“I see Mr. Harland’s yacht has returned to her moorings,”—­he said, after a while, addressing his men, “When did she come back?”

“Immediately after you left, sir,”—­was the reply.

I looked and saw the two yachts—­the ‘Dream’ and the ‘Diana,’ anchored in the widest part of Loch Scavaig—­the one with the disfiguring funnels that make even the most magnificent steam yacht unsightly as compared with a sailing vessel,—­the other a perfect picture of lightness and grace, resting like a bird with folded wings on the glittering surface of the water.  My mind was disturbed and bewildered,—­I felt that I had journeyed through immense distances of space and cycles of time during that brief excursion to Loch Coruisk,—­and as the launch rushed onward and we lost sight of the entrance to what for me had been a veritable Valley of Vision, it seemed that I had lived through centuries rather than hours.  One thing, however, remained positive and real in my experience, and this was the personality of Santoris.  With each moment that passed I knew it better—­the flash of his blue eyes—­his sudden fleeting smile—­the turn of his head—­the very gesture of his hand,—­all these were as familiar to me as the reflection of my own face in a mirror.  And now there was no wonderment mingled with the deepening recognition,—­I found it quite natural that I should know him well,- -indeed, it was to me evident that I had known him always.  What troubled me, however, was a subtle fear that crept insidiously through my veins like a shuddering cold,—­a terror lest something to which I could give no name, should separate us or cause us to misunderstand each other.  For the psychic lines of attraction between two human beings are finer than the finest gossamer and can be easily broken and scattered even though they may or must be brought together again after long lapses of time.  But so many opportunities had already been wasted, I thought, through some recklessness or folly, either on his part or mine.  Which of us was to blame?  I looked at him half in fear, half in appeal, as he sat in the boat with his head turned a little aside from me,—­he seemed grave and preoccupied.  A sudden thrill of emotion stirred my heart—­ tears sprang to my eyes so thickly that for a moment I could scarcely see the waves that glittered and danced on all sides like millions of diamonds.  A change had swept over my life,—­a change so great that I was hardly able to bear it.  It was too swift, too overpowering to be calmly considered, and I was glad when we came alongside the ‘Dream’ and I saw Mr. Harland on deck, waiting for us at the top of the companion ladder.

“Well!” he called to me—­“Was it a good sunset?”

“Glorious!” I answered him—­“Did you see nothing of it?”

“No.  I slept soundly, and only woke up when Brayle came over to explain that Catherine had taken it into her head to have a short cruise, that he had humoured her accordingly, and that they had just come back to anchorage.”