Chapter 5 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

To spend a few days on board a yacht with the same companions is a very good test of the value of sympathetic vibration in human associations. I found it so. I might as well have been quite alone on the 'Diana' as with Morton Harland and his daughter, though they were always uniformly kind to me and thoughtful of my comfort. But between us there was 'a great gulf fixed,' though every now and again Catherine Harland made feeble and pathetic efforts to cross that gulf and reach me where I stood on the other side.

But her strength was not equal to the task,-her will-power was sapped at its root, and every day she allowed herself to become more and more pliantly the prey of Dr. Brayle, who, with a subconscious feeling that I knew him to be a mere medical charlatan, had naturally warned her against me as an imaginative theorist without any foundation of belief in my own theories. I therefore shut myself within a fortress of reserve, and declined to discuss any point of either religion or science with those for whom the one was a farce and the other mere materialism. At all times when we were together I kept the conversation deliberately down to commonplaces which were safe, if dull,-and it amused me not a little to see that at this course of action on my part Mr. Harland was first surprised, then disappointed and finally bored. And I was glad. That I should bore him as much as he bored me was the happy consummation of my immediate desires. I talked as all conventional women talk, of the weather, of our minimum and maximum speed, of the newspaper 'sensations' and vulgarities that were served up to us whenever we called at a port for the mails,-of the fish that frequented such and such waters, of sport, of this and that millionaire whose highland castle or shooting-box was crammed with the 'elite' whose delight is to kill innocent birds and animals,-of the latest fool-flyers in aeroplanes,-in short, no fashionable jabberer of social inanities could have beaten me in what average persons call 'common-sense talk,'-talk which resulted after a while in the usual vagueness of attention accompanied by smothered yawning. I was resolved not to lift the line of thought 'up in the air' in the manner whereof I had often been accused, but to keep it level with the ground. So that when we left Tobermory, where we had anchored for a couple of days, the limits of the yacht were becoming rather cramped and narrow for our differing minds, and a monotony was beginning to set in that threatened to be dangerous, if not unbearable. As the 'Diana' steamed along through the drowsy misty light of the summer afternoon, past the jagged coast of the mainland, I sat quite by myself on deck, watching the creeping purple haze that partially veiled the mountains of Ardnamurchan and Moidart, and I began to wonder whether after all it might not be better to write to my friend Francesca and tell her that her prophecies had already come true,-that I was beginning to be weary of a holiday passed in an atmosphere bereft of all joyousness, and that she must expect me in Inverness-shire at once. And yet I was reluctant to end my trip with the Harlands too soon. There was a secret wish in my heart which I hardly breathed to myself,-a wish that I might again see the strange vessel that had appeared and disappeared so suddenly, and make the acquaintance of its owner. It would surely be an interesting break in the present condition of things, to say the least of it. I did not know then (though I know now) why my mind so persistently busied itself with the fancied personality of the unknown possessor of the mysterious craft which, as Captain Derrick said, 'sailed without wind,' but I found myself always thinking about him and trying to picture his face and form.

I took myself sharply to task for what I considered a foolish mental attitude,-but do what I would, the attitude remained unchanged. It was helped, perhaps, in a trifling way by the apparently fadeless quality of the pink bell-heather which had been given me by the weird-looking Highland fellow who called himself Jamie, for though three or four days had now passed since I first wore it, it showed no signs of withering. As a rule the delicate waxen bells of this plant turn yellow a few hours after they are plucked,-but my little bunch was as brilliantly fresh as ever. I kept it in a glass without water on the table in my sitting-room and it looked always the same. I was questioning myself as to what I should really do if my surroundings remained as hopelessly inert and uninteresting as they were at present,-go on with the 'Diana' for a while longer on the chance of seeing the strange yacht again-or make up my mind to get put out at some point from which I could reach Inverness easily, when Mr. Harland came up suddenly behind my chair and laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Are you in dreamland?" he enquired-and I thought his voice sounded rather weak and dispirited-"There's a wonderful light on those hills just now."

I raised my eyes and saw the purple shadows being cloven and scattered one after another, by long rays of late sunshine that poured like golden wine through the dividing wreaths of vapour,-above, the sky was pure turquoise blue, melting into pale opal and emerald near the line of the grey sea which showed little flecks of white foam under the freshening breeze. Bringing my gaze down from the dazzling radiance of the heavens, I turned towards Mr. Harland and was startled and shocked to see the drawn and livid pallor of his face and the anguish of his expression.

