Giles, uncomplimentary to me though it be, might have
some force if we were just now in the Channel, where being run down in
fog is an event of frequent occurrence; but here, in a comparatively
unfrequented sea, it would be strange indeed were I to be influenced by
such possibilities. What say you, Captain?"

McPherson, who had sauntered towards the group, gazed in the direction
where the horizon would have been visible had the fog been absent, and
said:--

"Hm!--weel--" and then stopped, as if for the purpose of mature
consideration. The audience waited for the announcement of the oracle's
opinion.

"Oo ay--weel, ye see, many persons are strangely influenced by
possibeelities, what-e-ver. There is a maiden aunt o' my own--she wass
niver marrit, an' she wass niver likely to be, for besides bein' poor
an' plain, an' mittle-aged, which are not in my opeenion objectionable,
she had an uncommon bad temper. Yet she wass all her life influenced by
the notion that half the young men o' the place wass wantin' to marry
her! though the possibeelities in her case wass fery small."

"I should like to 'ave know'd that old gurl!" whispered Tips to Quin.

"Howld your tongue, ye spalpeen!" whispered his friend in reply.

"Have you any idea, Captain, where we are now?" asked Jackman.

"Oo ay, we're somewhere's wast'ard o' the Lewis. But whether wast,
nor'-wast, or sooth-wast, I could not say preceesely. The nicht, ye
see, wass uncommon dark, an' when the fog came doon i' the mornin', I
could na' feel sure we had keep it the richt coorse, for the currents
hereaboots are strang. But we'll see whan it comes clear."

"Do you believe in presentiments, Giles?" asked Barret, in an unusually
grave tone.

"Of course I do," answered Jackman. "I have a presentiment just now
that you are going to talk nonsense."

Barret was not, however, to be silenced by his friend's jest.

"Listen," he said, earnestly, as he rose and stood in an attitude of
intense attention. "It may be imagination playing with the subjects of
our recent conversation, but I cannot help thinking that I hear the
beating of paddles."

"Keep a sherp look-oot, Shames," cried the skipper, suddenly, as he went
forward with unwonted alacrity.

A few minutes more and the sound which had at first been distinguished
only by Barret's sharp ear, became audible to all--the soft regular
patting of a paddle-wheel steamer in the distance, yet clearly coming
towards them.