“We shall be there to-morrow. We are arrived,” she said. The words Andria did not understand, but the gesture was plain enough, and the governess looked out of the open port. Something like a blue cloud was visible as the yacht rose and fell. Andria ran on deck. There it stood on the port bow, a high, blue coast, mountainous against the sunset. As she stood leaning over the rail she saw Egerton at her elbow. “What is that land?” she said quickly. “I did not know we passed any after Madeira!” “Neither we do. This is Bermuda,” he said carelessly. Not a muscle moved in the governess’ face. No yacht could go from Southampton to Bermuda in six days; even a big liner could not do it. “Already?” she said slowly. “The boat is fast,” he answered, but he turned away quite satisfied, for there had been no hidden meaning in her voice. Andria, left alone, never stirred. Where this man was taking her and Beryl, or for what mysterious reason, she did not know; but that high land that towered against the sunset was certainly not Bermuda. The governess’ nerves tightened sharply. What could this mystery round Beryl Corselas be? And of what evil was that lie about Bermuda the beginning? CHAPTER X. THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. “The chill is in my bones.” Calm water and the stoppage of the engines roused Andria from her first sleep after a wakeful night. It was daylight, and the sun was shining. She was on deck as soon as she could dress, but her very hurry made her take a long time. The yacht lay in a small, almost landlocked, bay; the water was exquisitely blue, shoaling to green where it lapped on a white beach. A keen, heavy scent of wild orange-blossoms came from the high shores that looked an impenetrable tangle of thick woods; and behind, dark against the rose and gold of the morning sky, rose a high mountain, that cast a long, threatening shadow over the smaller slopes that ran to its feet. Utterly puzzled, Andria stood staring, scarcely even noticing the warmth of the scented air. She turned as Beryl Corselas came to her side, pale and half-awake. “Is this Bermuda?” she said pettishly. “Thank goodness, for I hate the sea! But I don’t see the house.” “What house?” asked Andria sharply. “Mr. Egerton’s, where you and I are to spend the winter with him. Didn’t you know?” Andria was speechless, for the place looked a desert island. “Look, there he is now!” she said, with surprise. “He must have been on shore.” Beryl pointed to one of the yacht’s boats that was pulling off to them from the white beach. It was certainly Egerton who sat in the stern. “Beryl,” Andria said sharply, “I hate teaching you to be deceitful, but mind you don’t let him know you’ve ever heard of me before. I don’t know why, but I don’t trust him!” “Neither do I. Yet but for him I might be back with Mother Felicitas.” “I know, and I’d be starving. I was very poor when he found me. But I’ll tell you all that later on.”