“I had a son,” he said to himself; “a son borne to me by the only woman who ever loved me with completely pure and disinterested love; and I never looked upon his infant sleep; I never shared his boyish confidence; and I met him in the pride of his manhood and hated him because he was bright, and young, hopeful, and like myself at my best. And I put myself between him and the girl who loved him,--I, his father,--and tried to steal her heart away from him. O God! to think of his uncherished childhood, his uncared-for boyhood, his friendless manhood! My only son! And I have squandered thousands on old coins, I have locked up the cost of half a dozen university educations in doubtful intaglios. My son! made after my own image--my very self--the reproduction of my youth at its brightest--the incarnation of my hopes and dreams when they were purest! O Celia! this is the vengeance which Fate exacts for the wrongs of the forgiving. Here, on this dreary shore, which that poor girl fled from in her despair--here, after four-and-twenty years, the hour of retribution sounds, and the penalty is exacted!” Thus ran Harold Jerningham’s thoughts as he waited for the return of the boat that was still away on its vain, desperate errand. It came back too soon, a lantern at the prow gleaming bright through the rainy darkness. No, the men had found no one--no trace of the missing wanderer. “What if he went back to Halko’s Head by the sands, and is kept there by stress of weather?” cried Daniel, suddenly; “there is that one chance left. O God! it is but a chance. What vehicle can I get to take me to that place? I must go at once!” “There is the horse I rode this morning,” said Mr. Jerningham. “I will go to Halko’s Head.” “Why should you do my duty?” asked Daniel, angrily. “Do you think I am afraid of a strange road or a shower of rain, when I have to go in search of my dead sister’s son?” To this Mr. Jerningham made no reply. He would fain have gone himself to the fishing village on the headland, to see if, by any happy chance, Eustace had returned thither. But he, Harold Jerningham, had no right to put himself forward in this search. Acknowledged tie between him and the missing man there was none. He could only submit to the natural desire of Daniel Mayfield. Upon inquiry, it appeared that the landlord of the “William Wallace” inn possessed a vehicle, which he spoke of vaguely, as a “wee bit giggy,” and which, with the sturdy steed that drew it, was very much at the service of Mr. Mayfield. A hanger-on of the inn could drive the gentleman to Halko’s Head, and would guarantee his safe conduct thither, and safe return to Killalochie, despite of the darkness and foul weather.