et coherent utterances cease. Soon are heard
retreating footsteps.

Profoundly moved, Sir Donald turns the boat and vigorously rows back to
the shore. Both are glad to reach land, and rapidly walk homeward.
Neither is superstitious, but such ghostly utterances, with all drapings
of time and place, weirdly tinted by so pensive, reminiscent sentiments,
rouse dormant fancies. Each feels a mystic sense of some impending
crisis.

CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE "TRAMP" STEAMER

From Calcutta Oswald sails without definite destination. The ship's
prospective course is unknown. This "tramp" steamer has an oddly
assorted cargo. Her officers and crew are a motley mixture of different
nationalities. Cabin and steerage passengers hail from many parts of
earth.

Oswald learns that there is little prospect of touching at any Indian or
English port. The trip will be of uncertain duration, lasting many
months, possibly more than a year.

The first day's sail is characteristic. There are fair skies, balmy
breezes, smooth seas, followed by clouds, squalls, churning waves, and
tempest.

In noisiest turbulence of typhoon wrath this reserved Englishman sways
and tosses with the ship's motion, raptly listening to low-pitched,
soft-keyed voice rising above the storm.

What is ocean's tumult to this long-range undertone?

Outriding storm fury, the steamer for needed repairs anchors off Indian
shore, whence she continues her eccentric course.

Long days, late into the night, are passed by Oswald sitting on and
walking the decks. This homeless wanderer on havenless seas recks little
of log-book or transit. Unlike sure-winged passage-bird, he knows not
his journey's issue. So perverse have been fate's courses that this
high-strung, assertive mariner hesitates to direct life's drifting
argosy. There are looks of indecision, tense resolve, and helpless
perplexity. Eagerly scanning the arched blue, he notes stellar
assurance. Hushed as by cradle-song, every harassing emotion subsides.

Some odd, inquisitive conceits grow out of these moods. Gazing from
steamer deck into lighted canopy he soliloquizes: "What vigils are those
old guards commissioned to keep over this sail? Even if cares of
universe now absorb divine solicitude, has there not been, in long ages
of the eternal past, ample time to assign watchers over a few afloat on
ocean's fickle domain? May not that kindly indulgent Sense, missing no
carrion note of clamorous raven-cry, q