"I tell you, pilot," replied Williams, "that two years ago I ran into the harbour of Malta in a worse storm than this."
"But not worse than what we are to have to-night," said the pilot.
"To-night?" replied Williams, incredulously.
"Yes, to-night," replied the pilot, firmly.
"How do you know that we will have a bad night, pilot?"
"The point of Tamea and the rocks of Kamich are all under water at sundown, and that is the sign of a terrible storm."
"That is all superstition and old women's tales!" exclaimed Williams.
The pilot gave him a look out of his piercing green eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. When the man smiled, I felt as though I had the nightmare, or an oppressive dream, for I recognised the sharp, white, pointed teeth of the pirate with whom I had struggled hand to hand when the yacht had been attacked.
My astonishment was so great, that I strode forward and stared at the pilot in a state of stupefaction; but he withstood my gaze with perfect indifference, and it was I who lowered my eyes, all abashed by the calm, unconcerned look he gave me.
Williams, who was impatient at the pilot's silence, and had noticed my astonishment, said to him, "But then, what do you propose to do?"