“Well, well!” said the Cornal, drumming with his fingers on his chair-arm impatiently, “you’re in no great hurry with your budget. What vessel was it?” “It was the _Jean_,” said Gilian, bracing himself up for a plunge. “Ye seem to be a wondrous lot mixed up with the fortunes of that particular ship,” said the Cornal sourly. “What way did it happen?” “She was in the mouth of the river,” said Gilian, “and the spate of the river brought down the wooden bridge at Clonary. I saw it coming, and I cried to them, and Black Duncan cast off, leaving boat and tiller. She drove before the wind and went on Ealan Dubh, and sunk, and--that was all.” The story, as he told it, was as bald of interest as if it were a page from an old almanack. “What came of the men?” said the Cornal. “The loss of the _Jean_ does not amount to muckle; there was not a plank of her first timbers left in her.” “They got ashore in the small boat,” said Gilian. “Which was left behind, I think you said at first,” said the Cornal, annoyed at some apparent link a missing in the chain of circumstance. “If the boat was left behind as well as the tiller--I think you mentioned the tiller--how did they get ashore in it? Did you see them get ashore?” “I saw Black Duncan and the girl, but not the others,” answered Gilian, all at once forgetting that some caution was needed here. Up more straightly sat the Cornal, and fixed him with a stern eye. “Oh, ay!” said he; “she was in the story too, and you fancied you might hide her. I would not wonder now but you had been in the vessel yourself.” Gilian was abashed at his own inadvertence, but he hastened to explain that he was on the shore watching the vessel when she struck. “But you were on the vessel some time?” said the Cornal, detecting some reservation. “Oh, Colin, Colin, I wonder at you!” cried Miss Mary, now in arms for her favourite, and utterly heedless of the frown her brother threw at her for her interference. “You treat the boy as if he was a vagabond and--” “--Vagabond or no vagabond,” said the Cornal, “he was where he should not be. I’m wanting but the truth from him, and that, it seems, is not very easy to get.” “You are not just at all,” she protested. Then she went over and whispered something in his ear. His whole look changed; where had been suspicion came something of open admiration, but he gave it no expression on his tongue. “Take your time, Gilian,” said he; “tell us how the small boat got to the vessel.” “The boy went down to the river mouth,” said Gilian, “and--” “--The boy?” said the Cornal. “Well, if you must be putting it that idiotic way, you must; anyway, we’re waiting on the story.”