glancing at the glistening sails that shamed the silver sheen of the
moon--"A sort of mirage in the atmosphere--"

Mr. Harland gave vent to a laugh--the heartiest I had ever heard
from him.

"Upon my word, Swinton!" he exclaimed--"I should never have thought
you capable of nerves! Come, come!--be off with you! The boat is
lowered--all's ready!"

Thus commanded, there was nothing for the reluctant Mr. Swinton but
to obey, and I could not help smiling at his evident discomfiture.
All his precise and matter-of-fact self-satisfaction was gone in a
moment,--he was nothing but a very timorous creature, afraid to
examine into what he could not at once understand. No such terrors,
however, were displayed by the sailors who undertook to row him over
to the yacht. They, as well as their captain, were anxious to
discover the mystery, if mystery there was,--and we all, by one
instinct, pressed to the gangway as he descended the companion
ladder and entered the boat, which glided away immediately with a
low and rhythmical plash of oars. We could watch it as it drew
nearer and nearer the illuminated vessel, and our excitement grew
more and more intense. For once Mr. Harland and his daughter had
forgotten all about themselves,--and Catherine's customary miserable
expression of face had altogether disappeared in the keenness of her
interest for something more immediately thrilling than her own
ailments. So far as I was concerned, I could hardly endure the
suspense that seemed to weigh on every nerve of my body during the
few minutes' interval that elapsed between the departure of the boat
and its drawing up alongside the strange yacht. My thoughts were all