superstitious scruples, and we all four made our way in among the
graves.

We spread our treasures upon the top of a flat tombstone that was
somewhat higher than its neighbours and formed a convenient table
for our purpose. The stone was overgrown with lichens and moss, and
skirted by a growth of nettles and thistles. As we stood around it
in the twilight, surrounded by a wild solitude, we might have been
mistaken for a company of pirates dividing their ill-gotten gains.

Whilst Kinlay and Hercus were opening out the two seals' skins my
eyes idly wandered over the surface of the tombstone, and were
arrested by the inscription carved thereon. There was an epitaph in
some foreign language, old and worn, but under this was a name that
seemed to be newly cut. It was the name "Thora Quendale."

Now the name Thora is not a common one in Orkney, and seeing it on
that strange old tombstone naturally made me think of the Thora
whom I knew--Tom Kinlay's sister.

"Tom, did you ever notice the name on this grave? It's some woman
buried here named Thora."

He turned and read the inscription.

"Ay, I've seen it before. It's some woman that was found drowned at
the foot of the Black Craigs, years ago. I dinna ken who she was. I
think she was in a shipwreck."

"Oh! Then it was no relation of yours?"