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.”