his other arm at the same time.

"There! That's your ship, Captain," he said.

I felt a thump in my breast--only one, as if my heart had then ceased to
beat. There were ten or more ships moored along the bank, and the one he
meant was partly hidden away from my sight by her next astern. He said:
"We'll drift abreast her in a moment."

What was his tone? Mocking? Threatening? Or only indifferent? I could
not tell. I suspected some malice in this unexpected manifestation of
interest.

He left me, and I leaned over the rail of the bridge looking over the
side. I dared not raise my eyes. Yet it had to be done--and, indeed, I
could not have helped myself. I believe I trembled.

But directly my eyes had rested on my ship all my fear vanished. It went
off swiftly, like a bad dream. Only that a dream leaves no shame behind
it, and that I felt a momentary shame at my unworthy suspicions.

Yes, there she was. Her hull, her rigging filled my eye with a great
content. That feeling of life-emptiness which had made me so restless for
the last few months lost its bitter plausibility, its evil influence,
dissolved in a flow of joyous emotion.

At first glance I saw that she was a high-class vessel, a harmonious
creature in the lines of her fine body, in the proportioned tallness of
her spars. Whatever her age and her history, she had preserved the
stamp of her origin. She was one of those craft that, in virtue of their