er's death. If ever a man and woman were one, they were." She broke
off, then concluded abruptly. "You don't know him. You don't know him
at all."

CHAPTER XXVIII

"I think we are going to have a fine sunset," Captain West remarked last
evening.

Miss West and I abandoned our rubber of cribbage and hastened on deck.
The sunset had not yet come, but all was preparing. As we gazed we could
see the sky gathering the materials, grouping the gray clouds in long
lines and towering masses, spreading its palette with slow-growing,
glowing tints and sudden blobs of colour.

"It's the Golden Gate!" Miss West cried, indicating the west. "See!
We're just inside the harbour. Look to the south there. If that isn't
the sky-line of San Francisco! There's the Call Building, and there, far
down, the Ferry Tower, and surely that is the Fairmount." Her eyes roved
back through the opening between the cloud masses, and she clapped her
hands. "It's a sunset within a sunset! See! The Farallones!"--swimming
in a miniature orange and red sunset all their own. "Isn't it the Golden
Gate, and San Francisco, and the Farallones?" She appealed to Mr. Pike,
who, leaning near, on the poop-rail, was divided between gazing sourly at
Nancy pottering on the main deck and sourly at Possum, who, on the
bridge, crouched with terror each time the crojack flapped emptily above
him.

The mate turned his head and favoured the sky picture with a solemn
stare.

"Oh, I don't know," he growled. "It may look like the Farallones to you,
but to me it looks like a battleship coming right in the Gate with a bone
in its teeth at a twenty-knot clip."

Sure enough. The floating Farallones had metamorphosed into a giant
warship.

Then came the colour riot, the dominant tone of which was green. It was
green, green, green--the blue-green of the springing year, and sere and
yellow green and tawny-brown green of autumn. There were orange green,
gold green, and a copper green. And all these greens were rich green
beyond description; and yet the richness and the greenness passed even as
we gazed upon it, going out of the gray clouds and into the sea, which
assumed the exquisite golden pink of polished copper, while the hollows
of the smooth and silken ripples were touched by a most ethereal pea
green.

The gray clouds became a long, low swathe of ruby red, or garnet red--such
as one sees in a glass of heavy burgundy when held to the light. Th