they heard the mermaids singing--amidst so much mystery, and with the
awfulness of the sea around them."

"But we have had living singers," said Macleod, "and that among the
Macleods, too. The most famous of all the song-writers of the Western
Highlands was Mary Macleod, that was born in Harris--Mairi Nighean
Alasdair ruaidh, they called her, that is, Mary, the daughter of Red
Alister. Macleod of Dunvegan, he wished her not to make any more songs;
but she could not cease the making of songs. And there was another
Macleod--Fionaghal, they called her, that is the Fair Stranger. I do not
know why they called her the Fair Stranger--perhaps she came to the
Highlands from some distant place. And I think if you were going among
the people there at this very day, they would call you the Fair
Stranger."

He spoke quite naturally and thoughtlessly: his eyes met hers only for a
second; he did not notice the soft touch of pink that suffused the
delicately tinted cheek.

"What did you say was the name of that mysterious stranger?" asked Mrs.
Ross--"that poetess from unknown lands?"

"Fionaghal," he answered.

She turned to her husband.

"Hugh," she said, "let me introduce you to our mysterious guest. This is
Fionaghal--this is the Fair Stranger from the islands--this is the
poetess whose melodies the mermaids have picked up. If she only had a
harp, now--with sea-weed hanging from it--and an oval mirror--"