"You are ill!" I exclaimed, and springing up in haste I offered him my chair-"Do sit down!"

He made a mute gesture of denial, and with slow difficulty drew another chair up beside mine, and dropped into it with an air of heavy weariness.

"I am not ill now,"-he said-"A little while ago I was very ill. I was in pain-horrible pain! Brayle did what he could for me-it was not much. He says I must expect to suffer now and again-until-until the end."

Impulsively I laid my hand on his.

"I am very sorry!" I said, gently-"I wish I could be of some use to you!"

He looked at me with a curious wistfulness.

"You could, no doubt, if I believed as you do,"-he replied, and then was silent for a moment. Presently he spoke again.

"Do you know I am rather disappointed in you?"

"Are you?" And I smiled a little-"Why?"

He did not answer at once. He seemed absorbed in troubled musings. When he resumed, it was in a low, meditative tone, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"When I first met you-you remember?-at one of those social 'crushes' which make the London season so infinitely tedious,-I was told you were gifted with unusual psychic power, and that you had in yourself the secret of an abounding exhaustless vitality. I repeat the words-an abounding exhaustless vitality. This interested me, because I know that our modern men and women are mostly only half alive. I heard of you that it did people good to be in your company,-that your influence upon them was remarkable, and that there was some unknown form of occult, or psychic science to which you had devoted years of study, with the result that you stood, as it were, apart from the world though in the world. This, I say, is what I heard-"

"But you did not believe it,"-I interposed.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, quickly.

"Because I know you could not believe it,"-I answered-"It would be impossible for you."

A gleam of satire flashed in his sunken eyes.

"Well, you are right there! I did not believe it. But I expected-"

"I know!" And I laughed-"You expected what is called a 'singular' woman-one who makes herself 'singular,' adopts a 'singular' pose, and is altogether removed from ordinary humanity. And of course you are disappointed. I am not at all a type of the veiled priestess."

"It is not that,"-he said, with a little vexation-"When I saw you I recognised you to be a very transparent creature, devoted to innocent dreams which are not life. But that secret which you are reported to possess-the secret of wonderful abounding exhaustless vitality-how does it happen that you have it? I myself see that force expressed in your very glance and gesture, and what puzzles me is that it is not an animal vitality; it is something else."

I was silent.

"You have not a robust physique,"-he went on-"Yet you are more full of the spirit of life than men and women twice as strong as you are. You are a feminine thing, too,-and that goes against you. But one can see in you a worker-you evidently enjoy the exercise of the accomplishments you possess-and nothing comes amiss to you. I wonder how you manage it? When you joined us on this trip a few days ago, you brought a kind of atmosphere with you that was almost buoyant, and now I am disappointed, because you seem to have enclosed yourself within it, and to have left us out!"

"Have you not left yourselves out?" I queried, gently. "I, personally, have really nothing to do with it. Just remember that when we have talked on any subject above the line of the general and commonplace your sole object has been to 'draw' me for the amusement of yourself and Dr. Brayle-"

"Ah, you saw that, did you?" he interrupted, with a faint smile.

"Naturally! Had you believed half you say you were told of me, you would have known I must have seen it. Can you wonder that I refuse to be 'drawn'?"

He looked at me with an odd expression of mingled surprise and annoyance, and I met his gaze fully and frankly. His eyes shifted uneasily away from mine.

"One may feel a pardonable curiosity," he said, "And a desire to know-"

"To know what?" I asked, with some warmth-"How can you obtain what you are secretly craving for, if you persist in denying what is true? You are afraid of death-yet you invite it by ignoring the source of life! The curtain is down,-you are outside eternal realities altogether in a chaos of your own voluntary creation!"

I spoke with some passion, and he heard me patiently.

