The Laird looked at her; but her eyes were cast down. He did not pay so much attention to the game after that. *CHAPTER VI.* *CERTAINTY.* Next morning there is a lively commotion on board. The squally, blustering-looking skies, the glimpses of the white horses out there on the driven green sea, and the fresh northerly breeze that comes in gusts and swirls about the rigging—all tell us that we shall have some hard work before we pierce the Dorus Mor. "You won’t want for wind to-day, Captain John," says the Youth, who is waiting to give the men a hand at the windlass. "’Deed, no," says John of Skye, with a grim smile. "This is the kind of day that Dr. Sutherland would like, and the _White Dove_ through the Dorus Mor too!" However, the Laird seems to take no interest in what is going forward. All the morning he has been silent and preoccupied; occasionally approaching his hostess, but never getting an opportunity of speaking with her alone. At last, when he observes that every one is on deck, and eagerly watching the _White Dove_ getting under weigh, he covertly and quietly touches our Admiral on the arm. "I would speak to ye below for a moment, ma’am," he says, in a whisper. And so, unnoticed amid all this bustle, she follows him down into the saloon, wondering not a little. And as soon as he has shut the door, he plunges _in medias res_. "I beg your pardon, ma’am; but I must speak to ye. It is about your friend, Miss Mary: have ye not observed that she is sorely troubled about something—though she puts a brave face on it and will not acknowledge it? Have ye not seen it—have ye not guessed that she is grievously troubled about some matter or other?" "I have guessed it," said the other. "Poor lass! poor lass!" said the Laird; and then he added, thoughtfully, "It is no small matter that can affect so light-hearted a creature: that is what I want to ask ye. Do ye know? Have ye guessed? Surely it is something that some of us can help her wi’. Indeed, it just distresses me beyond measure to see that trouble in her face; and when I see her try to conceal it—and to make believe that everything is well with her—I feel as if there was nothing I would not do for the poor lass." "But I don’t think either you or I can help. Young people must manage their affairs for themselves," says his hostess, somewhat coldly. "But what is it?—what is it? What is troubling her?" Queen Titania regards him for a moment, apparently uncertain as to how far she should go. At last she says— "Well; I am not revealing any confidence of Mary’s; for she has told me nothing about it. But I may as well say at once that when we were in West Loch Tarbert, Dr. Sutherland asked her to be his wife; and she refused him. And now I suppose she is breaking her heart about it." "Dear me! dear me!" says the Laird, with eyes opened wide.