n port. But with
the knowledge of that uneasy heart within his breast I could detect the
restraint he put on the natural sailor-like agility of his movements. It
was as though he had something very fragile or very explosive to carry
about his person and was all the time aware of it.

I had occasion to address him once or twice. He answered me in his
pleasant, quiet voice and with a faint, slightly wistful smile. Mr.
Burns appeared to be resting. He seemed fairly comfortable.

After sunset I came out on deck again to meet only a still void. The
thin, featureless crust of the coast could not be distinguished. The
darkness had risen around the ship like a mysterious emanation from the
dumb and lonely waters. I leaned on the rail and turned my ear to the
shadows of the night. Not a sound. My command might have been a planet
flying vertiginously on its appointed path in a space of infinite
silence. I clung to the rail as if my sense of balance were leaving me
for good. How absurd. I failed nervously.

"On deck there!"

The immediate answer, "Yes, sir," broke the spell. The anchor-watch
man ran up the poop ladder smartly. I told him to report at once the
slightest sign of a breeze coming.

Going below I looked in on Mr. Burns. In fact, I could not avoid seeing
him, for his door stood open. The man was so wasted that, in this white
cabin, under a white sheet, and with his diminished head sunk in the
white pillow, his red moustaches captured their eyes exclusively, like
something artificial--a pair of moustaches from a shop exhibited there
in the harsh light of the bulkhead-lamp without a shade.

While I stared with a sort of wonder he asserted himself by opening his
eyes and even moving them in my direction. A minute stir.

"Dead calm, Mr. Burns," I said resignedly.

In an unexpectedly distinct voice Mr. Burns began a rambling speech. Its
tone was very strange, not as if affected by his illness, but as if of
a different nature. It sounded unearthly. As to the matter, I seemed
to make out that it was the fault of the "old man"--the late
captain--ambushed down there under the sea with some evil intention. It
was a weird story.

I listened to the end; then stepping into the cabin I laid my hand on
the mate's forehead. It was cool. He was light-headed only from extreme
weakness. Suddenly he seemed to become aware of me, and in his own
voice--of course, very feeble--he asked regretfully:

"Is there no chance at all to g