leaden rather than cerulean blue. The doctor,
having completely returned to the contemplation of the sea, pointed to
this atmospheric arc, and said,--

"Skipper, do you see?"

"What?"

"That."

"What?"

"Out there."

"A blue spot? Yes."

"What is it?"

"A niche in heaven."

"For those who go to heaven; for those who go elsewhere it is another
affair." And he emphasized these enigmatical words with an appalling
expression which was unseen in the darkness.

A silence ensued. The skipper, remembering the two names given by the
chief to this man, asked himself the question,--

"Is he a madman, or is he a sage?"

The stiff and bony finger of the doctor remained immovably pointing,
like a sign-post, to the misty blue spot in the sky.

The skipper looked at this spot.

"In truth," he growled out, "it is not sky but clouds."

"A blue cloud is worse than a black cloud," said the doctor; "and," he
added, "it's a snow-cloud."

"La nube de la nieve," said the skipper, as if trying to understand the
word better by translating it.

"Do you know what a snow-cloud is?" asked the doctor.

"No."

"You'll know by-and-by."

The skipper again turned his attention to the horizon.

Continuing to observe the cloud, he muttered between his teeth,--

"One month of squalls, another of wet; January with its gales, February
with its rains--that's all the winter we Asturians get. Our rain even is
warm. We've no snow but on the mountains. Ay, ay; look out for the
avalanche. The avalanche is no respecter of persons. The avalanche is a
brute."

"And the waterspout is a monster," said the doctor, adding, after a
pause, "Here it comes." He continued, "Several winds are getting up
together--a strong wind from the west, and a gentle wind from the east."

"That last is a deceitful one," said the skipper.

* * * * *

The blue cloud was growing larger.

"If the snow," said the doctor, "is appalling when it slips down the
mountain, think what it is when it falls from the Pole!"

His eye was glassy. The cloud seemed to spread over his face and
simultaneously over the horizon. He continued, in musing tones,--

"Every minute the fatal hour draws nearer. The will of Heaven is about
to be manifested."

The skipper asked himself again this question,--"Is he a madman?"

"Skipper," began the doctor, without taking his eyes off the cloud,
"have you often crossed the Channel?"

"This is the firs