skipper, an admirable seaman but nothing more, favored us with very
little of his society, except at his table; and the young woman, Miss
Janette Harford, and I became very well acquainted. We were, in
truth, nearly always together, and being of an introspective turn of
mind I often endeavored to analyze and define the novel feeling with
which she inspired me--a secret, subtle, but powerful attraction
which constantly impelled me to seek her; but the attempt was
hopeless. I could only be sure that at least it was not love.
Having assured myself of this and being certain that she was quite as
whole-hearted, I ventured one evening (I remember it was on the 3d of
July) as we sat on deck to ask her, laughingly, if she could assist
me to resolve my psychological doubt.

For a moment she was silent, with averted face, and I began to fear I
had been extremely rude and indelicate; then she fixed her eyes
gravely on my own. In an instant my mind was dominated by as strange
a fancy as ever entered human consciousness. It seemed as if she
were looking at me, not WITH, but THROUGH, those eyes--from an
immeasurable distance behind them--and that a number of other
persons, men, women and children, upon whose faces I caught strangely
familiar evanescent expressions, clustered about her, struggling with
gentle eagerness to look at me through the same orbs. Ship, ocean,
sky--all had vanished. I was conscious of nothing but the figures in
this extraordinary and fantastic scene. Then all at once darkness
fell upon me, and anon from out of it, as to one who grows accustomed
by degrees to a dimmer light, my former surroundings of deck and mast
and cordage slowly resolved themselves. Miss Harford had closed her
eyes and was leaning back in her chair, apparently asleep, the book
she had been reading open in her lap. Impelled by surely I cannot
say what motive, I glanced at the top of the page; it was a copy of