'Your boat was stranded on the Reachin Skerry,' went on Mr. Stewart, 'and the men have brought her home. You may have the use of her again.'

'Thank you, Father,' said Allan.

They all scanned Mr. Stewart's face to read, if possible, his intentions regarding Neil; but nothing was to be gathered.

'Isn't Father a dear?' said Tricksy, when they had wandered out to the cricket-ground. 'He knows we couldn't betray our friend, not even for him.'

'Yes,' said Reggie; 'but the question is whether he will have to do something himself, since he's a J.P.'

The question was not answered that day, and during the next they were still in ignorance.

On the third day it was discovered that detectives were in the island again, and Euan brought the news that every boat was watched both coming and going.

The days dragged on in suspense, and still Neil was in the caves. Rob MacLean had a plan for conveying him away by night and landing him somewhere on the coast of Scotland, from whence the lad was to tramp to some large town and stow himself away on a vessel bound for America; but the bright, full moon rendered any such attempts impossible for the meanwhile.

'Isn't it too bad?' broke out Marjorie one day; 'I think the law is cruel if it forces Mr. Stewart to have Neil arrested. I wonder how he could do it. He knows as well as we do that Neil isn't a thief.'

'It wasn't Father,' said Allan. 'I happen know that he's lying low and won't take any notice. All our people are bound together not to betray Neil, but some one has been a traitor; they don't know who. Neil has a secret enemy in the place.'

They all thought they knew who this was, but no one could bring the deed home to the culprit. All desire for fun and adventure seemed to have left them, and the boys and girls wandered about disconsolately or sat in groups talking about plans which they were unable to carry out; or later, ceased to find anything at all to suggest. Even the dogs seemed to know that something was the matter, for they would lie quietly beside the children for hours, and sometimes Laddie would thrust his nose into some one's hand and look up with his honest, affectionate eyes full of sympathy.

The weather became more broken, and sometimes all intercourse between Ardnavoir and Corranmore was cut off during the greater part of a day.

When the rain ceased, Andrew MacPeters, looking up from his work, would find Reggie's dark eyes contemplating him as their owner sat astride upon a d.y.k.e, or Allan considering him with hands in his pockets, and a thoughtful countenance; or else it was the Grahams who regarded him with a mixture of interest and aversion, or Tricksy with her great eyes resting upon him with an expression of sorrow that any one could be so dreadfully wicked.

The lad would look up with a surly expression in his red-lidded eyes; but watch as they might, they never detected in him any expression of guilt or embarra.s.sment.

CHAPTER XIV

CAUGHT

The evening had closed in heavy rain, and towards morning a gusty wind arose, buffeting the walls of Corranmore and making wild noises in the ruin.

Marjorie awoke and sat up in bed. A moment's hearkening convinced her that what the islanders most dreaded had become reality; a westerly gale had arisen while Neil was still in the caves.

She sprang to the window; and the grey light showed her an angry sea, with the white horses leaping and hurrying towards the Corrachin headland.

The tide was rising, and was being driven eastward with terrific force by the gale.

Marjorie ran to her brother's room; but a glance showed her an empty bed.

'No time to lose,' said Marjorie to herself; 'perhaps he has gone to warn Neil, and perhaps he hasn't; in any case I'd better go too.'

She hurried on some clothing and ran out of doors. The wind had swept the clouds towards the east, and an angry dawn was breaking above the hills. Marjorie sped over the drenched gra.s.s and heather, the wind was lifting her nearly off her feet, and blowing her frock in front of her like a sail. There were more than three miles of rugged country between Corranmore and the headland. It was a race between herself and the tide; and the tide seemed to be gaining.

Marjorie ran on and on. Neither Hamish nor any other living creature was in sight. The sheep had left the moors and the gulls were taking refuge inland.

At last the headland came in view. A glance showed Marjorie that the waves had not yet reached high-water mark. Mechanically she chose the road by the sh.o.r.e.

Now the wind was partly against her, and at times threatened to pin her against the cliff; but Marjorie struggled forward. Soon the rocks were frowning above her head, while the breakers were coming closer, rising in solid walls which thundered as they fell. Showers of spray were flung sh.o.r.eward; and looking up at the wet glistening cliffs Marjorie wondered whether foothold would be possible upon them, and what her feelings would be were she to find herself caged between the cliffs and the breakers.

Yet she did not feel frightened, only excited.

At the caves she had only time to make a dash before a huge breaker fell; and some of the water swirled after her into the opening.

'Neil!' she cried; 'Neil!'

Neil was lying watching the flood quite calmly, as though it did not concern him in the least.

Catching sight of Marjorie he looked up in amazement; then sprang to his feet.

'Is Hamish here?' shouted Marjorie.

Her voice was drowned in the thunder of waves and wind.

Neil led her to a small chamber in the rocks, lighted from above, and where the tumult was softened into a dull roar; and she repeated her question.

'No, Miss Marjorie, I hef not seen him,' answered Neil. Their voices sounded strangely m.u.f.fled, the force of the breakers making the walls of the little cavern tremble.

'Then, Neil, you must leave this at once; the caves will be flooded in another minute, and I've come all this way to warn you.'

'Did you, Miss Marjorie? Did you indeed? You came to warn me. No, indeed; I cannot let you stay here.'

'How are we to get out, Neil? I think the tide is at the foot of the cliffs now?'

As she spoke a stream of water broke in and ran along the floor of their little shelter.

'It iss too late to get out that way now, Miss Marjorie,' said Neil; 'and in any case it would be too slippery that the cliffs would be. I will pe knowing an opening leading to the moor, where it's not difficult to climb up. Come this way.'

He helped her along the pa.s.sages. Soon they were in total darkness.

The flood was gaining upon them, and the noise rendered it impossible to exchange a word. Sometimes the water hissed and gurgled at their heels, and sometimes they plunged ankle-deep into pools.

They slipped and scrambled along, Marjorie clinging to her guide; and presently a glimmer of light came from above.

'Here we are, Miss Marjorie,' said Neil. 'If you could be managing to climb up here we would come out on the moor.'

The ascent was broken and dangerous, and was in some places only very imperfectly lighted. Neil, with his sailor's training, swung himself from point to point, sometimes drawing Marjorie up to a ledge, and sometimes instructing her where to set her feet. At last the welcome daylight burst upon them, and grasping the tufts of heather, they drew themselves on to firm ground.

'At last,' said Marjorie, throwing herself down on the heather, and blinking in the sun. 'Now you can go to the lighthouse, Neil.'

'Hullo,' said a voice; and Marjorie looked up to see the laird and Mr.

Graham, who had come all this way to watch the storm at the Corrachin Caves, and were very much astonished at this sudden encounter.

'Run, Neil,' gasped Marjorie; but Neil drew himself together.

'It iss no use,' he said; 'they will be watching wherever I will go, and I hev not a chance.'