Perhaps an hour had passed when my uncle, who had all the while
been covertly gazing on the surface of the little bay, rose to his
feet and bade me follow his example. Now I should say that the
great run of tide at the south-west end of Aros exercises a
perturbing influence round all the coast. In Sandag Bay, to the
south, a strong current runs at certain periods of the flood and
ebb respectively; but in this northern bay - Aros Bay, as it is
called - where the house stands and on which my uncle was now
gazing, the only sign of disturbance is towards the end of the ebb,
and even then it is too slight to be remarkable. When there is any
swell, nothing can be seen at all; but when it is calm, as it often
is, there appear certain strange, undecipherable marks - sea-runes,
as we may name them - on the glassy surface of the bay. The like
is common in a thousand places on the coast; and many a boy must
have amused himself as I did, seeking to read in them some
reference to himself or those he loved. It was to these marks that
my uncle now directed my attention, struggling, as he did so, with
an evident reluctance.

'Do ye see yon scart upo' the water?' he inquired; 'yon ane wast
the gray stane? Ay? Weel, it'll no be like a letter, wull it?'

'Certainly it is,' I replied. 'I have often remarked it. It is
like a C.'

He heaved a sigh as if heavily disappointed with my answer, and
then added below his breath: 'Ay, for the CHRIST-ANNA.'

'I used to suppose, sir, it was for myself,' said I; 'for my name
is Charles.'