At six o’clock, dinner was served in their sitting-room. After dinner they talked for hours, and at ten o’clock that evening they quitted their hotel and went down to the wharf. A fine mist was falling. The river was shrouded in darkness, but watery gleams of light came from the yacht and the other vessels lying in the river. The wind was still strong and free, blowing in fitful gusts. The party had hardly come to a halt upon the wharf, when a small boat manned by two rowers shot out of the gloom, and ran along-side the landing-place. “Is it you, Macdonald?” asked the young earl, bending forward and straining his eyes through the darkness. “Aye, aye, sir. Is it you, my lord!” said Macdonald, in a loud whisper, rising in the boat. “You are on time,” said Lord Towyn. “The clock is striking the hour at this moment.” The earl assisted Sir Harold into the boat, and sprang in after him. Atkins and Ryan followed, and the boat shot out again into the stream. A vigorous row of several minutes on the part of the brothers Macdonald, brought the party alongside _The Lucky_, and they climbed to her deck. The boat was drawn up and secured to the davits. The young earl led the way out of the wet and gloom down into the cabin. There was no fire here, but a lantern hung from the ceiling, shedding a bright light upon the table and the bench around it. The air was chilly, and the small cabin, despite its snugness, had the comfortless appearance usual to a ship’s cabin. “It’s cold here,” said the elder Macdonald, the captain of the sloop. “I’ll just mix you a punch. There’s nothing like a good punch to keep the rheumatiz out of one’s bones.” He brought from the pantry a spirit lamp, which he lighted. Over this, upon a light frame-work, he placed a tea-kettle. Then he brought out an immense bowl and ladle, a netted bag full of lemons, a tin can of sugar, various spices, and a jug of Scotch whisky. When the water in the tea-kettle boiled, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work, concocting a punch which proved a success. The four passengers, as well as the two Macdonalds, did full justice to the warming beverage. About eleven o’clock Sir Harold Wynde was persuaded to retire to a state-room and berth, but he did not sleep. A host of anxieties pressed upon him, and he tossed for hours on his hard bed, the prey of a torturing anguish. Atkins and Ryan went to bed, and to sleep. Lord Towyn went out upon the deck, and walked to and fro with Macdonald, whom he found to be a shrewd, kindly Scotsman, and he told him enough concerning the misdeeds of Craven Black, and the abduction of Miss Wynde, to interest him personally in the restoration of Neva to her friends. “We must keep an eye upon the yacht all night,” said the earl. “She may creep out in the darkness, and if she attempts that, we will creep after. I know the route she will take, but I prefer to arrive at the inland loch not an hour behind her.”