Then to my Ideal, so strangely found and lost, I looked and murmured an adieu, and returned among my companions, reverenced as one who had been in a hallowed place.

It was the third evening after this, to me, memorable visit.  Streaks of sable, with golden edges, barred the face of the setting sun, and promised to our hopes a change of weather.  But this indication, important as it was after the long calm, was evidently not that which the whole ship’s crew, officers and men, were now discussing,—­as the converged attention of the scattered groups on the closed entrance of that silent, mysterious cabin testified.

“I know,” said O’Hanlon, answering to an objection from some one in the group where he stood, “it would be like invading a sanctuary to intrude there; but the conviction sometimes comes over me that we have, all hands of us, from the captain down, acted in regard to this matter with the incapacity of men in a nightmare.  Fear is a condition under which a true man should not breathe a moment without contest; and yet I know we have been all, more or less consciously, under its influence since this man came on board.  Out upon us!  I will, for myself at least, break through this dream of terror at once, by a tap at yonder door.”

“It’s the captain’s place, not ours,” said Smith, “to investigate this affair.  Don’t be too impulsive; you will get yourself into serious trouble.”

“This is no matter of ordinary discipline,” said the other; “the captain has a more substantial awe of this man than you or I,—­and for more substantial reasons.  He was aware of his wealth and power when we were not.  How, without his knowledge, could the treasures worth a king’s ransom, that adorn yonder coop, have been smuggled in or arranged there?  But I am resolved, right or wrong, to do as I said.”

I was questioning within myself whether to second him, when the door toward which he was advancing slowly opened, and once more the object of our discussion issued from it, and again in his arms was the beautiful form to which they had proved such a fatal resting-place.  But none of the emotions of terror, trustfulness, or affection, which had alternately thrilled it in that position, did it now exhibit.  The bright eyes were closed, the beautiful features settled in lasting repose.  The glossy hair was daintily braided.  The spotless garments were gracefully disposed.  The jewels glittered conspicuously, as if relieved from the outvying lustre of her eyes.  All, as in life, was pure and perfect; and as in life, so in death, she was still a revelation of transcendent beauty.  A snowy winding-sheet, fringed with heavy coins, alternately of gold and of silver, and looped with silken cords on which bunches of the same precious metals hung as tassels, was so disposed that he could enfold her in it without laying her from his arms.

Stepping to the side of the vessel, he stood holding her thus in our view for a few moments; then, deftly and deliberately as usual, he wrapped the preciously weighted linen around her, stepped easily upon the bulwark, and with that perfect and deliberate poise so peculiar to him, and with his burden clasped firmly to his breast, he flung himself far clear of the ship, into the ocean, and was seen no more.