Vivian went back to London on the following morning, taking Mason with him. He had heard what made him anxious to leave Strathleckie before any accidental meeting with Hugo Luttrell should take place. The story told of Kitty's marriage was that she had eloped with Hugo; and Mr. Heron, in talking the matter over with his son's friend, declared that an elopement had been not only disgraceful, but utterly unnecessary, since he should never have thought of opposing the marriage. He had been exceedingly angry at first; and now, although he received Kitty at Strathleckie, he treated her with great coldness, and absolutely refused to speak to Hugo at all.

In a man of Mr. Heron's easy temperament, these manifestations of anger were very strong; and Vivian felt even a little surprised that he took the matter so much to heart. He himself was not convinced that the whole truth of the story had been told: he was certain, at any rate, that Hugo Luttrell had dragged Kitty's name through the mire in a most unjustifiable way, and he felt a strong desire to wreak vengeance upon him. For Kitty's sake, therefore, it was better that he should keep out of the way: he did not want to quarrel with her husband, and he knew that Hugo would not be sorry to find a cause of dispute with him.

He could not abandon the hope of some further news of the Arizona and the Falcon. He questioned Mason repeatedly concerning the shipwrecked men who had been taken on board but he obtained little information. And yet he could not be content. It became a regular thing for Vivian to be seen, day after day, in the shipowners' offices, at Lloyd's, at the docks, asking eagerly for news, or, more frequently, turning his sightless eyes and anxious face from one desk to another, as the careless comments of the clerks upon his errand fell upon his ear. Sometimes his secretary came with him: sometimes, but, more seldom, a lady. For Angela was living with him now, and she was as anxious about Brian as he was concerning Percival.

He had been making these inquiries one day, and had turned away with his hand upon Angela's arm, when a burly, red-faced man, with a short, brown beard, whom Angela had seen once or twice before in the office, followed, and addressed himself to Rupert.

"Beg pardon: should like to speak to you for a moment, sir, if agreeable to the lady," he said, touching his cap. "You were asking about the Arizona, wrecked off the Rocas Reef, were you not?"

"Yes, I was," said Vivian, quickly. "Have you any news? Have any survivors of the crew returned?"

"Can't say I know of any, save John Mason and Terry, the mate," said the man, shaking his head. He had a bluff, good-natured manner, which Angela did not dislike; but it seemed somewhat to repel her brother.

"If you have no news," he began in a rather distant tone; but the man interrupted him with a genial laugh.

"I've got no news, sir, but I've got a suggestion, if you'll allow me to make it. No concern of mine, of course, but I heard that you had friends aboard the Arizona, and I took an interest in that vessel because she came to grief at a place which has been the destruction of many a fine ship, and where I was once wrecked myself."

"You! And how did you escape?" said Angela, eagerly.

"Swam ashore, ma'am," said the man, touching his cap. Then, with a shy sort of smile, he added:—"What I did, others may have done, for certain."

"You swam to the reef?" asked Vivian.

"First to the reef and then to the island, sir. There's two islands inside the reef forming the breakwater. More than once the same thing has happened. Men had been there before me, and had been fetched away by passing ships, and men may be there now for aught we know."

"Oh, Rupert!" said Angela, softly.

"How long were you on the island then?" asked Rupert.

"About three weeks, sir. But I have heard of the crew of a ship being there for as many months—and more. You have to take your chance. I was lucky. I'm always pretty lucky, for the matter of that."

"Would it be easy to land on the island?"

"There's an opening big enough for boats in the reef. It ain't a very easy matter to swim the distance. I was only thinking, when I heard you asking questions, that it was just possible that some of the crew and passengers might have got ashore, after all, as I did, and turn up when you're least expecting it. It's a chance, anyway. Good morning, sir."

"Excuse me," said Vivian; "would you mind giving me your name and address?"

The man's name was Somers: he was the captain of a small trading vessel, and was likely to be in London for some weeks.

"But if you have anything more to ask me, sir," he said, "I shall be pleased to come and answer any of your inquiries at your own house, if you wish. It's a long tramp for you to come my way."

"Thank you," said Vivian. "If it is not troubling you too much, I think I had better come to you. Your time is valuable, no doubt, and mine is not."

