"That's the Point. No, it cannot be the Point either,—'tis too far south for that; besides, it looms as we look. It is drawing nearer, and the fogs do drift in with marvellous quickness in these waters. Give me the helm!"
"'Tis unlucky," murmured Neville, "for 'tis not the easiest thing in the world in the brightest weather to make one's way past all these headlands, they are so much alike. What's that craft yonder by the wooded point?"
Huntoon made a glass of his two hands. "She hath the look of a packet sloop outward bound, somewhat heavy laden too, for she lies low in the water and goes slowly with a fair wind."
"How far away is she?"
"A matter of a mile, I should say."
"Ay," put in Philpotts, "and she hath seen the fog too, and is setting all sail to make what way she can before it strikes her."
The air grew colder as the sky clouded, and Huntoon brought Peggy's red cape from below and wrapped it close about her. She thanked him with a smile that he thought the sweetest and the saddest thing he had ever seen.
The fog was closing in on them now, and the wind dropped before it. The rail dripped with the chill dampness, and the sails flapped heavily as they swung over the deck whenever the vessel changed her course.
"Peggy dear, wilt thou not go below and keep warm?" said Christopher's voice.