see them off.

"What time do you reckon to get there, skipper?" asked Reg, as they
prepared to turn in.

"About day-break, sir. I'll call you," answered the skipper, as he took
the wheel.

A gruff voice bawling "All for shore," wakened them the next morning
and, mounting to the deck they found the steamer was just entering the
picturesque little bay. The sun was gilding the line of rugged hills
that surrounded the bay and glinting on the water, and they both
exclaimed in delight at the lovely scene before them.

The steamer was made fast alongside the little pier and, accompanied by
the skipper they made their way to the hotel, an old building standing
on the slope of the hill, a few hundred yards away.

"Mornin', skipper. You're early," said a rough old fellow, appearing in
the doorway.

"So we are, Clarke."

"Is there any conveyance to be had here to take us to Port Arthur?"
asked Hal.

"None, unless you wire to old Brown at the Port to bring his cart over."

"Then we'll walk. Where's the road?"

"Go right ahead, then turn to the right and follow the telegraph wire.
It will take you right into the Port," said Clarke, pointing out the
direction.

"I suppose you don't know if there is a yacht lying there?"

"Yes there is, or at least there was yesterday. It belongs to a young
fellow named Wyckliffe, who sent word he was coming my way to-day, as he
expected a lady," answered Clarke, with a smile.

"Well, good-bye, we will be back some time to-day," as they started on
their journey.

They found the road very hilly, and monotonous, lined on either side
with thick scrub and dotted here and there with the solitary house of a
selector. Having completed the ascent of a fairly high hill, they got
their first view of Port Arthur, where it lay in a small valley
surrounded with rough and mountainous country. Huge masses of ruins lay
in all directions, for it was on the shores of this loveliest of bays
that the early convict settlement was made. This fair spot, one of
Nature's most exuberant freaks, was the scene, in that fearful past, of
many a deed of atrocious barbarity. Very few houses still remain entire.
Many familiar English trees surround the blackened ruins of the little
church, which was destroyed by fire some years ago. Round its deserted
walls the ivy still clings, hiding its ruins with a tender cloak of
greenery as one who says, "_Je meurs ou je m'attache._"

"I can't see anything of the yacht," sai