“Why, what a changeable rose you are, Master Cringle,” said Captain Transom, good-naturedly; “your face was like the north-west moon in a fog but a minute ago, and now it is as pale as a lily@blue white, I declare. Why, my man, you must be ill, and seriously too.” His voice dissipated the hideous chimera--the folds fell, and relapsed into their own shape, and the cloak was once more a cloak, and nothing more--I drew a long breath. “Ah, it is gone at last, thank God!”--and then aware of the strange effect my unaccountable incoherence must have had on the skipper, I thought to brazen it out by trying the free and easy line, which was neither more nor less than arrant impertinence in our relative positions. “Why, I have been heated a little, and amusing myself with sundry vain imaginings, but allow me to take wine with you, Captain,” filling a tumbler with vin-de-grave to the brim, as I spoke. “Success to you, sir--here’s to your speedy promotion--may you soon get a crack frigate; as for me I intend to be Archbishop of Canterbury, or maid of honour to the Queen of Sheba, or something in the heathen mythology.” I drank off the wine, although I had the greatest difficulty in steadying my trembling hand, and carrying it to my lips; but notwithstanding my increasing giddiness, and the buzzing in my ears, and swimming of mine eyes, I noticed the Captain’s face of amazement as he exclaimed, “The boy is either mad or drunk, by Jupiter!” I could not stand his searching and angry look, and in turning my eye, it again fell on the cloak, which now seemed to be stretched out at greater length, and to be altogether more voluminous than it was before. I was forcibly struck with this, for I was certain no one had touched it. “By heavens! it heaves,” I exclaimed, much moved--“how is this? I never thought to have believed such things,----it stirs again--it takes the figure of a man--as if it were a pall covering his body. Pray, Captain Transom, what trick is this?--Is there any thing below that cloak there?” “What cloak do you mean?” “Why, that blue one lying on the locker there--is there any cat or dog in the cabin? “--and I started on my legs.--“Captain Transom,” I continued, with great vehemence, “for the love of God tell me what is there below that cloak.” He looked surprised beyond all measure. “Why, Mr Cringle, I cannot for the soul of me comprehend you; indeed I cannot; but, Mafame, indulge him. See if there be any thing below my cloak.” The servant walked to the locker, and lifted up the cape of it, and was in the act of taking it from the locker, when I impetuously, desired the man to leave it alone. “I can’t look on him again,” said I; while the faintishness increased, so that I could hardly speak. “Don’t move the covering from his face, for God’s sake--don’t remove it,” and I lay back in my chair, screening my eyes from the lamp with my hands, and shuddering with an icy chill from head to foot.