n once more at the window.
The sight of the sea cooled me. I forgot Midwinter, and thought of
Armadale and his yacht. There wasn't a breath of wind; there wasn't
a cloud in the sky; the wide waters of the Bay were as smooth as the
surface of a glass.

"The sun sank; the short twilight came and went. I had some tea, and
sat at the table thinking and dreaming over it. When I roused myself and
went back to the window, the moon was up; but the quiet sea was as quiet
as ever.

"I was still looking out, when I saw Midwinter in the street below,
coming back. I was composed enough by this time to remember his habits,
and to guess that he had been trying to relieve the oppression on his
mind by one of his long solitary walks. When I heard him go into his
own room, I was too prudent to disturb him again: I waited his pleasure
where I was.

"Before long I heard his window opened, and I saw him, from my window,
step into the balcony, and, after a look at the sea, hold up his hand to
the air. I was too stupid, for the moment, to remember that he had once
been a sailor, and to know what this meant. I waited, and wondered what
would happen next.

"He went in again; and, after an interval, came out once more, and held
up his hand as before to the air. This time he waited, leaning on the
balcony rail, and looking out steadily, with all his attention absorbed
by the sea.

"For a long, long time he never moved. Then, on a sudden, I saw him
start. The next moment he sank on his knees, with his clasped hands
resting on the balcony rail. 'God Almighty bless and keep you, Allan!'
he said, fervently. 'Good-by, forever!'

"I looked out to the sea. A soft, steady breeze was blowing, and the
rippled surface of the water was sparkling in the quiet moonlight. I
looked again, and there passed slowly, between me and the track of the
moon, a long black vessel with tall, shadowy, ghostlike sails, gliding
smooth and noiseless through the water, like a snake.

"The wind had come fair with the night; and Armadale's yacht had sailed
on the trial cruise."

III. THE DIARY BROKEN OFF.

"London, November 19th.--I am alone again in the Great City; alone, for
the first time since our marriage. Nearly a week since I started on my
homeward journey, leaving Midwinter behind me at Turin.

"The days have been so full of events since the month began, and I have
been so harassed, in mind and body both, for the greater part of the
time, that my Diary