With that we shook hands and parted, and within the next twenty minutes the steamer had started, bearing me far away from the Isle of Skye, that beautiful, weird and mystic region full of strange legends and memories, which to me had proved a veritable wonderland.  I watched the ‘Diana’ at anchor in the bay of Portree till I could see her no more,—­and it was getting on towards noon when I suddenly noticed the people on board the steamer making a rush to one side of the deck to look at something that was evidently both startling and attractive.  I followed the crowd,—­and my heart gave a quick throb of delight when I saw poised on the sparkling waters the fairylike ’Dream’!—­her sails white as the wings of a swan, and her cordage gleaming like woven gold in the brilliant sunshine.  She was a thing of perfect beauty as she seemed to glide on the very edge of the horizon like a vision between sky and sea.  And as I pressed forward among the thronging passengers to look at her, she dipped her flag in salutation—­a salutation I knew was meant for me alone.  When the flag ran up again to its former position, murmurs of admiration came from several people around me—­

“The finest schooner afloat!”—­I heard one man remark—­“They say she goes by electricity as well as sailing power.”

“She’s often seen about here,” said another—­“She belongs to a foreigner—­some prince or other named Santoris.”

And I watched and waited,—­with unconscious tears in my eyes, till the exquisite fairy vessel disappeared suddenly as though it had become absorbed and melted into the sun; then all at once I thought of the words spoken by the wild Highland ‘Jamie’ who had given me the token of the bell-heather—­“One way in and another way out!  One road to the West, and the other to the East, and round about to the meeting-place!”

The meeting-place!  Where would it be?  I could only think and wonder, hope and pray, as the waves spread their silver foaming distance between me and the vanished ‘Dream.’

XIII

THE HOUSE OF ASELZION

It is not necessary to enter into particular details of the journey I now entered upon and completed during the ensuing week.  My destination was a remote and mountainous corner of the Biscayan coast, situated a little more than three days’ distance from Paris.  I went alone, knowing that this was imperative, and arrived without any untoward adventure, scarcely fatigued though I had travelled by night as well as by day.  It was only at the end of my journey that I found myself confronted by any difficulty, and then I had to realise that though the ‘Chateau d’Aselzion,’ as it was called, was perfectly well known to the inhabitants of the surrounding district, no one seemed inclined to show me the nearest way there or even to let me have the accommodation of a vehicle to take me up the steep ascent which led to it.  The Chateau itself could be seen from all parts of the village, especially from the seashore, over which it hung like a toppling crown of the fortress-like rock on which it was erected.