the clocks of the city had struck ten on the following evening when i left the carriage which pharos had sent to convey me to the harbour, and, escorted by his servant, the same who had sat beside the coachman on the occasion of our drive home from pompeii on the previous evening, made my way down the landing-stage and took my place in the boat which was waiting to carry me to the yacht.

throughout the day i had seen nothing either of pharos or his ward, nor had i heard anything from the former save a message to the effect that he had made arrangements for my getting on board. but if i had not seen them i had at least thought about them — so much so, indeed, that i had scarcely closed my eyes all night. and the more attention i bestowed upon them the more difficult i found it to account for the curious warning i had received from the fr?ulein valerie. what the danger was which threatened me it was beyond my power to tell. i endeavoured to puzzle it out, but in vain. had it not been for that scene on the embankment, and his treatment of me in my own studio, to say nothing of the suspicions i had erroneously entertained against him in respect of the murder of the curiosity dealer, i should in all probability have attributed it to a mere womanly superstition which, although it appeared genuine enough to her, had no sort of foundation in fact. knowing, however, what i did, i could see that it behooved me, if only for the sake of my own safety, to be more than cautious, and when i boarded the yacht i did so with a full determination to keep my eyes wide open, and to be prepared for trouble whenever or in whatever shape it might come.

on gaining the deck i was received by an elderly individual whom i afterward discovered to be the captain. he informed me in french that both monsieur pharos and the fr?ulein valerie had already arrived on board and had retired to their cabins. the former had given instructions that everything possible was to be done to promote my comfort, and, having said this, the captain surrendered me to the charge of the servant who had escorted me on board, and, bowing reverentially to me, made some excuse about seeing the yacht under way and went forward. at the request of the steward i passed along the deck to the after-companion ladder, and thence to the saloon below. the evidence of wealth i had had before me in the house in naples had prepared me in some measure for the magnificent vessel in which i now found myself; nevertheless, i must confess to feeling astonished at the luxury i saw displayed on every side. the saloon must have been upward of thirty feet long by eighteen wide, and one glance round it showed me that the decorations, the carpet, and the furniture, were the best that taste and money could procure. with noiseless footfall the steward conducted me across the saloon, and, opening a door on the port side, introduced me to my cabin.

my luggage had preceded me, and, as it was now close upon eleven o’clock, i determined to turn in and, if possible, get to sleep before the vessel started.

when i woke in the morning we were at sea. brilliant sunshine streamed in through the porthole and danced on the white and gold panelling of the cabin. smart seas rattled against the hull and set the little craft rolling till i began to think it was as well i was a good sailor, otherwise i should scarcely have looked forward with such interest to the breakfast i could hear preparing in the saloon outside.

as soon as i had dressed i made my way to the deck. it was a lovely morning, a bright blue sky overhead, with a few snow-white clouds away to the southwest to afford relief and to add to the beauty of the picture. a smart sea was running, and more than once i had to make a bolt for the companion-ladder in order to escape the spray which came whistling over the bulwarks.

in the daylight the yacht looked bigger than she had done on the previous night. at a rough guess she scarcely could have been less than four hundred tons. her captain, so i afterward discovered, was a greek, but of what nationality her crew were composed i was permitted no opportunity of judging. one thing is very certain — they were not english, nor did their behaviour realise my notion of the typical sailor. there was none of that good-humoured chaff or horseplay which is supposed to characterise the calling. these men, for the most part, were middle-aged, taciturn and gloomy fellows, who did their work with automaton-like regularity, but without interest or apparent good-will. the officers, with the exception of the captain, i had not yet seen.

punctually on the stroke of eight bells a steward emerged from the companion and came aft to inform me that breakfast was served. i inquired if my host and hostess were in the saloon, but was informed that pharos made it a rule never to rise before midday, and that on this occasion the fr?ulein valerie intended taking the meal in her own cabin and begged me to excuse her. accordingly, i sat down alone, and when i had finished returned to the deck and lit a cigar. the sea by this time had moderated somewhat and the vessel in consequence was making better progress. for upward of half an hour i tramped the deck religiously and then returned to my favourite position aft. leaning my elbows on the rail, i stood gazing at the curdling wake, watching the beautiful blending of white and green created by the screw.

i was still occupied in this fashion when i heard my name spoken, and, turning, found the fr?ulein valerie standing before me. she was dressed in some dark material, which not only suited her complexion but displayed the exquisite outline of her figure to perfection.

