“All right. You shall have supper before you go.”
“Thank you,” said Harcourt, with a short bow, as he left the office.
He walked down the village street until it merged into the country road that led to the water’s edge.
There, after some little inquiry, he found a boatman and then a boat.
The sun had set, but the sky was very clear, and brilliant with starlight. The wind was low, and the waters were still, and all circumstances favored a safe and pleasant row to the isle, that lay, as usual, like a preadamite sea serpent, coiled on the dark, glimmering surface of the sea, some miles distant from the shore.
Harcourt took one oar and the boatman took the other. A rapid row of half an hour brought them to the isle.
“It will be cold for you to remain here. Will you come up to the house?” inquired Harcourt as he stepped ashore.
“Oh, Lord, no! I’ll just fasten the boat, and walk up and down here to keep myself warm until you come back, if you won’t be long,” replied the boatman.
“I shall be an hour, at least. But if you feel cold, come up to the house at any time.”
“All right; I will.”