"You'll find me in between three and five almost any time," said Captain Somers, and with these words they parted.

Rupert fell into a brown study as soon as the captain had left them, and Angela did not interrupt the current of his thoughts. Presently he said:—

"What sort of face had that man, Angela?"

"A very honest face, I think," she said.

"He seemed honest. But one can tell so much from a man's face that does not come out in his manner. This is the sort of interview that makes me feel what a useless log I am."

"You must not think that, Rupert."

"But I do think it. I wish I could find something to do—something that would take me out of myself and these purely personal troubles of mine. At my age a man certainly ought to have a career. But what am I talking about? No career is open to me now." And then he sighed; and she knew without being told that he was thinking of his dead wife and of Kitty Heron, as well as of his blindness.

Little by little he had told her the whole story; or rather she had pieced it together from fragments—stray words and sentences that he let fall; for Rupert was never very ready to make confidences. But at present he was glad of her quiet sympathy; and during the past few weeks she had learnt more about her brother than he had ever allowed her to learn before. But she never alluded to what he called his "purely personal troubles" unless he first made a remark about them of his own accord; and he very seldom indulged himself by referring to them.

He had not informed the Herons of a fact that was of some importance to him at this time. He had never been without fair means of his own; but it had recently happened that a distant relative died and left him a large fortune. He talked at first to Angela about purchasing the old house in Devonshire, which had been sold in the later years of his father's life; but during the last few weeks he had not mentioned this project, and she almost thought that he had given it up.

One result of this accession of wealth was that he took a pleasant house in Kensington, where he and his sister spent their days together. He had a young man to act as his secretary and as a companion in expeditions which would have been beyond Angela's strength; and on his return from the docks, where he met Captain Somers, he seemed to have a good deal to say to this young fellow. He sent him out on an errand which took up a good deal of time. Angela guessed that he was making inquiries about Captain Somers. And she was right.

Vivian went next day to the address which the sea-captain had given him; and he took with him his secretary, Mr. Fane. They found Captain Somers at home, in a neat little room for which he looked too big; a room furnished like the cabin of a ship, and decorated with the various things usually seen in a seaman's dwelling—some emu's eggs, a lump of brain coral, baskets of tamarind seeds, and bunches of blackened seaweed. There were maps and charts on the table, and to one of these Captain Somers directed his guest's attention.

"There, sir," he said. "There's the Rocas Reef; off Pernambuco, as you see. That's the point where the Arizona struck, I'm pretty sure of that."

"Show it to my friend, Mr. Fane," said Vivian, gently pushing the chart away from him. "I can't see. I'm blind."

"Lord!" ejaculated the captain. Then, after an instant of astonished silence, "One would never have guessed it. I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir."

"What for?" said Vivian, smiling. "I am glad to hear that I don't look like a blind man. And now tell me about your shipwreck on the Rocas Reef."

Captain Somers launched at once into his story. He gave a very graphic description of the island, and of the days that he had spent upon it; and he wound up by saying that he had known of two parties of shipwrecked mariners who had made their way to the place, and that, in his opinion, there was no reason why there should not be a third.

"But, mind you, sir," he said, "it's only a strong man and a good swimmer that would have any chance. There wasn't one of us that escaped but could swim like a fish. Was your friend a good swimmer, do you happen to know?"

"Remarkably good."

"Ah, then, he had a chance; you know, after all, the chance is very small."

"But you think," said Vivian, deliberately, "that possibly there are now men on that island, waiting for a ship to come and take them off?"

"Well, sir," said the captain, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pea-jacket, and settling himself deep into his wooden arm-chair, "it's just a possibility."

"Do ships ever call at the island?"

"They give it as wide a berth as they can, sir. Still, if it was a fine, clear day, and a vessel passed within reasonable distance, the castaways, if there were any, might make a signal. The smoke from a fire can be seen a good way off. Unfortunately, the reef lies low. That's what makes it dangerous."

