The sun went down with red and gold, in a winter splendor. Dark night followed, but, late, there rose a moon. Alexander and Ian, coming down to the harbor edge at a specified place, found there the waiting boat with two rowers. It hung before them on the just-lit water. "Now, Old Steadfast, farewell!" said Ian.
"I am going a little farther. Step in, man!"
The boat drove across, under the moon, to the Seawing. The two mounted the brig's side and, touching deck, found the captain, known to Ian, who had sailed before upon the Seawing, and known since yesterday to Glenfernie. The captain welcomed them, his only passengers, using not their own names, but others that had been chosen. In the cabin, under the swinging lantern, there followed a few words as to weather, ports, and sailing. The tide served, the Seawing would be forth in an hour. The captain, work calling, left them in the small lighted place.
"The boat is waiting. Now, Old Steadfast—Señor Nobody—"
"Old Saracen, we used to say that we'd go one day to India—"
"Yes—"
"Well, let us go!"
"Us—"
"Why not?"
They stood with the table between them. Alexander's hands moved toward Ian's. They took hands; there followed a strong, a convulsive pressure.