“That was old John the Piper,” Lavender said. “Don’t you remember Mr. Mackenzie, whom they call the King of Borva?”
“Weel, sir, I never saw him, but I was aware he was in the place. I have never been up here afore wi’ a party of gentlemen, and he wasna coming down to see the like o’ us.”
With what a strange feeling Lavender beheld, the following afternoon, the opening to the great loch that he knew so well! He recognized the various rocky promontories, the Gaelic names of which Sheila had translated for him. Down there in the South were the great heights of Suainabhal and Cracabahl and Mealasabhal. Right in front was the sweep of Borvapost Bay, and its huts and its small garden patches; and up beyond it was the hill on which Sheila used to sit in the evening to watch the sun go down behind the Atlantic. It was like entering again a world with which he had once been familiar, and in which he had left behind a peaceful happiness he had sought in vain elsewhere. Somehow, as the yacht dipped to the waves and slowly made her way into the loch, it seemed to him that he was coming home—that he was returning to the old and quiet joys he had experienced there—that all the past time that had darkened his life was now to be removed. But when, at last, he saw Mackenzie’s house high up there over the tiny bay, a strange thrill of excitement passed through him, and that was followed by a cold feeling of despair, which he did not seek to remove.
He stood on the companion, his head only being visible, and directed Pate until the Phœbe had arrived at her moorings, and then he went below. He had looked wistfully for a time up to the square, dark house, with its scarlet copings, in the vague hope of seeing some figure he knew; but now sick at heart, and fearing that Mackenzie might make him out with a glass, he sat down in the state-room, alone and silent and miserable.
He was startled by the sound of oars, and got up and listened. Mosenberg came down and said, “Mr. Mackenzie has sent a tall, thin man—do you know him?—to see who we are, and whether we will go up to his house.”
“What did Eyre say?”
“I don’t know. I suppose he is going.”
Then Johnny himself came below. He was a sensitive young fellow, and at this moment he was very confused, excited and nervous. “Lavender,” he said, stammering somewhat, “I am going up now to Mackenzie’s house. You know whom I shall see; shall I take any message—if I see a chance—if your name is mentioned—a hint, you know—”
“Tell her,” Lavender said, with a sudden pallor of determination in his face; but he stopped, and said abruptly, “Never mind, Johnny; don’t say anything about me.”
“Not to-night, anyway,” Johnny said to himself as he drew on his best jacket, with its shining brass buttons, and went up the companion to see if the small boat was ready.