Macleod of Dare : a novel . will do that, said he, somewhatabsently. Even the bustle of departure and thebrightness of the morning had failed to putcolour and life into the haggard face and thehopeless eyes. That was a sorrowful leave-taking at theshore; and Macleod, standing on the deck ofthe yacht, could see, long after they had set sail,that his mother and cousin were still on thesmall quay watching the Umpire so long asshe was in sight. Then they rounded the Kossof Mull; and he saw no more of the women ofCastle Dare. And this beautiful white-sailed vessel that isgoing south through the sum
Macleod of Dare : a novel . will do that, said he, somewhatabsently. Even the bustle of departure and thebrightness of the morning had failed to putcolour and life into the haggard face and thehopeless eyes. That was a sorrowful leave-taking at theshore; and Macleod, standing on the deck ofthe yacht, could see, long after they had set sail,that his mother and cousin were still on thesmall quay watching the Umpire so long asshe was in sight. Then they rounded the Kossof Mull; and he saw no more of the women ofCastle Dare. And this beautiful white-sailed vessel that isgoing south through the summer seas : surelyshe is no deadly instrument of vengeance, butonly a messenger of peace ? Look, now, howshe has passed through the Sound of Ion a : andthe white sails are shining in the light; and faraway before her, instead of the islands withwhich she is familiar, are other islands—anotherColonsay altogether, and Islay, and Jura, andScarba, all a pale transparent blue. And whatwill the men on the lonely Dubh-Artach rock. THE WHITE-WINGED DOVE. 221 think of lier as they see her pass by ? Why,surely that she looks like a beautiful white dove!It is a summer day; the winds are soft; flysouth, then, White Dove, and carry to her thismessage of tenderness, and entreaty, and peace ISurely t e gentle ear will listen to you ; beforethe winter comes, and the skies grow dark over-head, and there is no white dove at all, but anangry sea-eagle, with black wings outspread, andtalons ready to strike. 0 what is the sound in thesummer air ? Is it the singing of the sea-maidenof Colon say, bewailing still the loss of her loverin other years ? We cannot stay to listen ; thewinds are fair; fly southward, and still south-ward, 0 you beautiful White Dove, and it is alla message of love and of peace that you willwhisper to her ear ! CHAPTER XII. DOVE OR SEA EAGLE ? But there are no fine visions troublino- themind of Hamish as lie stands liere by thetiller in eager consultation with Colin Laing,who
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