I looked away from him across the sunlit expanse of sea.

“I really cannot tell you,” I said, at last—­“I am quite as much in the dark as you are.  I think she is overwrought, and that she has perhaps taken some of the things Mr. Santoris said too much to heart.  Then”—­here I hesitated—­“she said the other day that she was tired of this yachting trip—­in fact, I think it is simply a case of nerves.”

“She must have very odd nerves if they persuade her to believe that she and Brayle committed a murder together ages ago”—­said Mr. Harland, irritably;—­“I never heard of such nonsense in all my life!”

I was silent.

“I have told Captain Derrick to weigh anchor and get out of this,”—­ he continued, brusquely.  “We shall make for Portree at once.  There is something witch-like and uncanny about the place”—­and he looked round as he spoke at the splendour of the mountains, shining with almost crystalline clearness in the glory of the morning sun—­“I feel as if it were haunted!”

“By what?” I asked.

“By memories,” he answered—­“And not altogether pleasant ones!”

I looked at him, and a moment’s thought decided me that the opportunity had come for me to broach the subject of my intended departure, and I did so.  I said that I felt I had allowed myself sufficient holiday, and that it would be necessary for me to take the ordinary steamer from Portree the morning after our arrival there in order to reach Glasgow as soon as possible.  Mr. Harland surveyed me inquisitively.

“Why do you want to go by the steamer?” he asked—­“Why not go with us back to Rothesay, for example?”

“I would rather lose no time,”—­I said—­then I added impulsively:—­ “Dear Mr. Harland, Catherine will be much better when I am gone—­I know she will!  You will be able to prolong the yachting trip which will benefit your health,—­and I should be really most unhappy if you curtailed it on my account—­”

He interrupted me.

“Why do you say that Catherine will be better when you are gone?” he demanded—­“It was her own most particular wish that you should accompany us.”

“She did not know what moved her to such a desire,” I said,—­then, seeing his look of astonishment, I smiled; “I am not a congenial spirit to her, nor to any of you, really! but she has been most kind, and so have you—­and I thank you ever so much for all you have done for me—­you have done much more than you know!—­only I feel it is better to go now—­now, before—­”

“Before what?” he asked.

“Well, before we all hate each other!” I said, playfully—­“It is quite on the cards that we shall come to that!  Dr. Brayle thinks my presence quite as harmful to Catherine as that of Mr. Santoris;—­I am full of ‘theories’ which he considers prejudicial,—­and so, perhaps, they are—­to him!”

Mr. Harland drew closer to me where I stood leaning against the deck rail and spoke in a lower tone.