with the light curls, whom,
by-the-bye, I have met before, seemed also unwilling to enter into any
explanations. In fact, to put it plainly, she left you in the lurch."

"I think she was frightened," said Isobel, wondering what possible
excuse she could frame for Belle's conduct. "You came so--so very
suddenly. There! I've put all the ferns back. They're rather broken, I'm
afraid; but there are plenty of new fronds ready to come up, so I hope
you'll find that, after all, we haven't quite spoilt everything."

"Think I'm not so much hurt as I imagined?" said the colonel, with a
twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" replied Isobel quickly. "I know we've done a
great deal of harm. Please don't think I wanted to make out we hadn't."

"All right; you've done your best to repair the damage, so that's an end
of the matter."

"I ought to be going now," continued Isobel. "The Rokebys and Belle will
be wondering what has become of me, and the coaches were to start at
seven o'clock. It must be after six now."

"Exactly half-past six," said Colonel Stewart, consulting his watch. "If
you follow that footpath it will take you through a side gate and
straight up the hillside; I expect you will find the others waiting for
you on the top of the Scar. Good-bye. Give my compliments to your
friends, and tell them to learn to enjoy the country without spoiling it
for other people; and the next time they get into a tight place to show
a little pluck, and not to run off like a set of cowardly young curs."

CHAPTER XI.

THE ISLAND.

"Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own,
In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone."

Though the United Sea Urchins were still very faithful to their cricket
ground under the cliffs, the older and more daring spirits were always
ready to ramble farther afield in quest of new scenes and adventures.
Every day seemed to bring with it some fresh delight, whether it were a
shrimping expedition among the green sea-weedy pools of the rocks on the
far shore, or a cockle gathering on the gleaming banks left by the
ebb-tide, where the breath of the salt wind on their faces or the feel
of the wet, oozing sand under their bare feet was a joy to be garnered
up and held in memory. Sometimes it was a scramble over the moors,
between thickets of golden gorse and stretches of heather so deep and
long that to lie in it was to bury oneself like a bee in a bed of purple
fragrance, or a hard