The time was fixed for the first week in August, the only one when engagements would permit the Rotherwood family to be present for the opening, and when the regatta was apt to fill Rockquay with visitors.  The place was to be the top of the cliffs of Rockstone, where the gardens of the Cliff Hotel, of Beechcroft Cottage, Rocca Marina, and Carrara, belonging respectively to Miss Mohun, Mr. White, and Captain Henderson, lay close together separated by low walls, and each with a private door opening on a path along the top of the cliffs.  They could easily be made to communicate together, by planks laid over the boundaries, and they had lawns adapted for tents, etc., and Rocca Marina rejoiced in a shrubbery and conservatories that were a show in themselves, and would be kindly lent by Mr. and Mrs. White, though health compelled them to be absent and to resort to Gastein.  The hotel likewise had a large well-kept garden, where what Mrs. Simmonds called a pavilion, “quite mediaeval,” was in course of erection, and could be thrown open on the great day.

It was rather “tea-gardenish,” but it could be made available for the representation of The Outlaw’s Isle.  Lancelot made a hurried visit to study the place, and review the forces, and decided that it was practicable.  There could be a gallery at one end for the spectators, and the outer end toward the bay could be transformed into a stage, with room for the orchestra, and if the weather were favourable the real sea could be shown in the background.  The scenes had been painted by the clever fingers at Vale Leston.  It remained to cast the parts.  Lancelot himself would be Prospero, otherwise Alaster Maclan, and likewise conductor, bringing with him the school-master of Vale Leston, who could supply his part as conductor when he was on the stage.  His little boy Felix would be Ariel, the other elves could be selected from the school-children, and the local Choral Society would supply the wreckers and the wrecked.  But the demur was over Briggs, a retired purser, who had always had a monopoly of sea-songs, and who looked on the boatswain as his right, and was likely to roar every one down.  Ferdinand would be Gerald, under the name of Angus, but the difficulty was his Miranda-—Mona as she was called.  The Vanderkists could not be asked to perform in public, nor would Sir Jasper Merrifield have consented to his daughters doing so, even if they could have sung, and it had been privately agreed that none of the other young ladies of Rockquay could be brought forward, especially as there was no other grown-up female character.

“My wife might undertake it,” said Lancelot, “but her voice is not her strong point, and she would be rather substantial for a Miranda.”

“It would be rather like finding a mother instead of a wife—-with all respect to my Aunt Daisy,” laughed Gerald.

“By the bye, I’m sure I once heard a voice, somewhere down by the sea, that would be perfect,” exclaimed Lance.  “Sweet and powerful, fresh and young, just what is essential.  I heard it when I was in quest of crabs with my boy.”