For one instant our eyes met—then came SOMETHING between us that suggested an absolute and irretrievable loss—"Not yet!" he murmured—"Not yet!" and with a forced smile, he bowed and allowed me to pass to my cabin. I was glad to be there—glad to be alone—and overwhelmed as I was by the consciousness that the memories of my soul had been too strong for me to resist, I was thankful that I had had the courage to express my invincible opposition to one who had, as I seemed instinctively to realise, been guilty of an unrepented crime.
That night I slept dreamlessly, and the next morning before seven o'clock I had left the luxurious 'Diana' for the ordinary passenger steamer plying from Portree to Glasgow. Mr. Harland kept his promise of seeing me off, and expressed his opinion that I was very foolish to travel with a crowd of tourists and other folk, when I might have had the comfort and quiet of his yacht all the way; but he could not move me from my resolve, though in a certain sense I was sorry to say good-bye to him.
"You must write to us as soon as you get home,"—he said, at parting—"A letter will find us this week at Gairloch—I shall cruise about a bit longer."
I made no reply for the moment. He had no idea that I was not going home at all, nor did I intend to tell him.
"You shall hear from me as soon as possible,"—I said at last, evasively—"I shall be very busy for a time—"
He laughed.
"Oh, I know! You are always busy! Will you ever get tired, I wonder?"
I smiled. "I hope not!"
With that we shook hands and parted, and within the next twenty minutes the steamer had started, bearing me far away from the Isle of Skye, that beautiful, weird and mystic region full of strange legends and memories, which to me had proved a veritable wonderland. I watched the 'Diana' at anchor in the bay of Portree till I could see her no more,—and it was getting on towards noon when I suddenly noticed the people on board the steamer making a rush to one side of the deck to look at something that was evidently both startling and attractive. I followed the crowd,—and my heart gave a quick throb of delight when I saw poised on the sparkling waters the fairylike 'Dream'!—her sails white as the wings of a swan, and her cordage gleaming like woven gold in the brilliant sunshine. She was a thing of perfect beauty as she seemed to glide on the very edge of the horizon like a vision between sky and sea. And as I pressed forward among the thronging passengers to look at her, she dipped her flag in salutation—a salutation I knew was meant for me alone. When the flag ran up again to its former position, murmurs of admiration came from several people around me—
"The finest schooner afloat!"—I heard one man remark—"They say she goes by electricity as well as sailing power."