carry her to sea. Most of them looked
at one another, and made no reply--not understanding her language. The
conductor told her to fear nothing, as she was in the hands of the
Macdonalds, who had orders from Sir Alexander Macdonald, of Skye, to
provide for her safety. He promised that the voyage would not be a long
one; and that as soon as the sloop should have left the loch she should
be told where she was going. With that, he lifted her lightly, stepped
into a boat, and was rowed to the sloop, where she was received by the
owner, and half a dozen other Macdonalds. For some hours they waited
for a wind; and sorely did the master wish it would come; for the lady
lost not a glimpse of an opportunity of pleading her cause, explaining
that she was stolen from Edinburgh, against the laws. He told her she
had better be quiet, as nothing could be done. Sir Alexander Macdonald
was in the affair. He, for one, would never keep her or anyone against
their will unless Sir Alexander Macdonald were in it: but nothing could
be done. He saw, however, that some impression was made on one person,
who visited the sloop on business, one William Tolney, who had
connexions at Inverness, from having once been a merchant there, and who
was now a tenant of the Macleods, in a neighbouring island. This man
was evidently touched; and the Macdonalds held a consultation in
consequence, the result of which was that William Tolney was induced to
be silent on what he had seen and heard. But for many a weary year
after did Lady Carse turn with hope to the image of the stranger who had
listened to her on board the sloop, taken the address of her lawyer, and
said that in his opinion something must be done.

In the evening the wind rose, and the sloop moved down the loch. With a
heavy heart the lady next morning watched the vanishing of the last of
Glengarry's seats, on a green platform between the grey and bald
mountains; then the last fishing hamlet on the shores; and, finally, a
flock of herons come abroad to the remotest point of the shore from
their roosting places in the tall trees that sheltered Glengarry's
abode. After that all was wretchedness. For many days she was on the
tossing sea--the sloop now scudding before the wind, now heaving on the
troubled waters, now creeping along between desolate looking islands,
now apparently lost amidst the boundless ocean. At length, soon after
sunrise, one bright morning, the sail was taken in,