He, too, stooped to gather a few of the yellow hill-flowers, and put them in his breast. Then, after one long, mournful look at the deserted summer-house, he mounted his horse, and rode slowly to the dilapidated shooting-box which had come to him with the rest of his kinsman’s estate. At the gate of this humble domain he dismounted again, and left his horse cropping the rank grass in the neglected garden, while he made his way into the house, very much after the manner in which Eustace Thorburn had penetrated it upon the previous day. He walked quickly through the rooms, and left the house hurriedly. To him the gloom of the dust-whitened chambers was almost intolerable. “Why do I grope among dry bones and dead men’s skulls?” he asked himself. “Can any man afford to retrace his steps over the ground he trod in his youth? Shall I, above all men, dare the phantoms of the Past?” He mounted his horse, and rode away without a glance behind him, as if he had, indeed, encountered some ghostly presence in that empty dwelling-place. “I will have it rased to the ground next week,” he said to himself. “Why should it stand for ever as a monument of my faults and follies? And that young man, de Bergerac’s _protégé_, entreated me to spare the summer-house yonder, because it is sacred to him! To him? What should make it sacred in his eyes? What connexion can he have with _that_ dark story! And they say he is like me--indeed, I have myself perceived the resemblance. I will question him closely to-night at Killalochie.” At Halko’s Head Mr. Jerningham stopped to refresh his horse, and ordered refreshment for himself, for the benefit of the humble hostelry where he stopped. Here he dawdled away an hour and a half very drearily, for the repose of his steed. The weather had changed for the worse when he emerged from the little inn. Ominous black clouds obscured the horizon, and a shrill east wind whistled across the barren hills. Looking seaward from the lofty headland, Mr. Jerningham saw that the tide had risen considerably since he had last looked at the sands. “When did the tide turn, my man?” he asked, of the lad who brought him his horse. “Above two hours ago, sir.” “Two hours ago! It was turning then when Thorburn went down to the sands,” thought Mr. Jerningham. And then he again questioned the boy: “I suppose any one setting off by the sands for Killalochie at turn of tide would get there safely?” he asked. The boy shook his head with a doubtful grin. “I dinna ken, sir. Folks fra’ Halko’s Head mun start when the tide wants an hour o’ turning, if they’d get to Killalochie dry-shod.” “Great heaven!” cried Harold Jerningham, “and that young man is a stranger to the coast.”