The young Lord Towyn came into his sitting-room and the presence of
his friends like a sunny south breeze, all hopefulness and gladness.
He found Sir Harold walking the floor, his head bowed upon his breast,
his face ghastly pale, his eyes haggard, his mind bordering upon
distraction. The father’s anxieties concerning his missing daughter was
almost more than the overstrung brain and tortured heart could bear.
Mr. Atkins stood at the window, sullenly despairing.
Ryan, completely at his wit’s end, sat before the blazing fire in a
crouching attitude, and with crestfallen visage.
Sir Harold, Atkins and Ryan turned, as by one impulse, toward the young
earl, as he bounded lightly into the room. Their eyes expressed their
wonder at the change a few hours had wrought in him.
“You look like incarnate sunshine, Arthur,” said the baronet sadly.
“Ah, the elastic spirit of youth!”
The young lord laughed joyously, his fair face aglow with the gladness
that filled his being. He took off his greatcoat and hat, great drops
of sleet or rain falling from it, and shook himself, as he said:
“There’s a mist beginning to fall. We shall have a wet day to-morrow.”
Sir Harold looked more keenly at the young earl, and a sudden
excitement possessed him.
“What has happened, Arthur?” he demanded. “You have news of Neva?”
The glad smiles rippled like waves of sunlight over the young lord’s
mouth, and a joyous light danced in his blue eyes.
“Yes,” he said, “I have news of Neva.”
In an instant, Sir Harold, Atkins and Ryan crowded around our hero, all
eagerness and excitement.
“Is she here, at Inverness?” cried Atkins. “Have you seen her?”
“No; she is hidden among the Highlands, up in Ross and Cromarty. She is
safe and well.”
“But how do you know it?” demanded Ryan, full of professional zeal and
jealousy at once.
Lord Towyn took in his own the right hand of Sir Harold and pressed it,
as he answered gravely:
“I have seen Craven Black!”
A series of exclamations burst from the earl’s hearers. Sir Harold
Wynde trembled like a leaf, and turned his back upon the keen-eyed
detective.
“Black is here?” ejaculated Ryan, all thoughts of “the mysterious Mr.
Hunlow” lost in his sudden amazement. “Then our trip to Scotland was
not a wild-goose chase, after all? Tell me where he is, my lord;” and
Ryan took a step toward the door.
“Leave the management of the affair to me for the present, Ryan,” said
Lord Towyn. “You have placed us on the right track, and you shall have
all the credit for doing so, but we want no arrests, no noise, no
scandal. The matter must be hushed up for family reasons. No whisper
must go forth to the world of the wickedness of Lady Wynde. The failure
of the conspirators must be their punishment.”
“Yes, yes,” said Sir Harold. “The earl is right. There must be no
scandal.”
The detective shot a keen glance at the baronet, whose back was still
toward him.
“I have discovered,” continued Lord Towyn, “that Craven Black has an
old house up in the Highlands, and that he has Neva there in close
imprisonment. Neva has all the courage for which we gave her credit,
and holds out stoutly against her enemies. Black apprehends a long stay
in the Highlands while reducing her to subjection, and has come to
Inverness to-day for winter stores. His yacht lies in the river, and he
will be off at daybreak.”
“What are we to do?” exclaimed Atkins. “He will escape us. It will be
necessary to arrest him.”
“I have made all the preparations for pursuit,” replied our hero. “I
have a sloop, provisioned and ready, in which we will follow the yacht.
We will dine here, and at a late hour this evening we will go aboard
our vessel. We must be off in the morning, soon after the yacht.”
Sir Harold plied the earl with questions, and the latter told the tale
of his day’s adventures at full length.
At six o’clock, dinner was served in their sitting-room. After dinner
they talked for hours, and at ten o’clock that evening they quitted
their hotel and went down to the wharf.
A fine mist was falling. The river was shrouded in darkness, but watery
gleams of light came from the yacht and the other vessels lying in the
river. The wind was still strong and free, blowing in fitful gusts.
The party had hardly come to a halt upon the wharf, when a small boat
manned by two rowers shot out of the gloom, and ran along-side the
landing-place.
“Is it you, Macdonald?” asked the young earl, bending forward and
straining his eyes through the darkness.
“Aye, aye, sir. Is it you, my lord!” said Macdonald, in a loud whisper,
rising in the boat.