"Let us try to understand each other," he said, after a pause-"though it will be difficult. You speak of 'eternal realities.' To me there are none, save the constant scattering and re-uniting of atoms. These, so far as we know of the extraordinary (and to me quite unintelligent) plan of the Universe, are for ever shifting and changing into various forms and clusters of forms, such as solar systems, planets, comets, star-dust and the like. Our present view of them is chiefly based on the researches of Larmor and Thomson of Cambridge. From them and other scientists we learn that electricity exists in small particles which we can in a manner see in the 'cathode' rays,-and these particles are called 'electrons.' These compose 'atoms of matter.' Well!-there are a trillion of atoms in each granule of dust,-while electrons are so much smaller, that a hundred thousand of them can lie in the diameter of an atom. I know all this,-but I do not know why the atoms or electrons should exist at all, nor what cause there should be for their constant and often violent state of movement. They apparently always HAVE BEEN, and always WILL be,-therefore they are all that can be called 'eternal realities.' Sir Norman Lockyer tells us that the matter of the Universe is undergoing a continuous process of evolution-but even if it is so, what is that to me individually? It neither helps nor consoles me for being one infinitesimal spark in the general conflagration. Now you believe-"

"In the Force that is BEHIND your system of electrons and atoms"-I said-"For by whatever means or substances the Universe is composed, a mighty Intelligence governs it-and I look to the Cause more than the Effect. For even I am a part of the whole,-I belong to the source of the stream as much as to the stream itself. An abstract, lifeless principle without will or intention or intelligence could not have evolved the splendours of Nature or the intellectual capabilities of man-it could not have given rise to what was not in itself."

He fixed his eyes steadily upon me.

"That last sentence is sound argument," he said, as though reluctantly admitting the obvious,-"And I suppose I am to presume that 'Itself' is the well-spring from which you draw, or imagine you draw, your psychic force?"

"If I have any psychic force at all," I responded,-"where do you suppose it should come from but that which gives vitality to all animate Nature? I cannot understand why you blind yourself to the open and visible fact of a Divine Intelligence working in and through all things. If you could but acknowledge it and set yourself in tune with it you would find life a new and far more dominant joy than it is to you now. I firmly believe that your very illness has arisen from your determined attitude of unbelief."

"That's what a Christian Scientist would say," he answered, with a touch of scorn,-"I begin to think Dr. Brayle is right in his estimate of you."

I held my peace.

"Have you no curiosity?" he demanded-"Don't you want to know his opinion?"

"No,"-and I smiled-"My dear Mr. Harland, with all your experience of the world, has it never occurred to you that there are some people whose opinions don't matter?"

"Brayle is a clever man,"-he said, somewhat testily, "And you are merely an imaginative woman."

"Then why do you trouble about me?" I asked him, quickly-"Why do you want to find out that something in me which baffles both Dr. Brayle and yourself?"

It was now his turn to be silent, and he remained so for some time, his eyes fixed on the shadowing heavens. The waves were roughening slightly and a swell from the Atlantic lifted the 'Diana' curtsying over their foam-flecked crests as she ploughed her way swiftly along. Presently he turned to me with a smile.

"Let us strike a truce!"-he said-"I promise not to try and 'draw' you any more! But please do not isolate yourself from us,-try to feel that we are your friends. I want you to enjoy this trip if possible,-but I fear that we are proving rather dull company for you. We are making for Skye at good speed and shall probably anchor in Loch Scavaig to-night. To-morrow we might land and do the excursion to Loch Coruisk if you care for that, though Catherine is not a good walker."

I felt rather remorseful as he said these words in a kindly tone. Yet I knew very well that, notwithstanding all the strenuous efforts which might be made by the rules of conventional courtesy, it would be impossible for me to feel quite at home in the surroundings which he had created for himself. I inwardly resolved, however, to make the best of it and to try and steer clear of any possibilities or incidents which might tend to draw the line of demarcation too strongly between us. Some instinct told me that present conditions were not to remain as they were, so I answered my host gently and assured him of my entire willingness to fall in with any of his plans. Our conversation then gradually drifted into ordinary topics till towards sunset, when I went down to my cabin to dress for dinner. I had a fancy to wear the bunch of pink bell-heather that still kept its fresh and waxen-looking delicacy of bloom, and this, fastened in the lace of my white gown, was my only adornment.

That night there was a distinct attempt on everybody's part to make things sociable and pleasant. Catherine Harland was, for once, quite cheerful and chatty, and proposed that as there was a lovely moonlight, we should all go after dinner into the deck saloon, where there was a piano, and that I should sing for them. I was rather surprised at this suggestion, as she was not fond of music. Nevertheless, there had been such an evident wish shown by her and her father to lighten the monotony which had been creeping like a mental fog over us all that I readily agreed to anything which might perhaps for the moment give them pleasure.

