“All right!  Hammer at his door until he gets up.  I shall be ready in ten minutes.”

About half an hour thereafter the two young men were standing at the front of Mackenzie’s house, examining the enormous rod that Duncan had placed against the porch.  It was still early morning, and there was a cold wind blowing in from the sea, but there was not a speck of cloud in the sky, and the day promised to be hot.  The plain of the Atlantic was no longer a sheet of glass:  it was rough and gray, and far out an occasional quiver of white showed where a wave was hissing over.  There was not much of a sea on, but the heavy wash of the water round the rocks and sandy bays could be distinctly heard in the silence of the morning.

And what was this moving object down there by the shore where the Maighdean-mhara lay at anchor?  Both the young men at once recognized the glimmer of the small white feather and the tightly-fitting blue dress of the sea-princess.

“Why, there is Sheila!” cried Ingram.  “What in all the world is she about at such an hour?”

At this moment Duncan came out with a book of flies in his hand, and he said in rather a petulant way, “And it iss no wonder Miss Sheila will be out.  And it wass Miss Sheila herself will tell me to see if you will go to ta White Water and try for a salmon.”

“And she is bringing up something from the boat:  I must go and carry it for her,” said Lavender, making down the path to the shore with the speed of a deer.

When Sheila and he came up the hill there was a fine color in the girl’s face from her morning’s exertions, but she was not disposed to go indoors to rest.  On the contrary, she was soon engaged in helping Mairi to bring in some coffee to the parlor, while Duncan cut slices of ham and cold beef big enough to have provisioned a fishing-boat bound for Caithness.  Sheila had had her breakfast; so she devoted all her time to waiting upon her two guests, until Lavender could scarcely eat through the embarrassment produced by her noble servitude.  Ingram was not so sensitive, and made a very good meal indeed.

“Where’s your father, Sheila?” said Ingram when the last of their preparations had been made and they were about to start for the river, “Isn’t he up yet?”

“My father?” said the girl, with the least possible elevation of her eyebrows—­“he will be down at Borvabost an hour ago.  And I hope that John the Piper will not see him this morning.  But we must make haste, Mr. Ingram, for the wind will fall when the sun gets stronger, and then your friend will have no more of the fishing.”