d was very
favourable for the yacht, blowing a few points from north in a steady
pressure on her quarter, and, having been built with every modern
appliance that shipwrights could offer, the schooner found no difficulty
in getting abreast, and even ahead, of the steamer, as soon as she had
escaped the shelter of the hills.

The more or less parallel courses of the vessels continued for some time
without causing any remark among the people on board the Speedwell. At
length one noticed the fact, and another; and then it became the general
topic of conversation in the group upon the bridge, where Ethelberta, her
hair getting frizzed and her cheeks carnationed by the wind, sat upon a
camp-stool looking towards the prow.

'She is bound for Guernsey,' said one. 'In half-an-hour she will put
about for a more westerly course, you'll see.'

'She is not for Guernsey or anywhere that way,' said an acquaintance,
looking through his glass. 'If she is out for anything more than a
morning cruise, she is bound for our port. I should not wonder if she is
crossing to get stocked, as most of them do, to save the duty on her wine
and provisions.'

'Do you know whose yacht it is?'

'I do not.'

Ethelberta looked at the light leaning figure of the pretty schooner,
which seemed to skate along upon her bilge and make white shavings of all
the sea that touched her. She at first imagined that this might be the
yacht Neigh had arrived in at the end of the previous week, for she knew
that he came as one of a yachting party, and she had noticed no other
boat of that sort in the bay since his arrival. But as all his party had
gone ashore and not yet returned, she was surprised to see the supposed
vessel here. To add to her perplexity, she could not be positive, now
that it came to a real nautical query, whether the craft of Neigh's
friends had one mast or two, for she had caught but a fragmentary view of
the topsail over the apple-trees.

'Is that the yacht which has been lying at Knollsea for the last few
days?' she inquired of the master of the Speedwell, as soon as she had an
opportunity.

The master warmed beneath his copper-coloured rind. 'O no, miss; that
one you saw was a cutter--a smaller boat altogether,' he replied. 'Built
on the sliding-keel principle, you understand, miss--and red below her
water-line, if you noticed. This is Lord Mountclere's yacht--the Fawn.
You might have seen her re'ching in round Old-Harry Rock t