He had scarcely uttered the words when the driver slashed at the neck of one of the horses; and both animals sprung forward with a jerk—a jerk so sudden and violent that Mr. Purdie was nearly pitched headlong from his seat. He threw a savage glance at the driver; but he dared not say anything—the two ladies were within hearing. Later on that evening Mary recalled this little incident—and seemed to understand. Behold, at last, the sea!—a semi-circular bay sheltered by long black headlands; beyond that the wide grey plain, white-tipped with flashing and hurrying waves; and out towards the horizon a small but precipitous island, a heavy surge springing high along its southern crags. But she had time only for the briefest glance, for here was the village—her own village!—with its smithy, its schoolroom, its inn, its grocery store that was also a post-office, and thereafter a number of not very picturesque cottages scattered about amid bits of poor garden, just above the shore. Nay, at the same moment she caught sight of Lochgarra House—her home that was to be: an odd-looking building that seemed half a jail and half a baronial castle, but was prettily situated among some larch-woods on a promontory on the other side of the bay. Of course they had driven through the little township almost directly; and now she could turn to the sea again—that looked strangely mournful and distant in the wan twilight. "But where’s the yacht?" she exclaimed. "What yacht?" her companion asked, with some surprise. "Why, the yacht I saw a minute ago—just before we came to the village: it was out yonder—close to the island——" "Oh, nonsense, Mary!" said Kate Glendinning. "You may have seen a fishing-smack, or a lobster-boat—but a yacht at this time of the year!——" "I declare to you I saw a yacht—for I noticed how white the sails were, even in the twilight," Mary insisted; and then she appealed to the factor: "Mr. Purdie, didn’t you see a yacht out there a minute or two ago?" "No, I did not," he made answer; and then he in his turn addressed the driver: "Did you, John?" "No," said the driver, looking straight ahead of him, and with a curiously impassive expression of face—an expression of face that convinced Mr. Purdie, who was prone to suspicion, that the man had lied. It was a kind of bewilderment to her, this taking possession: the going up the wide stone steps, the gazing round the lofty oak hall, the finding herself waited upon by those shy-eyed soft-spoken Highland maids. But when she was in the retirement of her own room, whither she had been accompanied by the faithful Kate, one thing stood out clear to her mind from amid all the long day’s doings.