She felt the bottom with her feet. She stood upright. At the sound of Neal’s voice all her fears vanished. She could see him now. He was stumbling down over the slippery stones which the ebb tide left bare. He reached the water and splashed in. “Stay where you are, you must not come any further.” “Una,” he said, “dear Una, you have come to me.” She laughed merrily. “Don’t think I’ve come to live with you here, Neal, like a seal or a mermaid. No, no. I’ve brought you something to eat. Here, now, don’t upset my little boat.” She pushed the raft towards him. “Isn’t it just like the boats we used to make long ago when we were little? Oh! do you remember how angry the salmon men were when you and Maurice stole all the corks off their net? But I can’t stay talking here, I’m getting cold, and you, Neal, go back to dry land. What’s the use of standing there up to your knees in water? There’s no sun in here to dry your clothes afterwards. No, you must not come to me, I won’t have it. You’d get wet up to your neck. Keep quiet, now. I’ve something to say to you. Maurice has gone to Glasgow to see that funny Captain Getty, who made you both so angry the day we took your uncle from the brig. He is arranging for the brig to lie off here and pick you up. Maurice and I will take you out in the boat. We will come in to the mouth of the cave and shout to you unless it’s rough. If it’s rough, Neal, you must swim out and hide somewhere among the rocks. But I hope it will stay calm. Maurice may be back to-morrow or next day. I’ve given you enough to eat for two days. I may not be able to come to-morrow.” “Do come again, Una, it’s very lonely here.” “I will if I can, Neal. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye. Oh, but it’s hard to be leaving you in this dark place, but I think it’s safe, and the country is full of yeomen. Good-bye, Neal. God bless you.” When Una and Hannah reached the little cove again, they found luncheon spread out on the grass ready for them. The troopers who had brought the baskets from Dunseveric House sat on their horses at the end of the rough track which led to the strand. The Comtesse reclined on a cloak spread for her on the grass. Captain Twinely, a worshipper with bold eyes and stupid tongue, sat at her feet and gazed at her. He had ceased even to wonder at his own good fortune in captivating so fair a lady. He had forgotten all about the angular daughter of a neighbouring squire, who was waiting for him to marry her. He was hopelessly, helplessly, fascinated by the woman in front of him. Estelle de Tourneville had never made an easier conquest. And she was already exceedingly weary of the flirtation. The man bored her because he was dull. He disgusted her because he was amorous.