The fleeting hours glided by, Appadocca was in the same position. The brilliant stars shone beautifully above him, the fire-flies played about the tombstones, the tall dark trees rustled, and the pliant bamboos creaked melancholily before the gentle night breeze.
“I may not look upon you again: still, let me—let me perform, perhaps, the last office that I may be permitted,” said Appadocca, as if speaking to some one by his side, and began to pluck the weeds that grew over the grave.
Time passed quickly. His labour was completed. Appadocca took one last and earnest gaze at the grave, then muffled his cloak leisurely around him, and turned moodily away.
He followed the same path that led to the grave, and came out on the wide gravelly walk. His footsteps echoed in the silence of the hour, and he proceeded with his eyes fixed upon the ground. From time to time, however, he raised them to look at the morning star. He had now done so, when he beheld before him a tall female form, that was clad in black, standing under the branches of a rose-apple tree, which edged the road.
“Heavens!” muttered Appadocca, “is there, then, such a thing as a spirit?”
He stood for a moment.
“Oh, human mind,” he cried, “how weak thou art in all thy greatness! how imperfectly thou canst cut away the indifferent portions of thyself. Behold, whither imagination now hurries thee. Can there be such a thing as a spirit?”
Appadocca began again to walk. The form began to advance towards him. They met.
“Appadocca,” it cried, and grasped the hand of the pirate captain.