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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.
"Not till Colin Lothian spoke to me about it." "There is certainly some mystery about all this," said the bailie, turning to Andrew Drever. "But it remains with us to communicate with this Mr. Quendale, if he is still alive." "He is not alive," said Andrew, with conviction. "Oh, then, you know something of him?" "Yes," said Mr.
That night, as I sat at Andrew Drever's fireside talking of Jarl Haffling's talisman, Thora Quendale told us how, when one day after her illness she was sitting in an armchair, with the stone dangling by a string from her hand, she fell asleep before the warm fire. She was awakened by hearing a footstep in the room; it was Tom Kinlay's. She felt for the stone, but it was gone. Tom had stolen it.
I thought that Thora Quendale had gone with her, and that I had lost sight of my dear girl friend for ever. I feared even to ask if this was so; but passing along the road one evening, soon after we had dropped anchor in the bay, I chanced to meet Andrew Drever walking home with a string of trout hanging at his side.
Quendale, who had shown some kindness to her during the voyage, by reason of a resemblance that existed between the two children Mrs. Quendale's own child and the child of Mrs. Kinlay both of whom were of a like age. The story of the wreck of the Undine gave me many matters to ponder over. But the one practical thing that I learnt was this existence of a cave in the North Gaulton cliffs.
Whilst Kinlay and Hercus were opening out the two seals' skins my eyes idly wandered over the surface of the tombstone, and were arrested by the inscription carved thereon. There was an epitaph in some foreign language, old and worn, but under this was a name that seemed to be newly cut. It was the name "Thora Quendale."
"Ah! now I begin to see your application. Go on, Halcro." I then spoke of finding the charts, and described how the Pilgrim had touched at Kirkwall. "She called at Kirkwall to put me ashore for hospital," interposed Peter Brown. "What!" exclaimed Mr. Duke. "And are you going to say that this Pilgrim was the vessel in which Mr. Quendale sailed for Copenhagen?"
It seems that when Sandy took the bairn to her, she, in her excitement at its recovery, claimed it as her own. There was no clothing on the child to identify it by, you see, and she did not discover her mistake for some hours after Sandy had gone. But Sandy had told her that Mr. Quendale was to return to Pomona very soon, and Thora was kept there until her father should come back."
This fair lady was afterwards recognised as the wife of the owner of the ill-fated vessel the gentleman my father had rescued who had been returning with her and their infant daughter to Denmark. The lady's name was Thora Quendale, and it was her tomb that I had seen in the old graveyard of Bigging on that evening when we shared the viking's treasures.
Duke," said Andrew. "She is the daughter of this Mr. Quendale, the owner of the wrecked ship." "Indeed! You believe that, Andrew?" "I firmly believe it." "Had we not better send for Mrs. Kinlay, to hear what she has to say on the matter?" said Mr. Duke. "Mrs. Kinlay is dangerously ill. However, I was at Crua Breck yesterday and saw her.
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