As he had expected, Wat found the boat safely anchored in its rocky haven, where the water lay dead and still as in a tank. He drew himself on board, dripping salt-water all over the inside from his lithe body and scanty clothing. He was busying himself loosening the oars and mast, which had been tied along the side, when he heard, faintly but unmistakably, the sound of a human voice speaking.

At first Wat, busy with his work, paid no heed. He supposed it must be Scarlett talking to Wise Jan, and idly wondered why he spoke so loud. But in a moment he remembered that the rocks of Fiara and the deep Sound lay between him and his companions.

Yet quite clearly and continuously some one was certainly speaking, and at no great distance either. As before, the cave was not quite dark, for the moon had risen, and the boat lay close by the entrance which gave upon the Sound. Wat hastened to climb up on one of the rocky walls which formed the edge of the tiny haven in which the vessel floated. The water-way which constituted the floor of the cave slept black beneath, a long, almost invisible heave passing up from without, which was just the great Atlantic Sea breathing in its sleep. But so smooth were these undulations that hardly a swish on the projections of the walls told of their passage. Outward from where Wat stood the great lane of water gradually brightened to the huge square of the sea-door. Inward it grew blacker and more gloomy, till the young man's eye could not trace it farther into the solemn bosom of the rock. It was out of this inner gloom that the voice was proceeding.

Presently the single voice became two, and Wat could hear the words of one speaker, who spoke low and almost delicately, and then of another who more gruffly and briefly replied. From the darkness of the inner cavern a new sound was borne to Wat's ear—the panting of men in exertion, and the little splash made by the swimmer as he changes position, or when a wavelet, running diagonally, laps against his breast. It is an unmistakable sound, and yet it is no louder than the plunge of a leaping fish that falls back again into the water.

Wat lay motionless on his ledge. He had lifted the moorings from the stern of the boat in the rock basin behind him, and he could hear that she had swung round and that her timbers were rasping gently against the stone pier. Wat prayed that the swimmers might not hear the noise. The uneasy water pavement of the cavern swayed beneath him with measured undulations, glimmering with that pale phosphorescence which is the deceiving ghost of true illumination. Yet it was light enough for Wat to observe the heads of the men who swam, as they emerged into its glow out of the perfect darkness of the inner cave.

There was one who led, swimming a good half-dozen strokes in advance of the others.

"We cannot be far from the north gate now, surely," said a voice, which Wat instantly recognized as that of Barra, "if the cailleach hath told the truth and her man did really find his way to the island of Fiara by this passage."

The man who swam in the middle of the three who followed Barra only grunted in reply. Wat could see the shapeless round of his head but dimly; nevertheless, he knew that it was the featureless, scarred visage of Haxo the Bull which glared like a death's-head above the water in the wake of his arch-enemy. And he had no doubt that on either side of him swam the Calf and the Killer, the other members of that noble trinity.

The heads on the water grew smaller and blacker as they passed him, and the men swam on towards the outer entrance of the cave. Presently they came underneath the great span of the arch. Wat could see Barra drag himself out of the water and clamber on a rocky point which jutted out into the Sound. The three followers lifted themselves after him, and sank on the rocks in attitudes of fatigue. But Barra stood erect, his slim figure so black against the dim moonlight without that he might have been wearing his court suit of sable velvet, although actually he was naked to the waist.

So there on the pinnacle he stood, gazing silently on the sleeping isle of Fiara, even as Satan might have gazed (so Wat Gordon thought) on the garden—close to that first delicious Paradise in which all unconscious Adam wandered with his Eve.

Long he stood thus, fixed in contemplation, revolving evilest thoughts and intents, his three attendant fiends crouched behind him in a shapeless mass upon the dark rocks, none of them daring to interrupt his musings.

Then quite abruptly Barra descended and plunged once more into the water. Lochinvar in his turn stood erect and made ready to follow him, for he feared that his enemies were about to cross the Sound and attack on the instant the little company waiting his own return under the cliffs of the northern shore.

But he heard Barra say, "It is enough for to-night. Let us return to the harbor. The cailleach spoke the truth."

Then without further speech between them, the four men swam past him and disappeared, faint wreathings and smears of phosphorescence trailing after them out of the gloom into which they had vanished.

Wat drew a long breath as they were lost to sight. He knew that he had been assisting at one of the last scenes in Barra's complete and minute exploration of the isle—every cave and passage, every entrance to and outgate from it. It was just such an undertaking as he might have expected from a man so resolute as Barra, with a retinue as desperate as Haxo the Bull, his Calf, and his Killer.

Now, indeed, he was aware that there was no time to be lost in getting away from this isle of Fiara, which had brought him so many happy hours. Adam knew that the spoiler had looked upon his demi-Paradise, and that Eve herself was in danger.

Wat waited a while before he dared to bring out the boat and row across the Sound to the place where Scarlett and Kate were waiting for him. He found Scarlett philosophically seated with his back against a rock, but Kate moved uneasily about upon the shore, clasping her hands in great anxiety.

