id he--"it was the last night of my being in
London--I asked a flower from her. She gave it to me. She was laughing
at the time. That was all."

The sunset had gone away, and the clear northern twilight was fading
too, when young Ogilvie, having bade good-bye to Lady Macleod and her
niece Janet, got into the broad-beamed boat of the fishermen,
accompanied by his friend. There was something of a breeze, and they
hoisted a lugsail so that they should run out to meet the steamer.
Donald the piper lad was not with them; Macleod wanted to speak to his
friend Ogilvie as he was leaving.

And yet he did not say anything of importance. He seemed to be chiefly
interested in finding out whether Ogilvie could not get a few days'
leave, about Christmas, that he might come up and try the winter
shooting. He was giving minute particulars about the use of arsenic
paste when the box of skins to be despatched by Hamish reached London;
and he was discussing what sort of mounting should be put on a strange
old bottle that Janet Macleod had presented to the departing guest.
There was no word of that which lay nearest his heart.

And so the black waves rolled by them; and the light at the horizon
began to fade; and the stars were coming out one by one; while the two
sailors forward (for Macleod was steering) were singing to themselves:

"_Fhir a bhata (na horo eile)
Fhir a bhata (na horo eile)
Fhir a bhata (na horo eile)
Chead soire slann leid ge thobh a theid u!_"

that is to say,

"O Boatman,
And Boatman,
And Boatman,
A hundred farewells to you wherever you may go!"

And then the lugsail was hauled down, and they lay on the lapping water;
and they could hear all around them the soft callings of the guillemots
and razor-bills, and other divers whose home is the heaving wave. And
then the great steamer came up and slowed; and the boat was hauled
alongside and young Ogilvie sprang up the slippery steps.

"Good-bye, Macleod!"

"Good-bye, Ogilvie! Come up at Christmas."

The great bulk of the steamer soon floated away, and the lugsail was run
up again, and the boat made slowly back for Castle Dare. "Fhir a bhata!"
the men sung; but Macleod scarcely heard them. His last tie with the
South had been broken.

But not quite. It was about ten o'clock that night that word came to
Castle Dare that Dugald the Post had met with an acc