It had been ordered by Parson Chichester,
instructed by telegram from Taunton.

The parson himself stood on the platform, but he could give no news of
the missing ones.

"We'll have 'em before nightfall," promised Miss Sally. "Come with us,
if you will."

So all three climbed into the motor, and were whirled across the moor,
and down the steep descent into Clatworthy village, and by Clatworthy
pier a launch lay ready for them with a full head of steam.

During the passage few words were said; and indeed the eager throb of
the launch's engine discouraged conversation. Chandon steered, with his
eyes fixed on the Island. Miss Sally, too, gazed ahead for the most
part; but from time to time she contrived a glance at his weary face--
grey even in the sunset towards which they were speeding.

Sunset lay broad and level across the Severn Sea, lighting its milky
flood with splashes of purple, of lilac, of gold. The sun itself, as
they approached the Island, dropped behind its crags, silhouetting them
against a sky of palest blue.

They drove into its chill shadow, and landed on the very beach from
which the children had watched the stag swim out to meet his death.
They climbed up by a pathway winding between thorn and gorse, and on the
ridge met the flaming sunlight again.

Miss Sally shielded her eyes.

"They will be here, if anywhere," said Sir Miles, and led the way down
the long saddle-back to the entrance of the gully.

"Hullo!" exclaimed he, coming to a halt as the chimneys of the bungalow
rose into view above the gorse bushes. From one of them a steady stream
of smoke was curling.

"It's a hundred to one!" gasped Miss Sally triumphantly.

They hurried down--to use her own expression--like a pack in full cry.
It was Parson Chichester who claimed afterwards that he won by a short
length, and lifting the latch, pushed the door open. And this was the
scene he opened on, so far as it has since been reconstructed:--

Tilda stood with her back to the doorway and a couple of paces from it,
surveying a table laid--so far as Sir Miles's stock of glass and cutlery
allowed--for a dinner-party of eight. She was draped from the waist
down in a crimson window-curtain, which spread behind her in a
full-flowing train. In her hand she held her recovered book--the
_Lady's Vade-Mecum_; and she read from it, addressing Arthur Miles, who
stood and enacted butler by the side-table, in a posture of studied
subservience-