“Well, we had two days of this, passing a good many vessels; both steam and sail, that were getting all they could out of what was baffling us; then there was a shift of wind; it fell light, everything turned dry, and we went along with all cloths showing, sailing about five knots—­not more, and I don’t think less.  When the change of weather came Mr. Robinson looked more cheerful.  Seemed happier, he did, and I overheard him say to the party as they stood looking over the starn at the wake that ran away in two white lines with a gull, or two circling within a stone’s throw in waiting for whatever the cook had to heave overboard—­I heard him say: 

“‘Every mile’ll make it more difficult; besides,’ says he, with a sweep of his hand, ‘what a waste this is!  Williams,’ he sings out to me, ‘how fur off’s the horizon?’

“‘Why,’ I answered, ’from this height I should say a matter of six mile and a half.’”

‘And how fur distant, Captain Williams,’ says the lady, smiling sweetly, and pretty nigh confusing my brains by the beautiful look she gave me, ‘would a vessel like ours be seen?’

“I took time to think, with a squint at our mastheads—­for we carried long sticks—­and said, ’Well, call it twelve mile, mum.  It’s impossible to speak to a nicety.’

“‘And what,’ I heard Mr. Robinson observe, as I turned away, ’is twelve miles in this here watery wilderness of leagues?’

“’And then she gave a laugh, as if some one had made her feel glad; and it was all like music and poetry, I can tell you, her laughing, and his softness, and the water smooth, and the yacht sailing along as if she enjoyed it, like a hard-worked vessel out for a holiday.

“Time passed till it come on four o’clock on the afternoon of that day.  There was a redness in the western heavens that betokened more wind, though the sun still stood high.  Meanwhile the breeze hung steady.  There was the smoke of a steamer away on our starboard quarter, and there was nothing else in sight.  I took no notice of it, for smoke’s not uncommon nowadays on the ocean; but whatever the vessel might be, the glances I’d take at her now and again made me see she was driving through it properly; for three-quarters of an hour after we had sighted it, the smoke was abeam, and the funnel raised up, showing that her course was something to the eastward of ours.  I pointed the glass at her, and made out a yellow chimney and pole-masts—­hull still below the horizon.

“’Either a yacht, sir, or a Government dispatch boat—­something of that kind, sir,’ says I to Mr. Robinson, who was sitting near me with the lady.