The trouble may be far off, and of little account.

Sleep in peace." We turned in again, but sleep was broken until daylight came, and we were astir with the first gleam of sun across the door.

It was a bright morning, with a steady sea breeze from the northeast, and every promise of the fine weather that comes withal in the summer.
On the hills the smoke of the war beacons still rose and drifted, but there was no sign of stir at the foot of the glen on the mainland where the fishers had their haven, such as it was.
The brethren came from their cells, looked at the black smoke wreaths, and sighed, and went their ways into the chapel for the matins, and the little bell rang.

Then Gerda came from her cell and saw us, for she, too, was early wakeful here in the quiet.
"Why are you looking so troubled?
she asked us, as we bade her good morrow.

Her eyes went from one to the other in some dismay, for I dare say we showed that the night had been unquiet for us.
"There seems to be some trouble on the mainland," I answered.
"There are beacon fires yonder, but the brothers think little of them.