When we rose from the table my host and hostess retired to their respective cabins, while I lit a cigar and went on deck. The sun was just disappearing below the horizon and a wonderful hush had fallen upon the sea. Scarcely a ripple disturbed its glassy surface, while the track the vessel left behind her seemed to lead across the world into the very eye of the sinking sun beyond. There was something awe-inspiring in the beauty and stillness of the evening. It was like the hush that precedes a violent storm, and seeing the captain near the entrance to the smoking-room, I made my way along the deck and accosted him, inquiring what he thought of the weather. "I scarcely know what to think of it, monsieur," he answered in French. "The glass has fallen considerably since morning. My own opinion is that it is working up for a storm." I agreed with him, and after a few moments' more conversation, thanked him for his courtesy and returned aft. Reaching the skylight, I seated myself upon it. The glasses were lifted and through the open space I could see into the saloon below. The mellow light of the shaded electric lamps shone upon the rich decorations and the inlaid furniture and was reflected in the mirrors on the walls. As far as I could see no one was present. I was about to rise and move away when a sound came from the Fräulein Valerie's cabin that caused me to remain where I was. Someone was speaking, and that person was a woman. Knowing there was no other of her sex on board, this puzzled me more than I can say. The voice was harsh, monotonous, unmusical, and grated strangely upon the ear. There was a pause, then another, which I instantly recognised as belonging to Pharos, commenced. I had no desire to play the eavesdropper, but for some reason which I can not explain I could not choose but listen. "Come," Pharos was saying in German, "thou canst not disobey me. Hold my hand so, open thine eyes, and tell me what thou seest!" There was a pause for a space in which I could have counted fifty. Then the woman's voice answered as slowly and monotonously as before: "I see a sandy plain, which stretches as far as the eye can reach in all directions save one. On that side it is bordered by a range of hills. I see a collection of tents, and in the one nearest me a man tossing on a bed of sickness." "Is it he? The man thou knowest?" There was another pause, and when she answered, the woman's voice was even harsher than before: "It is he." "What dost thou see now?" "I am in the dark, and see nothing." "Hold my hand and wait, thou wilt see more plainly anon. Now that thine eyes are accustomed to the darkness, describe to me the place in which thou standest." There was another interval. Then she began again: "I am in a dark and gloomy cavern. The roof is supported by heavy pillars, and they are carved in a style I have never seen before. On the ceilings and walls are paintings, and lying on a slab of stone--a dead man!"