“good-morning, mr. forrester,” she said, holding out her white hand to me. “i must apologise to you for my rudeness in not having joined you at breakfast; but i was tired and did not feel equal to getting up so early.”

there was a troubled look in her eyes which told me that while she had not forgotten our interview of two nights before, she was determined not to refer to it in any way or even to permit me to suppose that she remembered it. i accordingly resolved to follow her example, though, if the truth must be confessed, there were certain questions i was more than desirous of putting to her.

“since you are on deck the first morning out, i presume you are fond of the sea?” i said, in a matter-of-fact voice, after we had been standing together for some moments.

“i love it,” she answered fervently; “and the more so because i am a good sailor. in the old days, when my father was alive, i was never happier than when we were at sea, away from land and all its attendant troubles.”

she paused, and i saw her eyes fill with tears. in a few moments, however, she recovered her composure and began to talk of the various countries with which we were mutually acquainted. as it soon transpired, she had visited almost every capital in europe since she had been with pharos, but for what purpose i could not discover. the most eastern side of russia and the most western counties of england were equally well known to her. in an unguarded moment i asked her which city she preferred.

“is it possible i could have any preference?” she asked, almost reproachfully. “if you were condemned to imprisonment for life, do you think it would matter to you what colour your captors painted your cell, or of what material the wall was composed that you looked upon through your barred windows? such is my case. my freedom is gone, and for that reason i take no sort of interest in the places to which my gaoler leads me.”

to this speech i offered no reply, nor could i see that one was needed. we were standing upon dangerous ground and i hastened to get off it as soon as possible. i fear, however, i must have gone clumsily to work, for she noticed my endeavour and smiled a little bitterly, i thought. then, making some excuse, she left me and returned below.

it was well past midday before pharos put in an appearance. whether at sea or ashore he made no difference in his costume. he wore the same heavy coat and curious cap that i remembered seeing that night at cleopatra’s needle.

“i fear, my dear forrester,” he said, “you will think me a discourteous host for not having remained on deck last night to receive you. my age, however, must be my excuse. i trust you have been made comfortable?”

“the greatest sybarite could scarcely desire to be more comfortable,” i answered. “i congratulate you upon your vessel and her appointments.”

“yes,” he answered, looking along the deck, “she is a good little craft, and, as you may suppose, exceedingly useful to me at times.”

as he said this a curious expression came into his face. it was as if the memory of an occasion on which this vessel had carried him beyond the reach of pursuit had suddenly occurred to him. exquisite, however, as the pleasure it afforded him seemed to be, i can not say that it pleased me as much. it revived unpleasant memories, and just at the time when i was beginning to forget my first distrust of him.

after a few moments’ further conversation he expressed a desire to show me the vessel, an invitation which, needless to say, i accepted with alacrity. we first visited the smoking-room on deck, then the bridge, after that the engine-room, and later on the men’s quarters forward. retracing our steps aft we descended to the saloon, upon the beauty of which i warmly congratulated him.

“i am rejoiced that it meets with your approval,” he said gravely. “it is usually admired. and now, having seen all this, perhaps it would interest you to inspect the quarters of the owner.”

this was exactly what i desired to do, for from a man’s sleeping quarters it is often possible to obtain some clue as to his real character.

bidding me follow him, he led me along the saloon to a cabin at the farther end. with the remembrance of all i had seen in the other parts of the vessel still fresh in my mind, i was prepared to find the owner’s berth replete with every luxury. my surprise may therefore be imagined when i discovered a tiny cabin, scarcely half the size of that occupied by myself, not only devoid of luxury, but lacking much of what is usually considered absolutely necessary. on the starboard side was the bunk, a plain wooden affair, in which were neatly folded several pairs of coarse woollen blankets. against the bulwark was the wash-hand-stand, and under the port a settee, covered with a fur rug, on which was curled up the monkey pehtes. that was all. nay, i am wrong — it was not all. for in a corner, carefully secured so that the movement of the vessel should not cause it to fall, was no less a thing than the mummy pharos had stolen from me, and which was the first and foremost cause of my being where i was. from what he had told me of his errand i had surmised it might be on board; but i confess i scarcely expected to find it in the owner’s cabin. with the sight of it the recollection of my studio rose before my eyes, and not only of the studio, but of that terrible night when the old man now standing beside me had called upon me and had used such diabolical means to obtain possession of the thing he wanted. in reality it was scarcely a week since lady medenham’s “at home”; but the gulf that separated the man i was then from the man i was now seemed one of centuries.

