“So he did, my dear,” said Mrs. Craven Black placidly. “Didn’t I tell you that we are going to Yorkshire by water? September is such a lovely month, and this is such lovely weather, and it’s quite the thing to take a sea trip for a bridal tour, and I prevailed upon Craven to charter--is not that the word--a beautiful little yacht, which we are to have three months if we want it. We shall have a glorious voyage down the Thames and up the Channel, and through the great German ocean. The very idea stirs all my love of romance. Doesn’t it affect you in the same manner!” “But Wynde Heights is not near the sea,” objected Neva, in surprise. “It’s not two hours distant by rail, and it will be delightful to get up yachting parties by ourselves, and go off for a two-days’ excursion; don’t you think so? Don’t throw cold water upon my little plans for happiness, I beg of you, my dear Neva,” cried Mrs. Craven Black imploringly. “There is no reason why we shouldn’t be perfectly happy, if you won’t interpose objections, Neva.” Thus adjured, Neva took care to “interpose” no more objections. She had no liking for nor trust in Craven Black, but Mrs. Craven Black had been her father’s beloved and honored wife, and Neva still believed in her. That the pair could mean her harm never once occurred to her. Neither did she realize how completely she was in their power. She had left her maid at home, at Mrs. Black’s solicitation, the latter declaring that one maid would suffice for both, and that she especially disliked Meggy West, the girl who attended upon Neva. Thus the young heiress of Hawkhurst was absolutely friendless and helpless, in the hands of her enemies. They had a long drive to Gravesend. On arriving at their destination, they alighted at a pier at which a small boat with two oarsmen was lying. These men were dressed in blue sailor custom, each having an arrow embroidered on the breast of his jacket. Mr. Black went up to them, accosting them familiarly. “What boat do you belong to?” he demanded. “To the _Arrow_, sir, lying out yonder,” said one of the men, pointing to a graceful yacht lying in the stream, her sails unfurled, and looking ready for flight. “We are waiting for Mr. Craven Black.” “I am he. It’s all right, my men. Octavia, my love, let me assist you into the boat. Miss Wynde, this way.” The maid was left to scramble in by herself. The luggage was deposited in the boat; Mr. Black took his seat, and the rowers pulled off for the yacht. The process of transferring passengers and luggage to the deck of the _Arrow_ was speedily and safely accomplished. Mrs. Black was ecstatic in her commendations of the arrangements of the little vessel, and occupied the attention of Neva while Mr. Black conversed with the sailors and their captain, and the vessel was gotten under way.