He stopped abruptly, and the eyes of the two men met in a single glance of comprehension.

“Joan?” Maloney exclaimed, under his breath.

“Joan!” replied John Silence.

* * * * *

We all went to bed early.  The day had been unusually warm, and after sunset a curious hush descended on the island.  Nothing was audible but that faint, ghostly singing which is inseparable from a pinewood even on the stillest day—­a low, searching sound, as though the wind had hair and trailed it o’er the world.

With the sudden cooling of the atmosphere a sea fog began to form.  It appeared in isolated patches over the water, and then these patches slid together and a white wall advanced upon us.  Not a breath of air stirred; the firs stood like flat metal outlines; the sea became as oil.  The whole scene lay as though held motionless by some huge weight in the air; and the flames from our fire—­the largest we had ever made—­rose upwards, straight as a church steeple.

As I followed the rest of our party tent-wards, having kicked the embers of the fire into safety, the advance guard of the fog was creeping slowly among the trees, like white arms feeling their way.  Mingled with the smoke was the odour of moss and soil and bark, and the peculiar flavour of the Baltic, half salt, half brackish, like the smell of an estuary at low water.

It is difficult to say why it seemed to me that this deep stillness masked an intense activity; perhaps in every mood lies the suggestion of its opposite, so that I became aware of the contrast of furious energy, for it was like moving through the deep pause before a thunderstorm, and I trod gently lest by breaking a twig or moving a stone I might set the whole scene into some sort of tumultuous movement.  Actually, no doubt, it was nothing more than a result of overstrung nerves.

There was no more question of undressing and going to bed than there was of undressing and going to bathe.  Some sense in me was alert and expectant.  I sat in my tent and waited.  And at the end of half an hour or so my waiting was justified, for the canvas suddenly shivered, and some one tripped over the ropes that held it to the earth.  John Silence came in.

The effect of his quiet entry was singular and prophetic:  it was just as though the energy lying behind all this stillness had pressed forward to the edge of action.  This, no doubt, was merely the quickening of my own mind, and had no other justification; for the presence of John Silence always suggested the near possibility of vigorous action, and as a matter of fact, he came in with nothing more than a nod and a significant gesture.

He sat down on a corner of my ground-sheet, and I pushed the blanket over so that he could cover his legs.  He drew the flap of the tent after him and settled down, but hardly had he done so when the canvas shook a second time, and in blundered Maloney.