"Can't you stop there long enough to set him ashore—convince him that it isn't his island?" I suggested.
Nichols considered soberly, then shook his head. "It wouldn't work" said he "First place, the currents are bad, there's no harbour or village, and no anchorage, so far as I'm aware. Second place, would anything convince him? Even if there was once a real island, mightn't this one, in his present condition, look as good as the next to him? Suppose he were to insist on a hunt for the inhabitants? We'd have to bring him away in the end—and that might only prolong the agony"
"I guess you're right, Nichols; but what's the alternative?"
"Tack ship, and stand away till night" he answered without hesitation "Slip through the passage under cover of darkness. Trust to luck that he'll change the mood again tomorrow, and forget what he saw this afternoon. We can get him to sleep somehow—drug him if necessary"
"But he'll make a row at once, when you tack ship"
"I suppose so. We'll have to play him at his own game"
It seemed the better plan, and Nichols acted on it immediately. Devereux, lost in his own sphere of unreality, didn't discover that the ship was coming about until the island began to change its position along the rail. He watched it a moment, looked up to see the sails flat aback, then turned in alarm and ran toward the stern.
"What are you doing?" he cried "You can make the anchorage on this tack. The cove lies just round that first point"
"I know" said Nichols easily "But it's getting late, and I am afraid of the reefs. The channel is narrow, the wind's dying, the currents can't be trusted around that entrance. I'm going to stand off and on all night, and wait for the morning"
"Nonsense!" urged Devereux "We could easily make it! Why, Nichols, I know that channel like a book. There's plenty of daylight left...."