"Every minute the fatal hour draws nearer. The will of Heaven is about
to be manifested."

The skipper asked himself again this question,--"Is he a madman?"

"Skipper," began the doctor, without taking his eyes off the cloud,
"have you often crossed the Channel?"

"This is the first time."

The doctor, who was absorbed by the blue cloud, and who, as a sponge can
take up but a definite quantity of water, had but a definite measure of
anxiety, displayed no more emotion at this answer of the skipper than
was expressed by a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"How is that?"

"Master Doctor, my usual cruise is to Ireland. I sail from Fontarabia to
Black Harbour or to the Achill Islands. I go sometimes to Braich-y-Pwll,
a point on the Welsh coast. But I always steer outside the Scilly
Islands. I do not know this sea at all."

"That's serious. Woe to him who is inexperienced on the ocean! One ought
to be familiar with the Channel--the Channel is the Sphinx. Look out for
shoals."

"We are in twenty-five fathoms here."

"We ought to get into fifty-five fathoms to the west, and avoid even
twenty fathoms to the east."