We went up on deck accordingly, and on arriving there were all smitten into awed silence by the wonderful beauty of the scene. We were anchored in Loch Scavaig-and the light of the moon fell with a weird splendour on the gloom of the surrounding hills, a pale beam touching the summits here and there and deepening the solemn effect of the lake and the magnificent forms of its sentinel mountains. A low murmur of hidden streams sounded on the deep stillness and enhanced the fascination of the surrounding landscape, which was more like the landscape of a dream than a reality. The deep breadths of dense darkness lying lost among the cavernous slopes of the hills were broken at intervals by strange rifts of light arising as it were from the palpitating water, which now and again showed gleams of pale emerald and gold phosphorescence,-the stars looked large and white like straying bits of the moon, and the mysterious 'swishing' of slow ripples heaving against the sides of the yacht suggested the whisperings of uncanny spirits. We stood in a silent group, entranced by the grandeur of the night and by our own loneliness in the midst of it, for there was no sign of a fisherman's hut or boat moored to the shore, or anything which could give us a sense of human companionship. A curious feeling of disappointment suddenly came over me,-I lifted my eyes to the vast dark sky with a kind of mute appeal-and moon and stars appeared to float up there like ships in a deep sea,-I had expected something more in this strange, almost spectral-looking landscape, and yet I knew not why I should expect anything. Beautiful as the whole scene was, and fully as I recognised its beauty, an overpowering depression suddenly gripped me as with a cold hand,-there was a dreary emptiness in this majestic solitude that seemed to crush my spirit utterly.

I moved a little away from my companions, and leaned over the deck rail, looking far into the black shadows of the shore, defined more deeply by the contrasting brilliance of the moon, and my thoughts flew with undesired swiftness to the darkest line of life's horizon-I had for the moment lost the sense of joy. How wretched all we human creatures are!-I said to my inner self,-what hope after all is there for us, imprisoned in a world which has no pity for us whatever may be our fate,-a world that goes on in precisely the same fashion whether we live or die, work or are idle? These tragic hills, this cold lake, this white moon, were the same when Caesar lived, and would still be the same when we who gazed upon them now were all gone into the Unknown. It seemed difficult to try and realise this obvious fact-so difficult as to be almost unnatural. Supposing that any towns or villages had ever existed on this desolate shore, they had proved useless against the devouring forces of Nature,-just as the splendid buried cities of South America had proved useless in all their magnificence,-useless as the 'Golden Age of Lanka' in Ceylon more than two thousand years ago. Of what avail then is the struggle of human life? Is it for the many or only for the few? Is all the toil and sorrow of millions merely for the uplifting and perfecting of certain individual types, and is this what Christ meant when He said 'Many are called but few are chosen'? If so, why such waste of brain and heart and love and patience? Tears came suddenly into my eyes and I started as from a bad dream when Dr. Brayle approached me softly from behind.

"I am sorry to disturb your reverie!"-he said-"But Miss Harland has gone into the deck saloon and we are all waiting to hear you sing."

I looked up at him.

"I don't feel as if I could sing to-night,"-I replied, rather tremulously-"This lonely landscape depresses me-"

He saw that my eyes were wet, and smiled.

"You are overwrought," he said-"Your own theories of health and vitality are not infallible! You must be taken care of. You think too much."

"Or too little?" I suggested.

"Really, my dear lady, you cannot possibly think too little where health and happiness are concerned! The sanest and most comfortable people on earth are those who eat well and never think at all. An empty brain and a full stomach make the sum total of a contented life."

"So YOU imagine!" I said, with a slight gesture of veiled contempt.

"So I KNOW!" he answered, with emphasis-"And I have had a wide experience. Now don't look daggers at me!-come and sing!"

He offered me his arm, but I put it aside and walked by myself towards the deck saloon. Mr. Harland and Catherine were seated there, with all the lights turned full on, so that the radiance of the moon through the window was completely eclipsed. The piano was open. As I came in Catherine looked at me with a surprised air.

"Why, how pale you are!" she exclaimed-"One would think you had seen a ghost!"

I laughed.

"Perhaps I have! Loch Scavaig is sufficient setting for any amount of ghosts. It's such a lonely place,"-and a slight tremor ran through me as I played a few soft chords-"What shall I sing to you?"

"Something of the country we are in,"-said Mr. Harland-"Don't you know any of those old wild Gaelic airs?"