Vivian sat brooding over this information for some minutes. The captain watched him curiously, and said:—

"It's only fair to remind you, sir, that even if some of the men did get safe to the island, there's no certainty that your friend would be amongst them. In fact, it's ten to one that any of them got to land; and it's a hundred to one that your friend is there. It would need a good deal of pluck, and strength, and skill, too, to save himself in that way, or else a deal of lack. I had the luck," said Captain Somers, modestly, "but I own it's unusual."

"I don't know about the luck," said Vivian, "but if pluck, and strength, and skill could save a man under those circumstances, I think my friend Heron had a good chance."

They had some more conversation, and then Vivian took his leave. He did not talk much when he reached the street, and throughout the rest of the day he was decidedly absent-minded and thoughtful. Angela forebore to question him, but she saw that something lay upon his mind, and she became anxious to hear what it was. Mr. Fane preserved a discreet silence. It was not until after dinner that Rupert seemed to awake to a consciousness of his unwonted silence and abstraction.

The servants had withdrawn. A shaded lamp threw a circle of brilliance upon the table, and brought out its distinctive features with singular distinctness against a background of olive-green wall and velvet curtain. Its covering of glossy white damask, its ornaments of Venetian glass, the delicate yet vivid colours of the hothouse flowers and fruit in the dishes, the gem-like tints of the wines, the very texture and the hues of the Bulgarian embroidery upon the d'oyleys, formed a study in colour which an artist would have loved to paint. The faces and figures of the persons present harmonised well enough with the artistic surroundings. Angela's pale, spiritual loveliness was not impaired by the sombreness of her garments; she almost always wore black now, but it was black velvet, and she had a knot of violets in her bosom. Rupert's musing face, with its high-bred look of distinction, was turned thoughtfully to the fire. Arthur Fane had the sleek, fair head, straight features, and good-humouredly intelligent expression, characteristic of a very pleasant type of young Englishman. The beautiful deerhound which sat with its long nose on Rupert's knee, and its melancholy eyes lifted affectionately from time to time to Rupert's face, was a not unworthy addition to the group.

Vivian spoke at last with a smile. "I am very unsociable to-night," he said, tuning his face to the place where he knew Angela sat. "I have been making a decision."

Fane looked up sharply; Angela said "Yes?" in an inquiring tone.

But Rupert did not at once mention the nature of his decision. He began to repeat Captain Somer's story; he told her what kind of a place the Rocas Reef was like; he even begged Fane to fetch an atlas from the study and show her the spot where the Arizona had been wrecked.

"You must please not mention this matter to the Herons when you are writing, you know, Angela," he continued, "or to Miss Murray. It is a mere chance—the smallest chance in the world—and it would not be fair to excite their hopes."

"But it is a chance, is it not, Rupert?"

"Yes, dear, it is a chance."

"Then can nothing be done?"

"I think something must be done," said he, quietly. There was a purpose in his tone, a hopeful light in his face, which she could not but remark.

"What will you do, Rupert?"

"I think, dear," he said, smiling, "that the easiest plan would be for me to go out to the Rocas Reef myself."

"You, Rupert!"

"Yes, I, myself. That is if Fane will go with me."

"I shall be delighted," said Fane, whose grey eyes danced with pleasure at the idea.

"You must take me, too," said Angela.

It was Rupert's turn now to ejaculate. "You, Angela! My dear child, you are joking."

"I'm not joking at all. You would be much more comfortable if I went, too. And I think that Aunt Alice would go with us, if we asked her. Why not? You want to travel, and I have nothing to keep me in England. Let us go together."

Rupert smiled. "I want to lose no time," he said. "I must travel fast."

"I am fond of travelling. And I shall be so lonely while you are away."

That argument was a strong one. Rupert conceded the point. Angela should go with him on condition that Aunt Alice—usually known as Mrs. Norman—should go too. They would travel with all reasonable swiftness, and if—as was to be feared—their expedition should prove unsuccessful, they could loiter a little as they came back, and make themselves acquainted with various pleasant and interesting places on their way. They spent the rest of the evening in discussing their route.

Rupert was rich enough to carry out his whim—if whim it could be called—in the pleasantest and speediest way. Before long he was the temporary owner of a fine little schooner, in which he proposed to scour the seas in search of his missing friend. To his great satisfaction, Captain Somers consented to act as his skipper: a crew of picked men was obtained; and the world in general received the information that Mr. Vivian and his sister were going on a yachting expedition for the good of their health, and would probably not return to England for many months.

