in his absence, and wish him God-speed!" "Hear! hear!" cried the Youth, who was greatly amused by this burst of old-fashioned eloquence. But Mary Avon sate white and trembling, and quite forgot to put the glass to her lips. It was her hostess who spoke next, with a laugh. "I think, sir," said she, "I might give you a hint. If you were to go up on deck and ask the men whether they would like to drink Angus’s health, I don’t think they would refuse." "It is a most capital suggestion," said the Laird, rising to take down his wideawake. *CHAPTER V.* *SUSPICIONS.* It was handsomely done on the part of the Laird to pay that tribute to his vanquished and departed enemy. But next morning, as we were getting under weigh, he got a chance of speaking to his hostess alone; and he could not quite forego a little bit of boasting over his superior astuteness and prescience. "What did I say, ma’am," he asked, with a confident chuckle, "when ye made a communication to me on the subject of our friend who has just left us? Did I not offer to make ye a wager, though I am but little of a gambler? A gold ring, a sixpence, and a silver thimble: did I not offer to wager ye these three articles that your guesses were not quite correct? And what has become of Dr. Sutherland now?" His hostess is not in this gay humour. She answers with a touch of reserve— "If I made any mistake, it was about Mary. And I had no right to suspect anything, for she never took me into her confidence; and I do not approve of elderly people prying into the affairs of young people." "Pry?" says the Laird, loftily and graciously. "No, no; no prying. But judgment?—is there any harm in one keeping one’s eyes open? And did not I tell ye, ma’am, to be of good heart—that everything would go properly and smoothly?" "And has it?" she says, sharply, and looking up with a glance of indignation. The Laird, however, is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he does not notice this protest. "She is a fine lass, that," he says, with decision. "Did ye ever hear a young girl speak such clear common sense as she spoke yesterday, about that very Doctor? There is no affected sentiment—there is nothing of your Clarinda and Philander noavel-writing—about that lass: did ye ever hear such good, sound, clear common sense?" "I heard her," says his hostess, shortly. By this time we had weighed anchor, and the _White Dove_ was slowly sailing down the loch, before a light northerly breeze. Then Mary Avon came on deck, followed by the attentive Youth. And while everybody on board was eagerly noticing things ahead—the seals on the rocks at the mouth of the loch, the windy grey sea beyond, and the blue mountains of Jura—Mary Avon alone looked backward, to the low lines of hills we were leaving. She sate silent and apart. The Laird stepped over to her.