accompanied by pharos i returned to the deck, convinced that i was as far removed from an understanding of this strange individual’s character as i had been since i had known him. of the fr?ulein valerie i saw nothing until late in the afternoon. she was suffering from a severe headache, so the steward informed pharos, and was not equal to leaving her cabin.

that this news was not palatable to my companion i gathered from the way in which his face darkened. however, he pretended to feel only solicitude for her welfare, and, having instructed the steward to convey his sympathy to her, returned to his conversation with me. in this fashion, reading, talking, and perambulating the deck, the remainder of the day passed away, and it was not until we sat down to dinner at night that our party in the saloon was united. on board the yacht, as in his house in naples, the cooking was perfection itself, but, as on that other occasion, pharos did not partake of it. he dined as usual upon fruit and small wheaten cakes, finishing his meal by pouring the powder into the glass of water and drinking it off as before.

when we rose from the table my host and hostess retired to their respective cabins, while i lit a cigar and went on deck. the sun was just disappearing below the horizon and a wonderful hush had fallen upon the sea. scarcely a ripple disturbed its glassy surface, while the track the vessel left behind her seemed to lead across the world into the very eye of the sinking sun beyond. there was something awe-inspiring in the beauty and stillness of the evening. it was like the hush that precedes a violent storm, and seeing the captain near the entrance to the smoking-room, i made my way along the deck and accosted him, inquiring what he thought of the weather.

“i scarcely know what to think of it, monsieur,” he answered in french. “the glass has fallen considerably since morning. my own opinion is that it is working up for a storm.”

i agreed with him, and after a few moments’ more conversation, thanked him for his courtesy and returned aft.

reaching the skylight, i seated myself upon it. the glasses were lifted and through the open space i could see into the saloon below. the mellow light of the shaded electric lamps shone upon the rich decorations and the inlaid furniture and was reflected in the mirrors on the walls. as far as i could see no one was present. i was about to rise and move away when a sound came from the fr?ulein valerie’s cabin that caused me to remain where i was. someone was speaking, and that person was a woman. knowing there was no other of her sex on board, this puzzled me more than i can say. the voice was harsh, monotonous, unmusical, and grated strangely upon the ear. there was a pause, then another, which i instantly recognised as belonging to pharos, commenced.

i had no desire to play the eavesdropper, but for some reason which i can not explain i could not choose but listen.

“come,” pharos was saying in german, “thou canst not disobey me. hold my hand so, open thine eyes, and tell me what thou seest!”

there was a pause for a space in which i could have counted fifty. then the woman’s voice answered as slowly and monotonously as before:

“i see a sandy plain, which stretches as far as the eye can reach in all directions save one. on that side it is bordered by a range of hills. i see a collection of tents, and in the one nearest me a man tossing on a bed of sickness.”

“is it he? the man thou knowest?”

there was another pause, and when she answered, the woman’s voice was even harsher than before:

“it is he.”

“what dost thou see now?”

“i am in the dark, and see nothing.”

“hold my hand and wait, thou wilt see more plainly anon. now that thine eyes are accustomed to the darkness, describe to me the place in which thou standest.”

there was another interval. then she began again:

“i am in a dark and gloomy cavern. the roof is supported by heavy pillars, and they are carved in a style i have never seen before. on the ceilings and walls are paintings, and lying on a slab of stone — a dead man!”

once more there was a long silence, until i began to think that i must have missed the next question and answer, and that this extraordinary catechism had terminated. then the voice of pharos recommenced:

“place thine hand in mine and look once more.”

this time the answer was even more bewildering than before.

“i see death,” said the voice. “death on every hand. it continues night and day, and the world is full of wailing!”

“it is well, i am satisfied,” said pharos. “now lie down and sleep. in an hour thou wilt wake and wilt remember naught of what thou hast revealed to me.”

unable to make anything of what i had heard, i rose from the place where i had been sitting and began to pace the deck. the remembrance of the conversation to which i had listened irritated me beyond measure. had i been permitted another insight into the deviltry of pharos, or what was the meaning of it? i was still thinking of this when i heard a step behind me, and turning, found the man himself approaching me. in the dim light of the deck the appearance he presented was not prepossessing, but when he approached me i discovered he was in the best of humours, in fact in better spirits than i had ever yet seen him.

