the fluttering and seething that there was a good haul; and in their excitement the scringers who were ashore forgot the danger of their situation—there were muttered exclamations in Gaelic as the net was narrowed in and in. And then, behold!—in the dark meshes those shining silver things—each entangled fish a gleaming, scintillating wonder—a radiant prize, here in the deep night. If this was _Kain_ for Donald Ross of Heimra, it was _Kain_ fit to be paid to a king. It was at this moment that three men came across the rocky headland guarding the bay on its northern side. They had just completed a careful inspection of the neighbouring creek—as careful as the darkness would allow; they had followed the windings of the coast, searching every inlet; and so far their quest had been in vain. Now they stood on this promontory, peering and listening. "No, sir, I do not see or hear anything," said Hector, the tall keeper, who had a gun over his shoulder; and he seemed inclined to give up further pursuit. "But I tell you they must be somewhere," said Fred Stanley, in an excited fashion. "There was no mistake about what they were after. What would they be going out in a boat for at this time of the night, if it wasn’t for scringeing?" "Maybe they would be for setting night-lines," said the keeper, evasively. "Not a bit of it!" the young man retorted with impatience. "I know better than that. And I know who is in that boat—I know perfectly well. It isn’t for nothing that the _Sirène_ is lying in Camus Bheag: I know who is out with those poaching nets—and I’m going to catch him if I can. I want to have certain things made public: I want an explanation: I want to have the Sheriff at Dingwall called in to settle this matter." "Are you quite sure you saw the boat, sir?" said the keeper—all this conversation taking place in lowered tones, except when Fred Stanley grew angry and indignant. "Why," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth, "how far was she from the steam-launch when she passed—not half a dozen yards, I’ll swear! It was a marvellous stroke of luck we thought of going out for that draught-board; they little thought there would be any one on the launch at that hour; and I tell you, if the punt had been a bit bigger, I would have given chase to them there and then. Never mind, we ought to be able to catch them yet—catch them in the act—and I mean to see it out——" "Yes, but we haven’t caught them," said Frank Meredyth, discontentedly; for he had stumbled again and again, and knocked his ankles against the rocks; and he would far rather have been at home, talking to Mary Stanley. "And it’s beastly dark: we shall be slipping down into the water sooner or later. What’s the use of going on, Fred? What about a few sea-trout? Everybody does it——"