The drink gave me back my voice; yet for a while I could scarce speak, for the tears that swelled my heart. "Are there any more of ye?" said the captain. I answered, "No." "But what land's this?" he inquired. "An island uphove by an earthquake," said I. "Great thunder!" he cried. "And what's that arrangement in shells and weeds atop of it?" "A vessel that's probably been three hundred years at the bottom," I answered. "The quake rose it, hey?" "Just as it is," said I. "Well, boil me," cried the worthy fellow, "if it don't seem too good to be true! Mr. Fletcher, trim sail, sir. Best shove along--shove along. Come, sir, step below with me for a rest and a bite, and give me your tale." A warily eaten meal with another sup of wine and water made me a new man. We sat below a long while, I telling my story, he making notes and talking of the credit he would get for bringing home a report of a new country, when suddenly the mate put his head into the skylight. "Captain!" "Hillo!" "The island's gone, sir." "What d' ye mean? that we've sunk it?" "No, by the Lord; but that it's sunk itself." We ran on deck, and where the island should have been was all clear sea. The captain stared at the water, with his mouth wide open. "Nothing to report after all!" he cried. "I saw it founder!" exclaimed the mate. "I had my eye on it when it sank. I've seen some foundering in my day; but this beats all my going a-fishing!" "Well," said the captain to me, "we didn't come too soon, sir." I hid my face in my hands. The Susan Gray was the name of the brig that rescued me. The Hercules saw the first of the island, and the Susan Gray the last of it. Hence, as I said at the start, it was reported by two vessels only. QUARANTINE ISLAND BY SIR WALTER BESANT "No!" he cried, passionately. "You drew me on; you led me to believe that you cared for me; you encouraged me! What! can a girl go on as you have done without meaning anything? Does a girl allow a man to press her hand--to keep her hand--without meaning anything? Unless these things mean nothing, you are the most heartless girl in the whole world; yes--I say the coldest, the most treacherous, the most heartless!" It was evening, and moonlight; a soft and delicious night in September. The waves lapped gently at their feet, the warm breeze played upon their faces, the moon shone upon them--an evening wholly unfit for such a royal rage as this young gentleman (two and twenty is still young) exhibited. He walked about on the parade, which was deserted except for this solitary pair, gesticulating, waving his arms, mad with the madness of wounded love.