disturbed ("'Tis a young fellow, I'm afeerd,
without much heart," said the skipper), and
seemed by no means sorry to set foot on shore.

"It's neither rock, nor wreck, nor whale, nor
serpent, nor anything we know of here" was
all that could be got from Peter, but one of
his hands, who had taken a steadier look at the
creature, declared that it made intelligent
movements; also, that, in rolling, it displayed its
flanks, which were reddish brown, and covered
with bunches as big as botheys, and things like
stunted trees! Pressed as to its size, he thought
it might be three-quarters to a mile round, but
there was more below!

"Not many of us fishermen turned in that
night," the skipper went on to say. "We
were up and down to the beach continually;
for, the night being still, we could hear the beast,
and from its surging, and a thundering noise
that might be his blowing, we thought he might
be shifting his berth. And so he was; for at
daybreak he worked to the east'ard, and has
lain moored ever since where you saw. But
we still hear him, and the swell he makes comes
right up to our boats in the harbour. Why
don't we venture out a mile or so? This is
why. Because, if he's a quarter so big as they
say—and, sir, I'm afeerd to tell you what that
is—supposin' he made up his mind to go down,
he'd suck down a seventy-four, if she were
within a mile of him. We're losing our bread,
but we most bide his pleasure, or rather,
God's, that sent him," concluded the honest
skipper, "come what will on it."

"There was one chance for us," he presently
added. "The Sapphire, surveying ship, is
expected every day, and some think the captain
wouldn't mind touching him up with his carronades;
but when he sees what 'tis, I don't think
he'll consider it his dooty!"

They had reached the village during this
conversation, and were approaching a group of
persons engaged apparently in some dispute, when
a young man burst out from the party, and, in
a discomposed manner, was walking away. The
skipper stopped him.

"Well, Peter, my lad; what's wrong now?"

"I think she's mad!" was Peter's doubtful
answer, as he brushed back his hair impatiently
from his hot, excited brow. He had handsome
but effeminate features, and seemed about
twenty.

The skipper spoke a word or two with him
apart, patted his shoulder, as if enforcing some
advice, and rejoined my uncle.

"Young Magnus, my sister's son," he said.
"A sweethearts' quarrel, sir, that's all. But
she do try him sure! Ah, Leasha, Leasha!" he
continued, shaking his head at a young woman
who sat at work upon the gunwale of a boat,
and appeared the centre of an admiring circle
of both sexes, who stood, sat, or sprawled about
her, as their fancy prompted. She was very
handsome, haughty-looking for her station, and,
at this moment, out of humour.

Though she could not hear the skipper's
exclamation, she understood the gesture that
accompanied it, and, smoothing her brow,
appeared to stand on the defensive.

Young Magnus, who had returned to the
circle, stepped forward.

"Now, Leasha," he said, "will you dare to
say before my uncle what you did to me—yes,
to me?" repeated the young man, striking his
breast passionately.

The word was ill chosen. Leasha's spirit
rose.

"Dare!" she said, in a suppressed voice.
"You shall see," she said. "But remember, Mr.
Edmonston," addressing my uncle's companion,
"this has nothing to do with such as you. I
said that, among Scalloway men, we had both
children and cowards. I said that, because a
wrecked hull, or a raft of Norway timber, or at
worst a helpless dying monster of some sort is
floating on our shores, we are not ashamed to
skulk and starve in port. Not a boat will put
out to take up the fish within half a mile of this
beach"—she stamped her bare and sinewy
but well-formed foot upon it—"nor even venture
near enough to discover what it is that has
scared away your courage and reason. Shame
on all such, I say, and shame again."

"You don't know what you are talking of,
Leasha," said Edmonston. "We do. If there
were not danger, I should not be here. I might
be willing to risk my life, but not my ship,
which, while God spares her, must be my son's
and grandson's bread. You speak at random,
girl, and Peter Magnus is no more to blame
than the rest of us; less, perhaps," said the
good-natured skipper, "for his boat is but a
little thing. A 'wreck,' child? Who ever
saw a rig with nine masts! 'Norway rafts?'
Psha! Call it a sea-thing, you're nearer to the
truth; but he's a bold seaman, and a precious
fool to boot, that puts his craft near enough to
ask whence he hails."

"I would do it if I were a man," cried the
girl, beating her foot upon the ground. "And
—and I will not say what I should think of the
bold man that did it now."

Young Magnus coloured to the temples, for
the challenge was directed to him, but made no
reply. There had stood, meanwhile, a little
aloof from the group, a young fisherman, tall,
athletic, and with a countenance that would
have been handsome but for a depression of the
nose, the result of an injury, and for a somewhat
sullen and sinister expression, which was
perhaps habitual to him. The words had not
left Leasha's lips before he uncoiled his arms,
which had been folded on his broad chest, and
strode into the circle, saying, quietly,

"I will go."

"You'll not be such a fool, Gilbert Suncler
(Sinclair)," said Edmonston.

"You'll see," said the other, in his short,
sullen manner. "Some of you boys shove her
off," pointing to his boat, "while I run up
yonder."

He went to a cottage close at hand, and was
back almost instantly, carrying something under
his fishing-cape, and a gun. His boat was