooner, as the Highlandman said. Jump in!" "It was all owing to those sea-swallows," remarks the Youth, gloomily. "Never mind," says she, with great equanimity. "Mary and I knew you would not shoot anything, or we should not have come. Let us hasten back to see what Fred has shot for us, with his silver sixpences." And so we tumble into the gig; and push away, and have a long swinging pull back to the _White Dove_.