Then Mrs Fuller’s health was drunk, and the captain’s, and every one else’s, and not until a small-hour of the morning did we think of breaking up.
‘I say, Mac,’ said the doctor, ‘aren’t you afraid of seeing poor Goodhew to-night?’
‘Whisht, doctor; ye’ve taken more than’s good for ye!’ was the contemptuous reply.
As the ship’s bell tolled two o’clock, we prepared to turn into bed, when the saloon door opened quietly, and a tall figure, ghastly white, with a crimson patch on its face, glided a few inches in. Mac was seated next to the door, and saw it. His cigar fell from his fingers, beads of perspiration burst upon his forehead, and he trembled violently.
‘What on earth is the matter, Mac?’ we asked.
‘Why!—Don’t ye see? There, at the door!—Him! Mister Goodhew!’ stammered Mac.
‘Nonsense, man; you’re dreaming. There’s nobody there at all!’ we said.
‘Strikes me you’ve had a drop too much, Mac,’ said the doctor, quietly.
The figure still stood there with its eyes fixed on Mac, who, after remaining for a few moments petrified with horror, rushed with a shriek into his cabin.
Such a night as the poor fellow passed will never be known to any one but himself, although it was manifest that he was undergoing extreme agony by the groans and smothered cries which we heard for a long time after he had turned in. He was not visible at breakfast the next morning; nothing was seen of him during the process of transferring passengers, mails, and baggage from the Sicilia to the Yokohama steamer; and we began to fear that the poor fellow had really been affected by what he had seen, and had taken some rash step. However, about an hour before our starting-time, it was reported that Mac had come on board. There was a festive assembly in the saloon, the captain, doctor, and officers of the Sicilia being our guests, although an unusual spruceness in the general costume proclaimed that the affair was something more than a mere return of the compliment paid us by the captain of the Sicilia on the previous evening.