"Suddenly she uttered a cry, and springing to me, grasped my arm. Her plaid or shawl had fallen back, and her fine golden-coloured hair was all in disorder; her eyes, which were a deep blue, were unnaturally bright and dilated, and their gaze was fixed wildly upon a part of the deck just aft the mainmast.
"'Sailor—sailor; oh, man, man, do you see that?' she asked, in tones of terror.
"'What?' said I.
"'A flame rising up through the deck, and growing higher every moment.'
"'Flame?' I repeated; 'there is no flame.'
"'Fire—it is not fire; it is the figure of a man—head, shoulders, arms, and hands—flame, all flame, pale blue, wavering, and indistinct!'
"'Nonsense, lassie, you are demented,' said I.
"'And you don't see it, sailor—you don't see it?' she continued, wildly.
"'No, my poor lassie,' said I; 'your eyesight must deceive you.'
"'Oh, heaven!' she shrieked, in a voice that brought all who were below tumbling up the hatches as if the ship were going down. 'Can I be going mad? It is like the figure of my Willie!'