rica had lost,
lest it be gone forever, they still hung back.

"We must know first where we stand," they said. "There is hope still
that we have not lost the _Huntress_ and that she will come to port
with fortune for us all."

A stormy February passed and there came at last a gusty day of March.
It was a Sunday, with the air clean after a shower, and with all the
townspeople moving down the High Street from their churches at the
hour of noon. There had been a tempest of wind and rain, but it had
cleared leaving the waters still gray but with the sky turning to
blue. Cicely was among the first, walking with her father and brother,
and had stopped, as they came to their own door, to glance down at the
harbor laid out in a circle of moving blue water below them.

"Oh, look, look!" she cried suddenly.

A ship was sailing slowly up the bay, a stately ship that dipped a
little and rose again as she came, but held her course steady for the
wharves. Her sails shone white in the fitful sun, the lines of her
hull showed dark against the gray water, the tracery of her rigging
and even the colors of her flag were distinct against the sky, and
yet--she did not seem like any ship they had ever seen before. Cicely
having drawn that vessel, line for line, masts, hull, ropes, and
spars, knew that this was the _Huntress_, yet what was so strange
about her? Why was she so steady in those changing gusts of wind, what
was there that made her sails so shining and transparent, like the
texture of a cloud?

The girl was aware that, among the crowd that had gathered to watch
the strange vision, Martin Hallowell was pushing to the front, gazing
with all his eyes. Ben Barton, too, who had come back the week before,
to ask for a place on Reuben Hallowell's ships, was pressing close to
Alan's elbow.

"The wind's dead off shore and here she comes straight in," she heard
the old sailor mutter. "Not even the _Huntress_ could sail like that.
And yet it is the _Huntress_ right enough."

The vessel came nearer and nearer, then of a sudden stopped, quivered,
as though struck by a violent adverse wind. Her main topsail blew out
suddenly and went streaming forth in the gale, a jib split to ribbons
before their eyes, and spar after spar was carried away. She careened,
as though before a hurricane, her foremast came down with a soundless
smother of sail and wreckage. Further and further she tilted, and then
suddenly she had vanished and there was not