“Off the west coast of Ireland, Miss Courtenay. Off what mariners declare to be the most perilous lee-shore in Europe, if not in the world; and in an open boat too, at least but half decked, and on a day of such storm that, except ourselves and the unlucky yawl that was lost, not another sail was to be seen.” “And were the crew lost?” “No; it was in saving them, as they chung to the floating spars, that we were so near perishing ourselves.” “But you _did_ save them?” “Every one. It was a daring act; so daring that, landsman as I was, I deemed it almost foolhardy. Indeed, our crew at first resisted, and wouldn’t do it.” “It was nobly done, be assured, Mr. M’Kinlay; these are occasions well bought at all their cost of danger. Not only is a man higher for them in his own esteem, but that to all who know him, who respect, who----” She hesitated, and, in a flurried sort of way, suddenly said, “And where did you land them?” “We landed them on the island,” said he, with an almost triumphant air--“we brought them back to their own homes--dreary enough in all conscience; but they never knew better.” “How is the place called?” “Innishmore, the most northern of the Arran Islands,” said he, in a whisper, and looking uneasily over at Sir Gerrais, to see that he was not overheard. “Is the place interesting, or picturesque, or are there any objects of interest?” said she, carelessly, and to let him recover his former composure. “None whatever,” continued he, in the same cautious voice; “mere barbarism, and such poverty as I never witnessed before. In the house where we were received--the only thing worthy the name of a house in the place--the few articles of furniture were made of the remnants thrown on shore from shipwrecks; and we had on the dinner-table earthenware pipkins, tin cups, glasses, and wooden measures indiscriminately. While, as if to heighten the incongruity, a flagon of silver, which had once been gilt too, figured in the midst, and displayed a very strange crest--a heart rent in two, with the motto, _La Zutte réelle_, a heraldic version of the name.” “Luttrell,” whispered she, still lower. “What is his christian name?” “John Hamilton. But, my dear Miss Courtenay, where have you been leading me all this time? These are all secrets; at least, Sir Gervais enjoined me especially not to speak of where I had been, nor with whom. I am aware it was out of respect for the feelings of this unfortunate man, who, however little trace there remained of it, has once been a gentleman and a man of some fortune.” “If you never tell my brother that you have revealed this to me, I promise you I’ll not speak of it,” said she; and, with all her effort to appear calm, her agitation nearly overcame her. “You may depend upon _me_, Miss Courtenay.” “Nor to my sister,” muttered she, still dwelling on her own thoughts.