The Professor entered the craft, and applying a lighted match to the wood beneath the boiler, he pushed the boat away from the shore, and waited until he could get steam enough to move with.
A few moments sufficed for this, and then, opening the throttle-valve gently, the tiny steamer sailed swiftly over the bosom of the lake, through the intense darkness, until the wall of the castle, dark and gloomy, loomed up directly ahead.
A light was faintly burning in Ysolt’s chamber in the tower, and the casement was open.
As the prow of the boat lightly touched the stones of the wall and rested, Sir Bleoberis softly whistled.
“I have always been uncertain,” said the Professor to himself, “if the ancients knew how to whistle. This seems to indicate that they did know how. It is extremely interesting. I must remember to tell Tilly to note it in her journal.”
In response to the signal, a head appeared at the casement, and a soft, sweet voice said:
“Is that you, darling?”
“Yes, yes, it is I,” replied Sir Bleoberis. “Oh, my love! my Ysolt!” he exclaimed, in an ecstasy.
“Is Sir Baffin there, too?”
“Yes. We are both here; and we have a swift boat. Come to me at once, dear love, that we may fly with you homeward.”