y of a glimpse at some unguessed secret of the deeps. He
was glad to be alone.

Body and mind he bent to the draught, till the cross-beams rose, came out
dripping up to the gunwale, and neatly to rest. A ruddy tangle hung among
the meshes. He paused before out-sorting to resolve an importunate doubt:
was this more than mere luck to his nets? It was not the first time he
had had occasion to debate an unanswerable question. The blank westward
seas, near or far, returned no intelligence to his eager survey, nothing
to signify he was not quit of obligation.

A witch she was, of an evil breed, one to be avoided, pitied, and
abhorred. No conscious impulse moved Christian to seek her again, though
her beauty was a wonder not to be forgotten, and she had dealt with him
so kindly. Yet of the contrary elements of that strange encounter the
foul stood unchanged, but the fair had suffered blight, because from the
small return demanded of him his mother's heart had taken hurt. A full
confession would indeed but change the current of distrust. He sighed,
yet smiled a little; he would have to own that a wish persisted to know
the colour of those eyes.

From the sweat and ache of toil he paused a moment to see where he lay.
Under a faint breath from the south he had been drifting; the fleet also
had drifted to leeward.

Within a grand enclosure, satisfying coolness and peace, and splendid
shade reigned, for no man's solace and reward.

The sun rode high, and the west breathed in turn, bringing a film of
haze. A delicate blue veil, that no eye could distinguish from the
melting blue of sea and heaven, an evanescent illusion of distance, hung,
displacing the real.

Above the boy's head a seagull dipped and sailed. It swooped low with a
wild note, 'Diadyomene, Diadyomene,' and flew west.

Christian upturned a startled face. The drifting fleet had vanished; he
was alone with the gracious elements.

Too loyal of heart to dream of excuse, he rendered instant obedience to
the unwelcome summons, headed round, hoisted every stitch, and slanted
away after the white wings. Yet he chafed, angry and indignant against so
unwarrantable an imposition on his good faith. Go he must, but for a fair
understanding, but to end an intolerable assumption that to a witch
creature he owed payment indefinitely deferred at her pleasure.

He owed her his life; no less than that she might exact.

He found he was smiling despite a loath mind and anxious.