cribed; his features seemed
to dwindle in size, the colour faded from his cheeks, one hand rose
waveringly and pointed over my shoulder into the distance, and the oft-
repeated name fell once more from his lips: 'The _Christ-Anna_!'

I turned; and if I was not appalled to the same degree, as I return
thanks to Heaven that I had not the cause, I was still startled by the
sight that met my eyes. The form of a man stood upright on the cabin-
hutch of the wrecked ship; his back was towards us; he appeared to be
scanning the offing with shaded eyes, and his figure was relieved to its
full height, which was plainly very great, against the sea and sky. I
have said a thousand times that I am not superstitious; but at that
moment, with my mind running upon death and sin, the unexplained
appearance of a stranger on that sea-girt, solitary island filled me with
a surprise that bordered close on terror. It seemed scarce possible that
any human soul should have come ashore alive in such a sea as had rated
last night along the coasts of Aros; and the only vessel within miles had
gone down before our eyes among the Merry Men. I was assailed with
doubts that made suspense unbearable, and, to put the matter to the touch
at once, stepped forward and hailed the figure like a ship.

He turned about, and I thought he started to behold us. At this my
courage instantly revived, and I called and signed to him to draw near,
and he, on his part, dropped immediately to the sands, and began slowly
to approach, with many stops and hesitations. At each repeated mark of
the man's uneasiness I grew the more confident myself; and I advanced
another step, encouraging him as I did so with my head and hand. It was
plain the castaway had heard indifferent accounts of our island
hospitality; and indeed, about this time, the people farther north had a
sorry reputation.

'Why,' I said, 'the man is black!'

And just at that moment, in a voice that I could scarce have recognised,
my kinsman began swearing and praying in a mingled stream. I looked at
him; he had fallen on his knees, his face was agonised; at each step of
the castaway's the pitch of his voice rose, the volubility of his
utterance and the fervour of his language redoubled. I call it prayer,
for it was addressed to God; but surely no such ranting incongruities
were ever before addressed to the Creator by a creature: surely if prayer
can be a sin, this mad harangue was sinful. I ran to