I thought a moment, and then to a low rippling accompaniment I sang the old Celtic 'Fairy's Love Song'-

"Why should I sit and sigh,

Pu'in' bracken, pu'in' bracken,

Why should I sit and sigh,

On the hill-side dreary-

When I see the plover rising,

Or the curlew wheeling,

Then I know my mortal lover

Back to me is stealing.

When the day wears away

Sad I look adown the valley,

Every sound heard around

Sets my heart a-thrilling,-

Why should I sit and sigh,

Pu'in' bracken, pu'in' bracken,

Why should I sit and sigh

All alone and weary!

Ah, but there is something wanting,

Oh but I am weary!

Come, my true and tender lover,

O'er the hills to cheer me!

Why should I sit and sigh,

Pu'in' bracken, pu'in' bracken,

Why should I sit and sigh,

All alone and weary!"

I had scarcely finished the last verse when Captain Derrick suddenly appeared at the door of the saloon in a great state of excitement.

"Come out, Mr. Harland!" he almost shouted-"Come quickly, all of you!

There's that strange yacht again!"

I rose from my seat at the piano trembling a little-at last!-I thought-at last! My heart was beating tumultuously, though I could not explain my own emotion to myself. In another moment we were all standing speechless and amazed, gazing at surely the most wonderful sight that had ever been seen by human eyes. There on the dark and lonely waters of Loch Scavaig was poised, rather than anchored, the fairy vessel of my dreams, with all sails spread,-sails that were white as milk and seemingly drenched with a sparkling dewy radiance, for they scintillated like hoar-frost in the sun and glittered against the sombre background of the mountainous shore with an almost blinding splendour. Our whole crew of sailors and servants on the 'Diana' came together in astonished groups, whispering among themselves, all evidently more or less scared by the strange spectacle. Captain Derrick waited for someone to hazard a remark, then, as we remained silent, he addressed Mr. Harland-

"Well, sir, what do you make of it?"

Mr. Harland did not answer. For a man who professed indifference to all events and circumstances he seemed startled for once and a little afraid. Catherine caught me by the arm,-she was shivering nervously.

"Do you think it is a REAL yacht?" she whispered.

I was amused at this question, coming as it did from a woman who denied the supernatural.

"Of course it is!" I answered-"Don't you see people moving about on board?"

For, in the brilliant light shed by those extraordinary sails, the schooner appeared to be fully manned. Several of the crew were busy on her deck and there was nothing of the phantom in their movements.

"Her sails must surely be lit up in that way by electricity"-said Dr. Brayle, who had been watching her attentively-"But how it is done and why, is rather puzzling! I never saw anything quite to resemble it."

"She came into the loch like a flash,"-said Captain Derrick-"I saw her slide in round the point, and then without a sound of any kind, there she was, safe anchored before you could whistle. She behaved in just the same way when we first sighted her off Mull."

I listened to what they were saying, impatiently wondering what would be the end of their surmises and speculations.

"Why not exchange courtesies?" I said, suddenly,-"Here we are-two yachts anchored near each other in a lonely lake,-why should we not know each other? Then all the mysteries you are talking about would be cleared up."

"Quite true!" said Mr. Harland, breaking his silence at last-"But isn't it rather late to pay a call? What time is it?"

"About half-past ten,"-answered Dr. Brayle, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, let us get to bed!" murmured Miss Catherine, pleadingly-"What's the good of making any enquiries to-night?"

"Well, if you don't make them to-night ten to one you won't have the chance to-morrow!"-said Captain Derrick, bluntly-"That yacht will repeat her former manoeuvres and vanish at sunrise."

"As all spectres are traditionally supposed to do!" said Dr. Brayle, lighting a cigarette as he spoke and beginning to smoke it with a careless air-"I vote for catching the ghost before it melts away into the morning."

While this talk went on Mr. Harland stepped back into the saloon and wrote a note which he enclosed in a sealed envelope. With this in his hand he came out to us again.

"Captain, will you get the boat lowered, please?" he said-then, as Captain Derrick hastened to obey this order, he turned to his secretary:-"Mr. Swinton, I want you to take this note to the owner of that yacht, whoever he may be, with my compliments. Don't give it to anyone else but himself."

Mr. Swinton, looking very pale and uncomfortable, took the note gingerly between his fingers.

