never fade from my remembrance. Clinging to the ratlines he
endeavoured to climb up upon the top of the bulwarks as if in the hope
of obtaining a last glance at the departing object. His strength was not
equal to the attempt, however, and he staggered back against the saloon
skylights, where he leaned panting and exhausted. His face was so livid
that I expected him to become unconscious, so lost no time in leading
him down the companion, and stretching him upon one of the sofas in the
cabin. I then poured him out some brandy, which I held to his lips, and
which had a wonderful effect upon him, bringing the blood back into his
white face and steadying his poor shaking limbs. He raised himself up
upon his elbow, and looking round to see that we were alone, he beckoned
to me to come and sit beside him.

"You saw it, didn't you?" he asked, still in the same subdued awesome
tone so foreign to the nature of the man.

"No, I saw nothing."

His head sank back again upon the cushions. "No, he wouldn't without the
glass," he murmured. "He couldn't. It was the glass that showed her to
me, and then the eyes of love--the eyes of love.

"I say, Doc, don't let the steward in! He'll think I'm mad. Just bolt the
door, will you!"

I rose and did what he had commanded.

He lay quiet for a while, lost in thought apparently, and then raised
himself up upon his elbow again, and asked for some more brandy.

"You don't think I am, do you, Doc?" he asked, as I was putting the
bottle back into the after-locker. "Tell me now, as man to man, do you
think that I am mad?"

"I think you have something on your mind," I answered, "which is
exciting you and doing you a good deal of harm."

"Right there, lad!" he cried, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the
brandy. "Plenty on my mind--plenty! But I can work out the latitude and
the longitude, and I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms. You
couldn't prove me mad in a court of law, could you, now?" It was curious
to hear the man lying back and coolly arguing out the question of his
own sanity.

"Perhaps not," I said; "but still I think you would be wise to get home
as soon as you can, and settle down to a quiet life for a while."

"Get home, eh?" he muttered, with a sneer upon his face. "One word for
me and two for yourself, lad. Settle down with Flora--pretty little
Flora. Are bad dreams signs of madness?"

"Sometimes," I answered.

"What else? What would be the first sympto