“And the stately ship goes on To the haven under the hill, But oh! for the touch of a vanished hand And the sound of a voice that is still.”—_Tennyson._ “What a place to land in! It is like entering Hades,” said Sir Parke, as they got out of the boat and stood upon the beach. “Take the boat back to bring off the boys,” ordered Miss Brande. And when she was left alone with her passengers, she said— “Now, gentlemen, how can I serve you? How will you amuse yourselves? The sporting season is long over. And I regret to say that I am not at liberty to invite you up to the house.” “Then, Miss Brande, we must waive ceremony and proceed without invitation,” said Lord Montressor, gently, as if to atone in his manner for any seeming rudeness in his words. “What can you mean, sir?” inquired Barbara, with increased distrust and anxiety. “Pardon me, Miss Brande. You cannot but have guessed the object of Sir Parke Morelle’s voyage to America?” “I am no Yankee, sir; yet, of course, as you say, I have surmised that the father comes but in quest of his daughter,” replied Barbara, with a glance full of sympathy toward the baronet. Sir Parke responded by slightly lifting his hat. “And would you, Miss Brande, knowing the present home of that long-lost daughter, suffer her father, in his ignorance of her retreat, to leave the spot far behind, to pursue his unavailing search in another hopeless direction?” inquired Lord Montressor, solemnly. Barbara did not at once reply, but seemed buried in profound reflection, as if seeking the clue to some unexplained mystery. Lord Montressor could scarcely repress his vehement impatience. “Well, Miss Brande?” he said, anxiously regarding her. “Well, sir,” replied Barbara, gravely, “I perceive that you have somehow discovered the retreat of this lady. I only trust that it has been through no indiscretion on my part.” “We have. She is your recluse tenant. And we have learned this fact through no inadvertency of yours.” “Since this is so,” said Barbara, earnestly, “I will admit, that I am glad of it. Knowing, or rather believing as I did, that yourself and her father were on the way to seek her where she could not be found, in the city of Baltimore, my heart, through all the voyage, ached because I was not permitted to say to you—‘She whom you seek is my tenant at the Headland.’ Thank Heaven, that without any breach of faith on my part, you are informed of it. Sir Parke”—she said, turning and addressing the baronet—“you will let your daughter know this.” “I will, Miss Brande. How shall we get up this steep? It is a very dark night.” “I will show you. Follow me, if you please. Lord Montressor! I really think you had better give your arm to Sir Parke. The ascent is very difficult even in daylight, and now we can scarcely discern the cedar thickets from the chasms in the rocks,” said Barbara, as she carefully led the way up the bank.