"There is no thing so natural as a circle," said Tom Horn. "The world is shaped like one; it moves in one. Every finished movement is a circle. The tides of the sea move in a vast one." "To the eye, at least, the sun and moon are round," agreed Christopher. "Though the stars, indeed, seem to depart from the rule, and have points." "There are as many tides in the sea," said Tom Horn, "as there are winds. And the winds are countless." He drew his chair nearer the little apothecary, and his voice lowered. "There are waters," said he, with the strange, luminous look in his face, "that crawl through the sea like great serpents; they bend themselves across the world, and ring in hopeless things." "I have beard tales of such," said Christopher, "but I have not been able to credit them. For how can one body of water move through another and keep its integrity?" "They are like great serpents," maintained Tom Horn, "miles broad, and with the movements of the earth and moon behind them. Storms blow across these currents, but a storm's authority is only for a moment, and the current goes on; meeting others like it, they join, and so the sea is encircled. And in the center of this circle," said Tom Horn, "is a dead spot, like an ulcer, where all helpless things drift and stay--broken ships and broken men; there they lie, bleaching in the strange lights, and with silent death coming toward them out of the mist and darkness." "That," said the little apothecary, "would be the Grassy Sea--the Sargasso, as the Spanish shipmen called it. I've heard it spoken of more than once. A strange place," and Christopher shook his head; "a queer, still place, I have no doubt; and they say few men who have seen it have lived to tell of it." "The currents drag all things about with them which have not the service of the winds," said Tom Horn. "Around they go in the circle, around and around, all the time getting nearer and nearer to its inner edge; and then they drift into the dead spot, and the Sargasso has them for evermore." "An unhappy fate," said Christopher. "A most unhappy one." There was a silence; then Tom Horn put out his hand and touched the little apothecary on the knee. "In mid-Atlantic," said he, "there are no reefs or bars; if a ship is stout and honest she does not readily sink in deep water." "No," said Christopher, "she should not. There is reason in that." "If a ship, known to be the work of steady, good artificers, is seen in great distress in mid-ocean," said Tom Horn, "in great distress, but most likely whole of hull, what warrant have we in afterwards thinking her at the bottom of the sea?" "Why," said the apothecary, his eyes growing round, "I do not know. I have given such possibilities but little thought." "As there were no rocks to dash her on, and no sands to trap her, reason says she might still be afloat," said Tom Horn. He seemed suddenly excited and got to his feet.