Almost directly thereafter young Ross of Heimra rose and took leave of his hostess—saying a few words of thanks for so pleasant an evening. The others did not go indoors, however; the still, balmy, moonlight night was too great a temptation. They remained on the terrace, looking at the big black steam-yacht that now lay motionless on the silver-grey water, and listening for the occasional distant sounds that came from it. But presently they saw a small boat put off from the shore, rowed by two men, with a third figure in the stern. "That is Mr. Ross!" Käthchen exclaimed. "I know it is—that is his light overcoat." "Can he be going away in the yacht?" Mary said suddenly. "Not likely!" her brother struck in. "When you start off on a yachting cruise you don’t go on board in evening dress." And then the young man turned to his male companion. "I say, Frank, don’t you think that fellow was lying when he pretended not to know anything about the fishing in the Garra?" It was an idle and careless question—perhaps not even meant to be impertinent; but Mary Stanley flamed up instantly—into white heat. "Mr. Ross is—is a gentleman," she said, quite breathlessly. "And—he was my guest this evening—though you—you did not seem to treat him as such!" Käthchen put her hand gently on her friend’s arm. "Mamie!" she said. And Frank Meredyth never answered the question: this little incident—and a swift and covert glance he had directed towards the young lady herself—had given him something to think about. CHAPTER V. ON GARRA’S BANKS.