"Ay, that's all very well!"--and he glanced at me with a
compassionate air as at one who knew nothing about seafaring--"But
sails must have wind, and there hasn't been a capful all the
afternoon or evening. Yet she came in with crowded canvas full out
as if there was a regular sou'wester, and found her anchorage as
easy as you please. All in a minute, too. If there was a wind it
wasn't a wind belonging to this world! Wouldn't Mr. Harland perhaps
like to see her?"

I took the hint and ran down into the saloon, which by this time was
full of the stifling odours of smoke and whisky. Mr. Harland was
there, drinking and talking somewhat excitedly with Dr. Brayle,
while his secretary listened and looked on. I explained why I had
ventured to interrupt their conversation, and they accompanied me up
on deck. The strange yacht looked more bewilderingly brilliant than
ever, the heavens having somewhat clouded over, and as we all, the
captain included, leaned over our own deck rail and gazed at her
shining outlines, we heard the sound of delicious music and singing
floating across the quiet sea.

"Some millionaire's toy,"--said Mr. Harland--"She's floating from
the mysterious yacht." It was a music full of haunting sweetness and
rhythmic melody, and I was not sure whether it was evolved from
stringed instruments or singing voices. By climbing up on the sofa
in my sitting-room I could look out through the port-hole on the
near sea, rippling close to me, and bringing, as I fancied, with
every ripple a new cadence, a tenderer snatch of tune. A subtle
scent was on the salt air, as of roses mingling with the freshness
of the scarcely moving waters,--it came, I thought, from the
beautiful blossoms which so lavishly adorned my rooms. I could not