"It is not true! Which way was it going?"

"Toward the sun."

"Last evening I was drunk and I slept. But this is not true. I
have never seen it. You are testing me. Beware!"

"Shall I tell you if I see it again?"

"How can you tell me?"

"I shall come up your hill."

Haggart looks at her attentively.

"If you are only telling me the truth. What sort of people are there
in your land--false or not? In the lands I know, all the people are
false. Has any one else seen that ship?"

"I don't know. I was alone on the shore. Now I see that it was not
your ship. You are not glad to hear of it."

Haggart is silent, as though he has forgotten her presence.

"You have a pretty uniform. You are silent? I shall come up to you."

Haggart is silent. His dark profile is stern and wildly gloomy;
every motion of his powerful body, every fold of his clothes, is full
of the dull silence of the taciturnity of long hours, or days, or
perhaps of a lifetime.