unvegan, he wished her not to make any more songs;
but she could not cease the making of songs. And there was another
Macleod--Fionaghal, they called her, that is the Fair Stranger. I do not
know why they called her the Fair Stranger--perhaps she came to the
Highlands from some distant place. And I think if you were going among
the people there at this very day, they would call you the Fair
Stranger."

He spoke quite naturally and thoughtlessly: his eyes met hers only for a
second; he did not notice the soft touch of pink that suffused the
delicately tinted cheek.

"What did you say was the name of that mysterious stranger?" asked Mrs.
Ross--"that poetess from unknown lands?"

"Fionaghal," he answered.

She turned to her husband.

"Hugh," she said, "let me introduce you to our mysterious guest. This is
Fionaghal--this is the Fair Stranger from the islands--this is the
poetess whose melodies the mermaids have picked up. If she only had a
harp, now--with sea-weed hanging from it--and an oval mirror--"

The booming of a gun told them that the last yacht had rounded the
lightship. The band struck up a lively air, and presently the steamer
was steaming off in the wake of the procession of yachts. There was now
no more fear that Miss White should be late. The breeze had kept up
well, and had now shifted a point to the east, so that the yachts, with
their great ballooners, were running pretty well before the wind. The
lazy abandonment of the day became more complete than ever. Careless
talk and laughter; an easy curiosity about the fortunes of the race; tea
in the saloon, with the making up of two bouquets of white roses,
sweet-peas, fuchias, and ferns--the day passed lightly and swiftly
enough. It was a summer day, full of pretty trifles. Macleod,
surrendering to the fascination, began to wonder what life would be if
it were all a show of June colors and a sound of dreamy music: for one
thing, he could not imagine this sensitive, beautiful, pale, fine
creature otherwise than as surrounded by an atmosphere of delicate
attentions and pretty speeches, and sweet, low laughter.

They got into their special train again at Gravesend, and were whirled
up to London. At Charing Cross he bade good-bye to Miss White, who was
driven off by Mr. and Mrs. Ross along with their other guest. In the
light of the clear June evening he walked rather absently up to his
rooms.

There was a letter lying on the table. He seized it and opene