d the boards shrink and the great pine masts feel the
fierce heat. But there was no heat; only at first that cool sea breeze
and then the patter of rain, seemingly on the floor of the room in which
we sat.

Then a low moan came from behind the curtains of the cabinet, and then
the sound of a heavy fall. At this some of the women shrieked weakly.
There was a general letting go of hands, and Judson sprang to the
cabinet and disappeared behind its folds. After an instant of silence we
heard his voice: "More light." I hastened to turn on the gas. Judson
pulled aside the curtains, and we saw that the woman was lying
outstretched on the floor.

"She has fainted," said Judson, calmly. "That is all. I believe that she
is subject to such attacks. I doubt, my friends, if we shall have any
manifestations to-night. May I ask you all to consider the meeting
adjourned? I will give our friend here all medical attention."

He spoke so calmly and with such authority that without a word the
little company passed out of the room and out of the house. Judson and I
raised the woman to a couch, and he brought water and bathed her face.
She opened her eyes, sighed deeply, and then sat up. There was a strange
scared look on her face.

"Where is it?" she asked faintly.

"Here," said Judson, and he drew from beneath his coat a small book and
handed it to her. She turned away with a shudder.

"No, no. Take it away. Take it away."

Judson handed it to me. "Will you kindly take this book to the library,"
said he; "I will join you in a moment."

I obeyed mechanically. Before going into the library I stepped to the
broad piazza and looked out into the night. The snow lay white on the
ground, stars twinkled in the frosty sky, it was very cold, and I could
hear the snow creak under the feet of passers-by, and yet I had felt
that sea breeze and heard the patter of rain. What did it mean? I
shivered, entered the warm house, turned the light high in the library,
shut the door, and not till then looked at the book in my hand. It was a
small blankbook about six inches long and four inches wide, well bound
in leather and thoroughly water-soaked. I opened it. The leaves were wet
and discolored, and I could see that the pages were covered with
writing. I turned to the fly-leaf and there read these words:

"Arthur Hartley's journal. Begun on board the ship _Albatross_, March 7,
1851."

I stood in a daze, glaring at the written words, utterly confoun