.

"What boat is that? Whom have you on board?"

"A lady; on her way to Skye," answered the boatman.

"Up helm, and lay yourself alongside of us. We must see who you are."

The fishermen obeyed. They had reason to know that, just then, there was
no other course to pursue. In a few minutes the two boats were riding
side by side, lifting and falling lazily on the long Atlantic swell. The
lady looked up at the uniformed personage, who seemed an officer.

"My name is Flora McDonald," she said. "These persons are my servants.
My father is in command of the McDonalds on South Uist. I have been
visiting at Clanranald, and am now on my way home."

"Forgive me, Miss McDonald," said the officer, courteously; "but our
orders are precise; no one can leave the island without a pass."

"I know it," she replied, with dignity, "and have provided myself. Here
is my passport, signed by my father."

The officer took and ran his eye over it quickly: "Flora McDonald; with
two servants, Betty Bruce and Malcolm Rae," he read. His gaze moved
rapidly over the occupants of the boat, resting for a moment on the
bright and intelligent face of the young lady.

"This seems all right, Miss McDonald," he said, respectfully, returning
her the paper. "You can pass. Good-by, and a pleasant journey."

"Many thanks," she answered. "You should be successful in catching the
bird that is seeking to fly from that island. Your net is spread wide
enough."

"I hardly think our bird will get through the meshes," he answered,
laughingly.

In a few minutes more they were wide asunder. A peculiar smile rested on
the face of the lady, which seemed reflected from the countenances of
her attendants, but not a word was said on the subject of the recent
incident.

Their reticence continued until the rocky shores of the Isle of Skye
were reached, and the boat was put into one of the many inlets that
break its irregular contour. Silence, indeed, was maintained until they
had landed on a rocky shelf, and the boat had pushed off on its return
journey. Then Flora McDonald spoke.

"So far we are safe," she said. "But I confess I was frightfully scared
when that patrol-boat stopped us."

"You did not look so," said Betty Bruce, in a voice of masculine depth.

"I did not dare to," she answered. "If I had looked what I felt, we
would never have passed. But let us continue our journey. We have no
time to spare."

It was a rocky and desolate spot on which they s