th breathed upon it, a soft hand passed
over the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and became a
confused gray cloud.

The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible and
hushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a quick
whisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no continuous murmur
as before. In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in their
rowlocks began to be distinctly heard, but the boat itself, although
apparently only its length from the sands, was invisible.

"Steady, now; way enough." The voice came from the sea, and was low, as
if unconsciously affected by the fog. "Silence!"

The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by the order, "Stern
all!" from the invisible speaker.

"Shall we beach her?" asked another vague voice.

"Not yet. Hail again, and all together."

"Ah hoy--oi--oi--oy!"

There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak and ineffectual, like
a cry in a dream, and seemed hardly to reach beyond the surf before
it was suffocated in the creeping cloud. A silence followed, but no
response.

"It's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find the boat," said
the first voice, gravely; "and we'll do that if the current has brought
her here. Are you sure you've got the right bearings?"

"As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted pint to take his
bearings by."

There was a long silence again, broken only by the occasional dip of
oars, keeping the invisible boat-head to the sea.

"Take my word for it, lads, it's the last we'll see of that boat again,
or of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby."

"It DOES look mighty queer that the painter should slip. Jack Cranch
ain't the man to tie a granny knot."

"Silence!" said the invisible leader. "Listen."

A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been the
long-deferred, far-off echo of their own, came from the sea, abreast of
them.

"It's the captain. He hasn't found anything, or he couldn't be so far
north. Hark!"

The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the seamen's trained
ears it seemed to have an intelligent significance, for the first voice
gravely responded, "Aye, aye!" and then said softly, "Oars."

The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked sharply and
simultaneously in the rowlocks, then more faintly, then still fainter,
and then passed out into the darkness.

The silence and shadow both fell together; for hours