than
this--ay, and the maiden's fathers too; therefore they may be trusted to
carry you now, Humphrey."

"I care naught for myself," said I, "and you know it. Nay, Ludar, if it
comes to that, I had as soon be under those waves as upon them."

He looked at me in his strange solemn way.

"Friend," he said, "you are unhappy. Was it always so, or is it because
I, with a great happiness in me, see more than I once did? Humphrey,"
added he, "that maiden has said to me that she loves me. Can you credit
it?"

I locked his hand in mine. Would that I could show him to you as he
stood there; his face ablaze with triumph, yet almost humbled with his
good fortune. Then, as he looked on me, the blaze softened into a look
of pity.

"I am selfish," said he, "while you are far away from her you love. Yet
I could not help telling it, Humphrey. Heaven give you the same secret
one day to tell me! But here she comes. Take her beside you at the
helm. As for me, the light is too strong in my eyes for me to steer. I
must be alone here in the prow, till the world take shape again."

The galley was a long open boat with a single square sail, and thwarts
for twelve rowers. To-day six sturdy Scots took the oars, all
McDonnells, who wondered much that Ludar should lie forward, leaving the
fair maid and me at the helm. As for the old nurse, whose courage
revived as the opposite headlands rose up to view, she ensconced herself
amidships, and crooned in her native tongue with the rowers. We needed
to row many a mile, round the island, before we could hope to hoist our
sail. Yet, I could not help marvelling at the vigour of the oarsmen,
and at the speed and steadiness of our boat over the billows.

The maiden, who by her blushes when we first met that morning had
confirmed Ludar's story, was content enough to sit in the stern with me,
while he courted solitude in the prow. She sat a long while silent,
looking seaward, and, I think, with the self-same light in her eyes
which dimmed those of Ludar. Presently, however, she turned her face to
me and said, almost suddenly:

"Humphrey, tell me more of that maiden you spoke about. Why does she
not love you?"

I knew not what to say, the question was so unlooked for. I tried to
laugh it off.

"Ask her that," said I. "Why should she? I am not Sir Ludar."

"No," said she gently, and then her face blushed once more, and she
dropped silent, looking away seaward.

I was sorry