"It was, maybe, a handy arrangement one way or the other, but troth it frightened poor Rory O'Reilly, and as none av the ugly craytures seemed to take any notice av me, I made my feet my friends, and got quietly away.

Well, after wandering in this enchanted island for more than a week, and never tasting a bit or a sup all the time, right glad I was to find meself by the sea once more.

"Escape I must, at all hazards. But how was I to get a boat I was thinking and wondering, when all at once me eyes fell on a great turtle-sh.e.l.l.

"The very thing, boys; nothing could be easier than to make a boat and sail away in this.

"It didn't take me long either to step a mast, and to load up with fruit and with sh.e.l.l-fish; then I got my boat afloat, and with my jacket for a sail away I went, and before long the enchanted island went down below the horizon, and I niver felt happier in my life before, than when I saw the last of it."

Rory O'Reilly stopped to fill his pipe, and having done so, smoked quietly on for a few minutes, while all waited patiently for the completion of his yarn.

"Well, Rory," said Skipper James at last. "Go on; that isn't all, surely? How did your adventurous voyage end?"

"Is it how did it end?" said Rory. "Well, boys, there arose a terrible storm, and the waves dashed over me, and the cowld hail and snow and rain--"

"And thunder and lightning, Rory?"

"Yes, Captain James, and thunder and lightning; but sure in the midst av it all came an angel's voice from the clouds, singing--oh! iver so sweetly--

"'There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As the dear little vale where the waters do meet.

Ah! the last link of freedom and life shall depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.'

"And by this and by that, boys, I opened me eyes again."

"Opened your eyes again, Rory?" cried the skipper.

"Yes, sure, and there I was in me own mother's cabin, and there was my sister Biddy, the darlint, standing foreninst me and singing like a sylph, and sprinkling me face wid wather. And troth, boys, it was all a drame, ivery word I've been telling ye."

"Well done, Rory," cried Skipper James, "and now for a song and dance, boys, for Sat.u.r.day night only comes once a week."

The fiddler struck up a hornpipe, and once more the deck was filled; and so with music, with dancing, and song the night sped merrily on.

Book 2--CHAPTER TEN.

THE WANDERERS' RETURN.

"I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high, I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky.

"It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy."

Hood.

Scene: Glen Lyle in spring time. The larch trees already green and ta.s.selled with crimson buds. The woods alive with the song of birds.

The rooks busy at work on the tall, swaying elm trees. Two young men approaching Grayling House, arm in arm.

It was early on this spring morning, not long past eight of the clock.

Douglas and Leonard had stayed at a little inn some eight miles distant on the night before, and started with the larks to march homewards, for even Douglas looked upon Glen Lyle as his home.

As they neared the well-known gate, Leonard became silent. Thoughts of his happy boyhood's days crowded fresh and fast into his memory. Every bush and every tree brought up some sad yet pleasant reminiscence of days gone by--sad, because those old, old days were gone never to return.

"Come, old boy," said Douglas cheerfully. "Aren't you glad to be so near home?"

They were at the gate now.

"Glad," said Leonard, yet strangely moved. "Douglas, what means all this? See, the walks are green, the blinds are mostly down. Only from one chimney does smoke issue. Oh, my friend! I fear something is wrong. I never thought my heart could beat so! But see, yonder comes old Peter himself."

And down the path indeed the ancient servitor came shuffling.

His very first words rea.s.sured poor Leonard.

"The Lord be praised for a' His mercy! Hoo pleased your father and mother and Effie will be!"

The joy-blood came bounding back to Leonard's heart. He returned the ardent pressure of Peter's hands.

"Oh!" cried Peter, "I want to do naething else noo but just lie doon and dee."

"Don't talk of dying, my dear Peter. Where are they?"

The old man wiped his streaming eyes as he answered,--

"At Grayling Cottage, St. Abbs. And you have na heard? Come in, come in, and I'll tell you all."

About three hours after this the two young men had once more left Glen Lyle, and were journeying straight, almost as the crow flies, for the cottage by the sea.

On the evening of the second day, having been directed to the house, they were walking slowly along the beach.

It was the gloaming hour.

Yonder in the horizon just over the sea shone the gloaming star.

"Just above yon sandy bar, As the day grows fainter and dimmer, Lonely and lovely, a single star Lights the air with a dusky glimmer.

"Into the ocean faint and far Falls the trail of its golden splendour, And the gleam of that single star Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender."

Both young men stopped short at once. There was one figure on the beach, one solitary female figure.

"It is she," half-whispered Douglas, pressing Leonard's arm.

Then they advanced.

"Effie!"

"Oh, Leonard!"

Next moment she was sobbing on her brother's shoulder. They were tears of reaction, but they washed away in their flood-gates the sorrow and the hope deferred of long, dreary years.

"How silly to cry!" she said at last, giving her hand to her brother's friend with a bonnie blush.