“You are on time,” said Lord Towyn. “The clock is striking the hour at
this moment.”
The earl assisted Sir Harold into the boat, and sprang in after
him. Atkins and Ryan followed, and the boat shot out again into the
stream. A vigorous row of several minutes on the part of the brothers
Macdonald, brought the party alongside _The Lucky_, and they climbed to
her deck. The boat was drawn up and secured to the davits.
The young earl led the way out of the wet and gloom down into the
cabin. There was no fire here, but a lantern hung from the ceiling,
shedding a bright light upon the table and the bench around it. The
air was chilly, and the small cabin, despite its snugness, had the
comfortless appearance usual to a ship’s cabin.
“It’s cold here,” said the elder Macdonald, the captain of the sloop.
“I’ll just mix you a punch. There’s nothing like a good punch to keep
the rheumatiz out of one’s bones.”
He brought from the pantry a spirit lamp, which he lighted. Over this,
upon a light frame-work, he placed a tea-kettle. Then he brought out
an immense bowl and ladle, a netted bag full of lemons, a tin can of
sugar, various spices, and a jug of Scotch whisky. When the water
in the tea-kettle boiled, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work,
concocting a punch which proved a success. The four passengers, as well
as the two Macdonalds, did full justice to the warming beverage.
About eleven o’clock Sir Harold Wynde was persuaded to retire to a
state-room and berth, but he did not sleep. A host of anxieties pressed
upon him, and he tossed for hours on his hard bed, the prey of a
torturing anguish.
Atkins and Ryan went to bed, and to sleep.
Lord Towyn went out upon the deck, and walked to and fro with
Macdonald, whom he found to be a shrewd, kindly Scotsman, and he told
him enough concerning the misdeeds of Craven Black, and the abduction
of Miss Wynde, to interest him personally in the restoration of Neva
to her friends.
“We must keep an eye upon the yacht all night,” said the earl. “She
may creep out in the darkness, and if she attempts that, we will creep
after. I know the route she will take, but I prefer to arrive at the
inland loch not an hour behind her.”
“I will keep watch,” said Macdonald. “You ought to get a little sleep,
my lord.”
“I cannot sleep,” answered Lord Towyn, more to himself than to his new
ally. “My veins seem full of quicksilver to-night, rather than full of
blood. So near to her--so near!”
He paced the deck alone in the mist and the darkness. Around him the
watery gleams of light flickered upon the river, and from the wharves
other watery gleams strayed, looking like reflections of the first. The
bells rang the hours with muffled clangor. A strange ghostliness fell
upon the dark river and the sleeping city.
All through the night Lord Towyn continued his weary tramping to and
fro upon the deck. One of the Macdonalds shared his vigil; the other
slept.
_The Arrow_ lay quietly at her moorings throughout the night, but at
daybreak signs of activity were seen upon her deck. The morning had not
fairly dawned when the yacht slipped out of the stream, heading toward
Moray Frith.
The breeze was favorable to her progress, without being astern, and she
bowled away at a fine rate of speed. The young earl, looking through a
sea glass, could distinguish four figures upon the deck of _The Arrow_,
and one of these he recognized as that of Craven Black.
“Shall we shake out the sails, my lord?” asked the elder Macdonald.
“The yacht goes well, but I fancy we might show her the heels of _The
Lucky_ in a fair race. We can keep her in sight the whole distance.”
“That won’t do, Macdonald. Black must not suspect he’s followed. This
mist is like a vail, and will conceal us if we keep at a reasonable
distance behind. Let him get half way to Fort George, and then we will
start.”
In good time, when _The Arrow_ had made about the distance indicated as
desirable, _The Lucky_ slipped from her moorings, and shaking out her
sails as a bird shakes its wings, she flew onward over the waters in
pursuit.
The sloop was half-way to the fort, and the yacht was out of sight,
when the baronet, fully dressed, and showing by his haggard face that
he had not slept during the night, came out upon the deck.
The young earl took Sir Harold’s arm and they walked the deck together,
conversing in low tones.
A little later, Mr. Atkins and Ryan appeared, and the four passengers
adjourned to the cabin, where the younger Macdonald, who acted as
steward, had set out upon the cabin table a formidable array of cold
meats, bread, biscuits, and fruits, both fresh and preserved. A pot of
hot coffee had also been provided, and a bowl of hot punch was ready
for those who preferred it.
