"Ay, sir, and long since: of a disease past your curing."
"God help us! I hope not," said he; then broke out violently: "She is innocent, Paschal; innocent as a child!"
"Innocent!" cried I, in a voice which showed how little I believed.
"Paschal," he went on, "you are my servant, but my friend also, I hope. Nay, nay, I know. I swear to you, then, these things do but happen in her sleep. In her waking senses she is mine, as one day she shall be mine wholly. But at night, when her will is dissolved in sleep, the evil spirit wakes and goes questing after its master."
"Mahound?" I stammered, quaking.
"Be it Satan himself," said he, very low and resolute, "I will win her from him, though my own soul be the ransom."
"Dear my Master," I began, and would have implored him on my knees; but he pointed to the door. "I will win her," he repeated. "What you have seen to-night happens more rarely now. Moreover, the summer is beginning—"
He paused: yet I had gathered his meaning. "There will be less peril for the ships for a while," said I.
Said he: "To them she intends no harm. It is for her master the light waves. Paschal, I am an unhappy man!" He flung a hand to his forehead, but recovering himself peered at me under the shadow of it. "If you could watch—often—as you have done to-night—you might protect others from seeing—"
The wisdom of this at least I saw, and gave him my promise readily.
Upon this understanding (for no more could be had) I withdrew me.