Fancying that he heard whispers about him and resolved to hear them, he heard them. If a powerful imagination wanted to create whispers it could create them. The spirits of the air, Tayoga's spirits, the spirits of old Hellas, were singing in either ear, and the song, like that of the sea, like the flavor breathed out by his Christmas celebration, was full of courage, alive with hope. He had kept his eyes closed a full half hour, because, with sight shut off, the other senses became much more acute for the time. The power that had been in the eyes was poured into their allies. Imagination, in particular, leaped into a sudden luxuriant growth. It was true, of course it was quite true, that those friendly spirits of the air were singing all about him. They were singing in unison a gay and brilliant song, very pleasant to hear, until he was startled by a new note that came into it, a note not in harmony with the others, the voice of Cassandra herself. He listened and he was sure. Beyond a doubt it was a note of warning. Robert opened his eyes and everything went away. There was the pleasant, green island, and there was the deep blue sea all about it. He laughed to himself. He was letting imagination go too far. One could make believe too much. He sat idly a few minutes and then, putting the glasses to his eyes, took another survey of the far horizon where blue sky and blue water met. He moved the focus slowly around the circle, and when he came to a point in the east he started violently, then sprang to his feet, every pulse leaping. He had seen a tiny black dot upon the water, one that broke the continuity of the horizon line, and, for a little while, he was too excited to look again. He stood, the glasses in his trembling fingers and stared with naked eyes that he knew could not see. After a while he put the glasses back and then followed the horizon. He was afraid that it was an illusion, that his imagination had become too vivid, creating for him the thing that was not, and now that he was a little calmer he meant to put it to the proof. He moved the glasses slowly from north to east, following the line where sky and water met, and then the hands that held them trembled again. There was the black spot, a trifle larger now, and, forcing his nerves to be calm, he stared at it a long time, how long he never knew, but long enough for him to see it grow and take form and shape, for the infinitesimal but definite outline of mast, sails and hull to emerge, and then for a complete ship to be disclosed. The ship was coming toward the island. The increase in size told him that. It was no will-o'-the-wisp on the water, appearing a moment, then gone, foully cheating his hopes. If she kept her course, and there was no reason why she should not, she would make the island. He had no doubt from the first that a landing there was its definite purpose, most likely for water.