e chain of circumstance.
"If the boat was left behind as well as the tiller--I think you
mentioned the tiller--how did they get ashore in it? Did you see them
get ashore?"

"I saw Black Duncan and the girl, but not the others," answered Gilian,
all at once forgetting that some caution was needed here.

Up more straightly sat the Cornal, and fixed him with a stern eye.

"Oh, ay!" said he; "she was in the story too, and you fancied you
might hide her. I would not wonder now but you had been in the vessel
yourself."

Gilian was abashed at his own inadvertence, but he hastened to explain
that he was on the shore watching the vessel when she struck.

"But you were on the vessel some time?" said the Cornal, detecting some
reservation.

"Oh, Colin, Colin, I wonder at you!" cried Miss Mary, now in arms for
her favourite, and utterly heedless of the frown her brother threw at
her for her interference. "You treat the boy as if he was a vagabond
and--"

"--Vagabond or no vagabond," said the Cornal, "he was where he should
not be. I'm wanting but the truth from him, and that, it seems, is not
very easy to get."

"You are not just at all," she protested. Then she went over and
whispered something in his ear. His whole look changed; where had
been suspicion came something of open admiration, but he gave it no
expression on his tongue.

"Take your time, Gilian," said he; "tell us how the small boat got to
the vessel."

"The boy went down to the river mouth," said Gilian, "and--"

"--The boy?" said the Cornal. "Well, if you must be putting it that
idiotic way, you must; anyway, we're waiting on the story."

"--The boy went down to the river mouth and got into the small boat.
She was half full of water and he baled her as well as he could with his
bonnet, then pushed her off! She went up and down like a cork, and he
was terrified. He thought when he went in first she would be heavy to
row, but he found the lightness of her was the fearful thing. The wind
slapped like a big open hand, and the water would scoop out on either
side--"

"Take it easy, man, take it easy; slow march," said the Cornal. For
Gilian had run into his narrative in one of his transports and the words
could not come fast enough to his lips to keep up with his imagination.
His face was quivering with the emotions appropriate to the chronicle.

"--Then I put out the oar astern----"

"--Humph! _You_ did; that's a little more sensible way of putting it