"Absolutely nothing," she replied, "except, of course, the silly rumours that one always hears about strangers. He took Glasnabinnie in May--in fact, the last week of April, I believe. That rather surprised us, because it was very early for summer visitors. But he showed his good sense in doing so, as the country was looking gorgeous--Sgriol, na Ciche, and the Cuchulins under snow. I've heard (Angus McGeochan, one of our crofters, told me) he was an inventor, and had made a few odd millions out of a machine for sticking labels on canned meat. That and the fact that he is a very keen amateur photographer is the complete history of Mr. Hilderman so far as I know it. Anyway, he has a gorgeous view, hasn't he? It's nearly as good as ours." "He has indeed," I agreed readily. "But I don't think Hilderman can be very wealthy; no fishing goes with Glasnabinnie, there's no yacht anchorage, and there's no road to motor on. How does he get about?" "He's got a beautiful Wolseley launch," said Myra jealously, "a perfect beauty. He calls her the _Baltimore II._ She was lying alongside the _Hermione_ at Mallaig when we left. Oh! look up the loch, Ron! Isn't it a wonderful view?" And so the magnificent purple-gray summit of Sgor na Ciche, at the head of Loch Nevis, claimed our attention--(that and other matters of a personal nature)--and J. G. Hilderman went completely from our minds. Myra was a real Highlander of the West. She lived for its mountains and lochs, its rivers and burns, its magnificent coast and its fascinating animal life. She knew every little creek and inlet, every rock and shallow, every reef and current from Fort William to the Gair Loch. I have even heard it said that when she was twelve she could draw an accurate outline of Benbecula and North Uist, a feat that would be a great deal beyond the vast majority of grown-ups living on those islands themselves. As we turned to cross the head of Loch Hourn, Myra pointed out Glasnabinnie, nestling like a lump of grey lichen at the foot of the Croulin Burn. Anchored off the point was a small steam yacht, either a converted drifter or built on drifter lines. "Our friend has visitors," said Myra, "and he's not there to receive them. How very rude! That yacht is often there. She only makes about eight knots as a rule, although she gives you the impression she could do more. You see, she's been built for strength and comfort more than for looks. She calls at Glasnabinnie in the afternoons sometimes, and is there after dark, and sails off before six." (Myra was always out of doors before six in the morning, whatever the weather.) "From which I gather," she continued, "that the owner lives some distance away and sleeps on board. She can't be continuously cruising, or she would make a longer stay sometimes." "You seem to know the ways of yacht-owners, dear," I said. "Hullo! what is that hut on the cliff above the falls? That's new, surely."