At night, indeed, when the waltzes were swinging in the saloon, and
gifted passengers reciting, the little ship--shrunk to a few beads
of light out among the dark waves, and one high in air upon the
mast-head--seemed something mysterious and impressive to heated partners
resting from the dance. She became a ship passing in the night--an
emblem of the loneliness of human life, an occasion for queer
confidences and sudden appeals for sympathy.
On and on she went, by day and by night, following her path, until one
morning broke and showed the land. Losing its shadow-like appearance it
became first cleft and mountainous, next coloured grey and purple, next
scattered with white blocks which gradually separated themselves, and
then, as the progress of the ship acted upon the view like a field-glass
of increasing power, became streets of houses. By nine o'clock the
_Euphrosyne_ had taken up her position in the middle of a great bay;
she dropped her anchor; immediately, as if she were a recumbent giant
requiring examination, small boats came swarming about her. She rang
with cries; men jumped on to her; her deck was thumped by feet. The
lonely little island was invaded from all quarters at once, and after
four weeks of silence it was bewildering to hear human speech. Mrs.
Ambrose alone heeded none of this stir. She was pale with suspense while
the boat with mail bags was making towards them.
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