Rupert's spirits rose perceptibly at the prospect of the voyage. He was tired of inaction, and welcomed the opportunity of a complete change. He had not much hope of finding Percival, but he was resolved, at any rate, to explore the Rocas Reef, and discover any existing traces of the Arizona. "And who knows but what there may be some other poor fellows on that desolate reef?" he said to his secretary, Fane, who was wild with impatience to set off. "We can but go and see. If we are unsuccessful we will go round Cape Horn and up to Fiji. I always had a hankering after those lovely Pacific islands. If you are going down Pall Mall, Fane, you might step into Harrison's and order those books by Miss Bird and Miss Gordon Cumming—you know the ones I mean. They will make capital reading on board."

Angela had been making some purchases in Kensington one afternoon, and was thinking that it was time to return home, when she came unexpectedly face to face with an acquaintance. It was Elizabeth Murray.

Angela knew her slightly, but had always liked her. A great wave of sympathy rose in her heart as her eyes rested upon the face of a woman who had, perhaps, lost her lover, even as Angela had lost hers. Elizabeth's face had parted with its beautiful bloom; it was pale and worn, and the eyelids looked red and heavy, as though from sleepless nights and many tears. The two clasped hands warmly. Angela's lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears, but Elizabeth's face was rigidly set in an enforced quietude.

"I am glad I have met you," she said. "I was wondering where to find you. I did not know your address."

"Come and see me now," said Angela, by a sudden impulse.

"Thank you. I will."

A few minutes' walking brought them to the old house which Rupert had lately taken. It was in a state of some confusion: boxes stood in the passages, parcels were lying about the floor. Angela coloured a little as she saw Elizabeth's eye fall on some of these.

"We are going away," she said, hurriedly, "on a sea-voyage. The doctors have been recommending it to Rupert for some time."

This was strictly true.

"I knew you were going away," said Elizabeth, in a low tone.

She was standing beside a table in the drawing-room: her left hand rested upon it, her eyes were fixed absently upon the muff which she carried in her right hand. Angela asked her to sit down. But Elizabeth did not seem to hear. She began to speak with a nervous tremor in her voice which made Angela feel nervous, too.

"I have heard a strange thing," she said. "I have heard it rumoured that you are going to cross the Atlantic—that you mean to visit the Rocas Reef. Tell me, please, if it is true or not."

Angela did not know what to say.

"We are going to South America," she murmured, with a somewhat embarrassed smile. "We may pass the Rocas Reef."

"Ah, speak to me frankly," said Elizabeth, putting down her muff and moving forward with a slight gesture of supplication. "Mr. Vivian was Percival's friend. Does he really mean to go and look for him? Do they think that some of the crew and passengers may be living upon the island still?"

"There is just a chance," said Angela, quoting her brother. "He means to go and see. We did not tell you: we were afraid you might be too—too—hopeful."

"I will not be too hopeful. I will be prudent and calm. But you must tell me all about it. Do you really think there is any chance? Oh, you are happy: you can go and see for yourself, and I can do nothing—nothing—nothing! And it was my doing that he went!"

Her voice sank into a low moan. She clasped her hands together and wrung them a little beneath her cloak. Angela, looking at her with wet, sympathetic eyes, had a sudden inspiration. She held out her hand.

"Come with us," she said, gently. "Why should you not? We will take care of you. What would I not have given to do something for the man I loved! If Mr. Heron is living, you shall help us to find him."

Elizabeth's face turned white. "I cannot go with you under false pretences," she said. "You will think me base—wicked; you cannot think too ill of me—but——It was not Percival Heron whom I loved. And he knew it—and loved me still. You—you—have been true in your heart to your promised husband; but I—in my heart—was false."

She covered her face and burst into passionate weeping as she spoke. But Angela did not hesitate.

"If that is the case," she said, very softly and sweetly, "if you are anxious to repair any wrong that you have done to him, help us to find him now. You have nothing to keep you in England! My brother will say what I say—Come with us."