"O Wat," she said, "my dear, my dear, I thought some ill chance had befallen you. Wellnigh had I come to seek you, but for your command to bide with Scarlett."

"And it is indeed well, Kate," he answered, smiling a little, "that you were thus mindful of my words."

Then Wat told them all that he had seen and heard, till even Scarlett was impressed by the imminence of their needs. So without delaying a moment the three took such burdens as they could carry, and set out to cross the ridge of Fiara to the place where Wise Jan Pettigrew waited beside their first boat with everything ready to push off. But before they left the boat which Wat had brought out of the water-cavern, Wat bade Scarlett help him to load her with stones from the beach. With a mallet he knocked out the plug under the stern seat, and, as before, sunk her in mid-channel. Then he swam ashore, and followed Kate and Scarlett over to the northern side of the island.

The moon was just dipping below the horizon when, with Kate in the stern and Wise Jan handling the boat to a marvel, they left the beautiful island behind them.

Kate drew in a long breath, and her hand rested a moment on Wat's in the darkness. It was the isle of her first assurance and her dawning happiness. No place could ever be quite the same to her. There it lay, Fiara, the Isle of Bliss, looming gray against the dark, solemn, bird-haunted front of Lianacraig. Should she ever see it more? There was the dear rowan-tree at the angle of the wall where they had so often sat, and there was the sweet sickle-sweep of white sand by which they had so often walked. A little farther over the dusk and sleeping Sound was Suliscanna, on which stood Bess Landsborough's house, and that smoky inner room where her love had first taken her to his heart, coming to her like a vision out of the night.

But to all Kate's questionings there came back no answer save the hoarse threatening growl of the Suck of Suliscanna arching itself angrily to the right, the gentle flap of the small sheet above, and the talking clatter of the wavelets below the stem as they glided away out into the night.

Behind them the surf was roaring on the rocks which, like the black fins of sharks, jutted, toothed and threatening, from the tail-end of the Suck of Suliscanna. There came also a chill sough of wind from the west, and with it, rising as it were from the ocean depths, the dead sea-mist, which swelled and eddied about the boat of our four travellers. Presently the bright reflection of the stars on the crest of each coming wave, as Wat lay in the stern and watched, dimmed itself. The twinkling rays were shorn. Their diffused sparkling first dulled to a point, and then became extinguished altogether as the voyagers were enveloped in the gray uncanny smother.

It was their first touch of ill-luck. Since Wat and Scarlett had left Holland on their quest, save for their shipwreck all had gone well with them. But now, on the verge of success, they were caught by the sea-mist, and in that place of dangerous currents and deadly rocks they had to submit to be carried they knew not where, nor yet into what unseen dangers of the deep. Wise Jan set his hand high over the side, and the sea-fog ran visibly through his fingers like water in a mill-race. Evidently they were moving fast in some direction, and the current was carrying them swiftly and strongly onward without their being able to alter or amend their destination.

Wat went astern and sat beside Kate. Wise Jan had taken down the sail. It was useless to them till they could see in what direction they were being carried. Scarlett grumbled steadily and inarticulately amidships; but Wat and Kate sat with their hands locked in each other's, silent all through the night.

The morn came slowly. The salt, steamy vapor rolled and swirled about them, brightening and darkening with alternate threat and promise—both, however, equally illusive.

It was broad day when the lift of heaven suddenly cleared. The sun looked slantways in upon them, opening a way into the heart of the mist, like a rapier thrust by a master's wrist. The clouds dispersed before the clear shining, as though it needed but that single stab to prick the airy bladder of their pretension. The wreaths of vapor trailed themselves away, breaking into steamy garlands and flat patches with scalloped edges as they went. The blue sky stooped over on either side and hooked itself permanently on to the blue sea-floor.

And lo! there they were at the south end of Suliscanna, and there was the schooner Sea Unicorn just coming out from her anchorage under full sail within two hundred yards of them.

It was no use to row or to set the sail. Our three were so taken with deadly apprehension that they sat quite still as the vessel approached. The captain hailed them from his station by the helm, but neither Wat nor Scarlett had the heart to reply. A boat was lowered, and in a few moments Wat and Kate were being received on board the Sea Unicorn, of Poole, by Captain Smith, her owner and master.

And there before them, as they looked across the deck from the side up which they had come, were seated three people—a man of stately presence, gray-headed and erect, a lady of doubtful years and charms not wholly departed—and Barra.

The old man rose and came forward towards Kate with a strange expression of apology and appeal on his face.

"Kate, my lass!" said he.

"My father!" cried the girl, taking, however, no step towards him, but keeping her hold of Wat Gordon's hand.

But Wat was staring at the lady who sat beside Barra.

"My Lady Wellwood!" he said, in utter astonishment.

Barra smiled his thin, acrid, unmoved smile.

"You mistake, sir," he said; "not now my Lady Wellwood, but the fair bride of Roger McGhie and the very charming mistress of his mansion of Balmaghie."