'We shall be at Norderney to-morrow,' he said.

Meanwhile the kettle was boiling merrily, and I made the tea--cocoa,
I should say, for the menu was changed in deference to our visitor's
tastes. 'This _is_ fun!' she said. And by common consent we abandoned
ourselves, three youthful, hungry mariners, to the enjoyment of this
impromptu picnic. Such a chance might never occur again--_carpamus
diem._

But the banquet was never celebrated. As at Belshazzar's feast, there
was a writing on the wall; no supernatural inscription, but just a
printed name; an English surname with title and initials, in cheap
gilt lettering on the back of an old book; a silent, sneering witness
of our snug party. The catastrophe came and passed so suddenly that
at the time I had scarcely even an inkling of what caused it; but I
know now that this is how it happened. Our visitor was sitting at the
forward end of the starboard sofa, close to the bulkhead. Davies and
I were opposite her. Across the bulkhead, on a level with our heads,
ran the bookshelf, whose contents, remember, I had carefully
straightened only half an hour ago, little dreaming of the
consequence. Some trifle, probably the logbook which Davies had
reached down from the shelf, called her attention to the rest of our
library. While busied with the cocoa I heard her spelling out some
titles, fingering leaves, and twitting Davies with the little care he
took of his books. Suddenly there was a silence which made me look
up, to see a startled and pitiful change in her. She was staring at
Davies with wide eyes and parted lips, a burning flush mounting on
her forehead, and such an expression on her face as a sleep-walker
might wear, who wakes in fear he knows not where.

Half her mind was far away, labouring to construe some hideous dream
of the past; half was in the present, cringing before some sickening
reality. She remained so for perhaps ten seconds, and then--plucky
girl that she was--she mastered herself, looked deliberately round
and up with a circular glance, strangely in the manner of Davies
himself, and spoke. How late it was, she must be going--her boat was
not safe. At the same time she rose to go, or rather slid herself
along the sofa, for rising was impossible. We sat like mannerless
louts, in blank amazement. Davies at the outset had said, 'What's the
matter?' in plain English, and then relapsed into stupefaction. I
recovered myself the first, and protested in some awkwa