reported, nor have I told yon what a singular ass I made of myself, and how I nearly broke down when I rose to reply to the toast of our healths. No! an account of those things, however interesting to those who actually took part in them, could be of little or no concern to anyone else. So for that reason, if for no other, I will be prudent and hold my tongue.
Of the rest of the voyage to the Mascarenhas, there is little to chronicle, save, perhaps, that we sighted Table Mountain in due course, rounded the Cape of Good Hope safely—though we had some choppy, nasty weather in doing so,—and passing into the Indian Ocean, eventually arrived off the island of Reunion an hour before daybreak.
I was on deck before it was light, waiting eagerly for the first signs of day. Not a breath of wind was stirring and as we were only under the scantiest sail our progress was hardly discernible. Then little by little dawn broke upon us, a clear, pearl-gray light, in which the world appeared so silent and mysterious a place that one almost feared to breathe in it. While I was watching, I heard someone come across the deck behind me, and next moment a little hand stole into mine. It was Alie, my wife.
"Can you discern any sign of the schooner?" she asked.
Before answering I looked round the horizon, but there was not a sign of any sail at all. To port showed up the dim outline of the island, with a few small fishing boats coming out to meet the rising sun, but in every other direction, there was nothing but grey sea softly heaving.
"No, darling," T answered, "I can see nothing of her.
