dimly saw the spires and roofs of a town, and two
long black piers stretching out southwards. We were scarcely a mile
away when we lost our wind altogether, and had to anchor. Determined
to reach our destination that night we waited till the ebb stream
made, and then towed the yacht with the dinghy. In the course of this
a fog dropped on us suddenly, just as it had yesterday. I was towing
at the time, and, of course, stopped short; but Davies shouted to me
from the tiller to go on, that he could manage with the lead and
compass. And the end of it was that, at about nine o'clock, we
anchored safely in the five-fathom roadstead, close to the eastern
pier, as a short reconnaissance proved to us. It had been a little
masterpiece of adroit seamanship.

There was utter stillness till our chain rattled down, when a muffled
shout came from the direction of the pier, and soon we heard a boat
groping out to us. It was a polite but sleepy portofficer, who asked
in a perfunctory way for our particulars, and when he heard them,
remembered the 'Dulcibella's' previous visit.

'Where are you bound to?' he asked.

'England--sooner or later,' said Davies.

The man laughed derisively. 'Not this year,' he said; 'there will be
fogs for another week; it is always so, and then storms. Better leave
your yawl here. Dues will be only sixpence a month for you.

'I'll think about it,' said Davies. 'Good-night.'

The man vanished like a ghost in the thick night.

'Is the post-office open?' I called after him.

'No; eight to-morrow,' came back out of the fog.

We were too excited to sup in comfort, or sleep in peace, or to do
anything but plan and speculate. Never till this night had we talked
with absolute mutual confidence, for Davies broke down the last
barriers of reserve and let me see his whole mind. He loved this girl
and he loved his country, two simple passions which for the time
absorbed his whole moral capacity. There was no room left for
casuistry. To weigh one passion against the other, with the
discordant voices of honour and expediency dinning in his ears, had
too long involved him in fruitless torture. Both were right; neither
could be surrendered. If the facts showed them irreconcilable, _tant
pis pour les faits._ A way must be found to satisfy both or neither.

I should have been a spiritless dog if I had not risen to his mood.
But in truth his cutting of the knot was at this juncture exactly
what appealed to me. I, to