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Crua Breck was at least a mile from any other house unless, indeed, the ruined and tenantless cottage of Inganess merited the name. Carver Kinlay had lived there as long as I could remember; but the fact that the fisher folks often spoke of him as a "ferry jumper" implied that he was still regarded as a foreigner on Orcadian soil.
But after much searching of the water the chance of saving any more lives was so small, and the danger to the Curlew so great, that the boat was brought to the beach at Inganess Geo, where its suffering passengers were landed and carried up to the neighbouring farm of Crua Breck. The Curlew was then taken back to the wrecked barque.
When the Curlew was abreast of Inganess, Willie Slater, the lookout man at the bow, reported a ship in sight; and as my uncle Mansie lighted a rude torch, made of old rope steeped in the oil of sea birds, my father peered into the darkness and saw a large barque heading towards the land. The blazing light of the torch was presently waved as a warning signal to those on the ship.
There could no longer be any doubt in my mind that Thora was indeed the daughter of the beautiful woman who was cast ashore at Inganess, and whose body now lay in the old neglected graveyard across the moor the daughter of Thora and Ephraim Quendale. Thora Quendale as I must now call my young girl friend returned that evening to her old home at Crua Breck.
I made my way onward to Lyndardy sadly, it is true, but with a strange new feeling in my heart for this blue-eyed maiden who, in defiance of her family, had helped me in my weariness and distress. A short distance from the place where Thora left me, I came to the ruined cottage of Inganess.
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