ened from his drunken
sleep about midnight by a startling vision.

It was the form of a tall man in a military uniform dripping with
sea-water and soiled with sand. On his face was the pallor of death,
and his eyes had an awful, far-away expression, as though they were
looking through the startled sleeper. Fixing them steadfastly upon
Evil-Eye, whose blood seemed to freeze in his veins, he held up his
forefinger as if commanding attention, and pointed to the bunk where
Eric lay sleeping. At the same time his face took on a threatening
look, and his lips moved.

Although no words reached Evil-Eye's ears, he understood. As the
spectre stood before him, so intense was his terror that it broke the
spell which locked his lips, and he shrieked out the words already
mentioned. He knew no more until, at broad daylight, he found himself
weak and miserable in his berth.

Like many men of his kind, Evil-Eye was very superstitious. After the
vision he looked upon Eric as being under the protection of some
ghostly being that would for ever haunt any one who did him any harm.
Henceforth Eric had nothing to fear from him.

Winter on Sable Island is not like winter on the mainland. The Gulf
Stream prevents any long continuance of cold. The snow comes in
violent storms, and fills the valleys with drifts; but these soon
vanish. There is more rain and fog than snow, even in mid-winter; and
the herds of wild, shaggy, sharp-boned ponies which scamper from end to
end of the island have no difficulty in finding plenty to eat among the
grasses which grow rankly in every sheltered spot.

These ponies were a great source of amusement to Eric. But for them
and the rabbits, which were even more numerous, the winter, wearisome
at best, would have been simply intolerable.

The wreckers had captured a score of the ponies, and broken them in
after a fashion. They were kept near the hut, in a large corral built
of driftwood, and there were plenty of saddles and bridles.

Now if there was one manly accomplishment more than another upon which
Eric prided himself it was his horsemanship. He had been put upon a
pony when only five years old, and had been an enthusiastic rider ever
since. At Oakdene he had ridden to hounds since he was twice five
years of age, and there was not a lad in the county with a firmer seat
in the saddle or a more masterful touch of the reins. The saddles and
bridles at Sable Island were poor things compared