worn out, and that of Earnest had failed him
altogether. They both quitted the cave, boisterous as the night was, and
it was now stormier than ever; and, heaving off their boat, till she
rode at the full length of her swing from the shore, sheltered
themselves under the sail. The Macinlas returned next evening to Tarbet;
but, though the wind moderated during the day, the yawl of William Beth
did not enter the bay of Cromarty. Weeks passed away, during which the
clergyman of the place corresponded, regarding the missing fishermen,
with all the lower parts of the Frith; but they had disappeared, as it
seemed, for ever.

Where the northern Sutor sinks into the low sandy tract that nearly
fronts the town of Cromarty, there is a narrow grassy terrace raised but
a few yards over the level of the beach. It is sheltered behind by a
steep undulating bank; for, though the rock here and there juts out, it
is too rich in vegetation to be termed a precipice. To the east, the
coast retires into a semicircular rocky recess, terminating seawards in
a lofty, dark-browed precipice, and bristling, throughout all its
extent, with a countless multitude of crags, that, at every heave of the
wave, break the surface into a thousand eddies. Towards the west, there
is a broken and somewhat dreary waste of sand. The terrace itself,
however, is a sweet little spot, with its grassy slopes, that recline
towards the sun, partially covered with thickets of wild-rose and
honeysuckle, and studded, in their season, with violets, and daisies,
and the delicate rock geranium. Towards its eastern extremity, with the
bank rising immediately behind, and an open space in front, which seemed
to have been cultivated at one time as a garden, there stood a
picturesque little cottage. It was that of the widow of William Beth.
Five years had now elapsed since the disappearance of her son and
husband, and the cottage bore the marks of neglect and decay. The door
and window, bleached white by the sea winds, shook loosely to every
breeze; clusters of chickweed luxuriated in the hollows of the thatch,
or mantled over the eaves; and a honeysuckle that had twisted itself
round the chimney, lay withering in a tangled mass at the foot of the
wall. But the progress of decay was more marked in the widow herself
than in her dwelling. She had had to contend with grief and penury: a
grief not the less undermining in its effects, from the circumstance of
its being sometimes suspe