Somewhat after this fashion, perhaps, did Helwyse commune with himself.  He liked to follow the whim of the moment, whither it would lead him.  He was romantic; it was one of his agreeablest traits, because spontaneous; and he indulged it the more, as being confident that he had too much solid ballast in the hold to be in danger of upsetting.  To-night, at this point of his mental ramble, he found that his cigar had gone out.  Had he been thinking aloud?  He believed not, and yet there was no telling; he often did so, unconsciously.  Were it so, and were any one listening, that person had him decidedly at advantage!

What put it into his head that some one might be listening?  It may have come by pure accident,—­if there be such a thing.  The idea returned, stealing over his mind like a chilling breath.  What if some one had all along been close beside him, with eyes fixed upon him!  Helwyse found himself sitting perfectly still, holding his breath to listen.  There was no disguising it,—­he felt uneasy.  He wished his cigar had not gone out.  On second thoughts, he wished there had not been any cigar at all, because, if any one were near, the cigar must have pointed out the smoker’s precise position.  The uneasiness did not lessen, but grew more defined.

It was like the sensation felt when pointed at by a human finger, or stared at persistently.  Was there indeed any one near?  No sound or movement gave answer, but the odd sensation continued.  Helwyse fancied he could now tell whence it came;—­from the left, and not far away.  He peered earnestly thitherward, but his eyes only swallowed blackness.

Was not this carrying a whim to a foolish length?  If he thought he had a companion, why not speak, and end the doubt?  But the dense silence, darkness, uncertainty, made common-sense seem out of place.  The whole black fog, the sea, the earth itself, seemed to be pressing down his will!  The longer he delayed, the weaker he grew.

A slight shifting of his position caused him all at once to encounter the eyes of the unseen presence with his own!  The stout-nerved young fellow was startled to the very heart.  Was the unseen presence startled also?  At all events, the shock found Balder Helwyse his tongue, seldom before tied up without his consent.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your solitude.  You are not a noisy neighbor, sir.”

So flat fell the words on the blank darkness, it seemed as if there could never be a reply.  Nevertheless, a reply came.

“You must come much nearer me than you are, to disturb my solitude.  It does not consist in being without a companion.”

The quality of this voice of darkness was peculiar.  It sounded old, yet of an age that had not outlived the devil of youth.  Probably the invisibility of the speaker enhanced its effect.  With most of the elements of pleasing, it was nevertheless repulsive.  It was soft, fluent, polished, but savage license was not far off, hard held by a slender leash; an underlying suggestion of harsh discordance.  The utterance, though somewhat rapid, was carefully distinct.