After breakfast, the passengers returned to the deck.
They passed Fort George in good time, and came out into the rougher
waters of the Moray Frith. Here their progress was less rapid. _The
Lucky_ lurched somewhat; but when she turned into the straits, and
finally emerged into the smoother waters of Cromarty Frith, she was
moving as steadily, although by no means as swiftly, as a bird upon the
wing.
_The Arrow_ was out of sight, and Macdonald crowded on all the sail the
small sloop would bear. It was well he did so, for as the day wore on
the wind grew shifty, and sometimes blew dead ahead, and the average
rate of speed up the Cromarty Frith did not exceed four miles an hour.
It was after midday when they turned into the river which led to
the loch of the Wilderness. Lord Towyn recognized the stream by the
description that had been given him, and unhesitatingly directed an
advance. Sir Harold and Mr. Atkins had many misgivings as the sloop
crept slowly up the river, a mere deep cut between high hills, their
progress like the snail’s, but they did not venture to express it to
their hopeful and confident young guide.
As the stream grew narrower their misgivings increased, and the young
earl read their thoughts in their grave faces.
“Courage!” he said, approaching the baronet. “It is true we barely
creep along here, and the day is wearing on, but the yacht has had to
go slowly here also, and cannot be more than an hour in advance of us.”
“But, Arthur,” suggested the baronet, giving voice to his
apprehensions, “suppose that the man of the yacht deceived you as to
the proper route, or that we have taken the wrong course in running up
this river? I can’t believe that any one can make a cut in the hills
like this one an approach even to a Highland stronghold. No wind can
strike our sails, or so little, at any rate, that we could easily walk
faster than we sail, if only we had a level road to walk on. And if we
_are_ upon the wrong tack, what will become of Neva, my poor wronged
little Neva?”
His voice trembled as he asked the question.
“I know we are going straight to her, Sir Harold,” said the earl
hopefully. “Believe and trust in my convictions. You may smile at the
idea, but I feel that I am getting nearer and nearer to Neva with every
inch we gain.”
The night closed in early in that wild Highland region, a night of
wind and mist. Not a light gleamed from the deck of _The Lucky_, as
she felt her way between the narrowing rocks. About six o’clock of the
early evening, she glided from the narrow river with a sudden bound, as
a puff of wind filled her flapping sails, into the hidden loch of the
Wilderness.
The yacht lay at anchor at the further side of the loch, and a mile
away. A lantern hung at her masthead, and the forms of men were seen in
the spectral glare, moving hurriedly to and fro on her deck.
“We have come to the right place, you see,” said Lord Towyn exultantly.
“This is the loch. Yonder lies the yacht, but recently come in. The men
are busy unloading their purchases.”
Sir Harold and Atkins swept the bold and rocky shores with their keen
glances. The rugged steeps were black and bare, and in the dense gloom
they saw no gleaming lights, no signs of habitation.
“We must come to anchor up in the deeper shadow of this overhanging
cliff,” said Lord Towyn.
The order was obeyed.
“Now lower a boat,” said the earl. “We will go ashore.”
The boat was lowered; the two McDonalds and the four passengers entered
it, and the boat was rowed toward the yacht, keeping close to the black
shore.
As they drew near, a row-boat was seen to shoot away from the yacht.
The McDonalds held their oars uplifted until the yacht’s boat had
grounded on the shore, and the three seamen belonging to the yacht had
landed. Two of the three employes of Craven Black loaded themselves
with hampers and parcels, and the third preceded them up the steep and
circuitous path in the mountain side, bearing a lantern which he swung
at his side.
“They are all gone up the cliff,” said the earl. “No one is left to
watch the shore. Strike out, men. Let us land and follow them up the
mountain. The man with the lantern shall guide us as well as his
comrades.”
To say was to do. The sloop’s boat speedily grounded on the strip of
beach, and Lord Towyn leaped out and sought for the entrance to the
narrow path up which the three figures were slowly climbing, one still
waving his light. The path was found. The earl bade the boatmen wait,
and the four men, Lord Towyn, Sir Harold Wynde, Mr. Atkins and Ryan,
glided up the path toward the Wilderness like so many shadows.