he daren't come or
because he's ordered elsewhere."

They turned it over in their minds, and Dolly Venn spoke next.

"Last night in my watch I heard a bell ringing, sir. At first I thought
it was fancy--the sea beating on the rocks or the wind moaning in the
hills; but I got the ladder and went down the bill, and then I heard it
distinctly, and saw lights burning brightly on the reef far out to the
north. There were boats passing, I'm sure, and what was so wonderful
that I didn't like to speak about it, the whole of the sea about the
reef shone yellow as though a great lantern were burning far down below
its heart. I could make out the figures of men walking on the rocks,
and when the moon shone the figures disappeared as though they went
straight down into the solid rock. You may not believe it, captain,
but I'm quite sure of what I say, and if Clair-de-Lune does not come
to-night, I ask you to go down the hillside with me and to see for
yourself."

Now, the lad spoke in a kind of wonder-dream, and knowing how far from
his true nature such a thing was, it did not surprise me that the
others listened to him with that ready ear which seamen are quick to
lend to any fairy tale. Superstitious they were, or sailors they never
would have been; and here was the very stuff to set them all ears, like
children about a bogey. Nor will I deny that Dolly Venn's tale was
marvellous enough to make a fable. Had it been told to me under any
other circumstances, my reply would have been: "Dolly, my lad, since
when have you taken to sleep-walking?" But I said nothing of the kind,
for I had that in my pocket which told me it was true; and what I knew
I deemed it right that the others should know also.

"When a man sees something which strikes him as extraordinary," said I,
"he must first ask himself if it is Nature or otherwise. There are lots
of things in this world beyond our experience, but true for all that.
Ken's Island may be rated as one of them. The old Frenchman speaks of a
sleep-time and a sun-time. Lads, I do believe he tells the truth. If
you ask me why--well, the why is here, in these papers Ruth Bellenden
gave me five days ago."

I took the packet from my pocket, and turned the pages of them again as
I had turned them--aye, fifty times--in the days which had passed.
Thumbed and dirty as they were (for a seaman's pocket isn't lined with
silk); thumbed and dirty, I say, and crumpled out of shape, they were
the first bit