"Himself-yes!"-he stammered-"And-er-if there should be no one-"

"What do you mean?" and Mr. Harland frowned in his own particularly unpleasant way-"There's sure to be SOMEONE, even if he were the devil! You can say to him that the ladies of our party are very much interested in the beautiful illumination of his yacht, and that we'll be glad to see him on board ours, if he cares to come. Be as polite as you can, and as agreeable as you like."

"It has not occurred to you-I suppose you have not thought-that-that it may be an illusion?" faltered Mr. Swinton, uneasily, glancing at the glistening sails that shamed the silver sheen of the moon-"A sort of mirage in the atmosphere-"

Mr. Harland gave vent to a laugh-the heartiest I had ever heard from him.

"Upon my word, Swinton!" he exclaimed-"I should never have thought you capable of nerves! Come, come!-be off with you! The boat is lowered-all's ready!"

Thus commanded, there was nothing for the reluctant Mr. Swinton but to obey, and I could not help smiling at his evident discomfiture. All his precise and matter-of-fact self-satisfaction was gone in a moment,-he was nothing but a very timorous creature, afraid to examine into what he could not at once understand. No such terrors, however, were displayed by the sailors who undertook to row him over to the yacht. They, as well as their captain, were anxious to discover the mystery, if mystery there was,-and we all, by one instinct, pressed to the gangway as he descended the companion ladder and entered the boat, which glided away immediately with a low and rhythmical plash of oars. We could watch it as it drew nearer and nearer the illuminated vessel, and our excitement grew more and more intense. For once Mr. Harland and his daughter had forgotten all about themselves,-and Catherine's customary miserable expression of face had altogether disappeared in the keenness of her interest for something more immediately thrilling than her own ailments. So far as I was concerned, I could hardly endure the suspense that seemed to weigh on every nerve of my body during the few minutes' interval that elapsed between the departure of the boat and its drawing up alongside the strange yacht. My thoughts were all in a whirl,-I felt as if something unprecedented and almost terrifying was about to happen,-but I could not reason out the cause of my mental agitation.

"There they go!" said Mr. Harland-"They're alongside! See!-those fellows are lowering the companion ladder-there's nothing supernatural about THEM! Swinton's all right-look, he's on board!"

We strained our eyes through the brilliant flare shed by the illuminated sails on the darkness and could see Mr. Swinton talking to a group of sailors. One of them went away, but returned almost immediately, followed by a man clad in white yachting flannels, who, standing near one of the shining sails, caught some of the light on his own figure with undeniably becoming effect. I was the first to perceive him, and as I looked, the impression came upon me that he was no stranger,-I had seen him often before. This sudden consciousness swiftly borne in upon me calmed all the previous tumult of my mind and I was no longer anxious as to the result of our possible acquaintance. Catherine Harland pressed my arm excitedly.

"There he is!" she said-"That must be the owner of the yacht. He's reading father's letter."

He was,-we could see the little sheet of paper turning over in his hands. And while we waited, wondering what would be his answer, the light on the sails of his vessel began to pale and die away,-beam after beam of radiance slipped off as it were like drops of water, and before we could quite realise it there was darkness where all had lately been so bright; and the canvas was hauled down. With the quenching of that intense brilliancy we lost sight of the human figures on deck and could not imagine what was to happen next. The dark shore looked darker than ever,-the outline of the yacht was now truly spectral, like a ship of black cobweb against the moon, and we looked questioningly at each other in silence. Then Mr. Harland spoke in a low tone.

"The boat is coming back,"-he said,-"I hear the oars."

I leaned over the side of our vessel and tried to see through the gloom. How still the water was!-not a ripple disturbed its surface. But there were strange gleams of wandering light in its depths like dropped jewels lost on sands far below. The regular dip of oars sounded nearer and nearer. My heart was beating with painful quickness,-I could not understand the strange feeling that overpowered me. I felt as if my very soul were going out of my body to meet that oncoming boat which was cleaving its way through the darkness. Another brief interval and then we saw it shoot out into a patch of moonlight-we could perceive Mr. Swinton seated in the stern with another figure beside him-that of a man who stood up as he neared our yacht and lifted his cap with an easy gesture of salutation, and then as the boat came alongside, caught at the guide rope and sprang lightly on the first step of the companion ladder.

"Why, he's actually come over to us himself!" ejaculated Mr. Harland,-and he hurried to the gangway just in time to receive the visitor as he stepped on deck.

"Well, Harland, how are you?" said a mellow voice in the cheeriest of accents-"It's strange we should meet like this after so many years!"