and in it at equal distances, were fastened iron rings, such as are
used for the safe mooring of boats. One boat was there already, and
Errington recognized it with delight. It was that in which he had
seen the mysterious maiden disappear. High and dry on the sand, out
of reach of the tides, was a neat sailing-vessel; its name was
painted round the stern--The Valkyrie.

As the two friends ran their boat on shore, and fastened it to the
furthest ring of the convenient pier, they caught the distant sound
of the plaintiff "coo-cooing" of turtle doves.

"You've done it this time, old boy," said Lorimer, speaking in a
whisper, though he knew not why. "This is the old bonde's own
private landing-place evidently, and here's a footpath leading
somewhere. Shall we follow it?"

Philip emphatically assented, and, treading softly, like the
trespassers they felt themselves to be, they climbed the ascending
narrow way that guided them up from the seashore, round through a
close thicket of pines, where their footsteps fell noiselessly on a
thick carpet of velvety green moss, dotted prettily here and there
with the red gleam of ripening wild strawberries. Everything was
intensely still, and as yet there seemed no sign of human
habitation. Suddenly a low whirring sound broke upon their ears, and
Errington, who was a little in advance of his companion, paused
abruptly with a smothered exclamation, and drew back on tip-toe,
catching Lorimer by the arm.

"By Jove!" he whispered excitedly, "we've come right up to the very
windows of the house. Look!"