Odo of Cluny turned to his companion.
"Tell me, did he who spoke first and mentioned the light yonder on St. Bartholomew's Island—a light there is yonder, sure enough—did he resemble, think you, one we know?"
"Both in voice and form," replied Tristan.
"My thoughts point the same way as yours!"
"I should know that voice wherever I heard it," Tristan muttered under his breath. "But what of the light?"
Dimly through the mist the red glow was discernible.
"It beams from the deserted monastery," Odo replied after a pause.
"Can we put across?" Tristan queried.
"The question is not so much to find a boat as a landing-place, where we shall not be seen."
"There is a boat lying yonder. If my eyes do not deceive me, the boatman lies asleep on the poop."