“i have been looking for you, mr. forrester,” he said. “it is delightful on deck, and i am in just the humour for a chat.”

i felt an inclination to tell him that i was not so ready, but before i could give him an answer he had noticed my preoccupation.

“you have something on your mind,” he said. “i fear you are not as pleased with my hospitality as i could wish you to be. what is amiss? is there anything i can do to help you?”

“nothing, i thank you,” i answered a little stiffly. “i have a slight headache and am not much disposed for conversation this evening.”

though the excuse i made was virtually true, i did not tell him that i had only felt it since i had overheard his conversation a few minutes before.

“you must let me cure you,” he answered. “i am vain enough to flatter myself i have some knowledge of medicine.”

i was beginning to wonder if there was anything of which he was ignorant. at the same time i was so suspicious of him that i had no desire to permit him to practise his arts on me. i accordingly thanked him, but declined his services, on the pretext that my indisposition was too trifling to call for so much trouble.

“as you will,” he answered carelessly. “if you are not anxious to be cured, you must, of course, continue to suffer.”

so saying, he changed the subject, and for upward of half an hour we wandered in the realm of art, discussing the methods of painters past and present. upon this subject, as upon every other, i was amazed at the extent and depth of his learning. his taste, i discovered, was cosmopolitan, but if he had any preference it was for the early tuscan school. we were still debating this point when a dark figure emerged from the companion and came along the deck toward us. seeing that it was the fr?ulein valerie, i rose from my chair.

“how hot the night is, mr. forrester!” she said, as she came up to us. “there is thunder in the air, i am sure, and if i am not mistaken we shall have a storm before morning.”

“i think it more than likely,” i answered. “it is extremely oppressive below.”

“it is almost unbearable,” she answered, as she took the seat i offered her. “notwithstanding that fact, i believe i must have fallen asleep in my cabin, for i can not remember what i have been doing since dinner.”

recalling the conversation i had overheard, and which had concluded with the instruction, “in an hour thou wilt wake and wilt remember naught of what thou hast revealed to me,” i glanced at pharos; but his face told me nothing.

“i fear you are not quite yourself, my dear,” said the latter in a kindly tone, as he leaned toward her and placed his skinny hand upon her arm. “as you say, it must be the thundery evening. our friend forrester here is complaining of a headache. though he will not let me experiment upon him, i think i shall have to see what i can do for you. i will consult my medicine chest at once.”

with this he rose from his seat and, bidding us farewell, went below.

presently the fr?ulein rose and side by side we walked aft to the taffrail. though i did my best to rouse her from the lethargy into which she had fallen, i was unsuccessful. she stood with her slender hands clasping the rail before her and her great, dark eyes staring out across the waste of water. never had she looked more beautiful and certainly never more sad. her unhappiness touched me to the heart, and, under the influence of my emotion, i approached a little nearer to her.

“you are unhappy,” i said. “is there no way in which i can help you?”

“not one,” she answered bitterly, still gazing steadfastly out to sea. “i am beyond the reach of help. can you realise what it means, mr. forrester, to be beyond the reach of help?”

the greatest tragedienne the world has seen could not have invested those terrible words with greater or more awful meaning.

“no, no,” i said; “i can not believe that. you are overwrought to-night. you are not yourself. you say things you do not mean.”

this time she turned on me almost fiercely.

“mr. forrester,” she said, “you try to console me; but, as i am beyond the reach of help, so i am also beyond the reach of comfort. if you could have but the slightest conception of what my life is, you would not wonder that i am so wretched.”

“will you not tell me about it?” i answered. “i think you know by this time that i may be trusted.” then, sinking my voice a little, i added a sentence that i could scarcely believe i had uttered when the words had passed my lips. “valerie, if you do not already know it, let me tell you that, although we have not known each other a fortnight, i would give my life to serve you.”

“and i believe you and thank you for it from the bottom of my heart,” she answered with equal earnestness; “but i can tell you nothing.” then, after an interval of silence that must have lasted for some minutes, she declared her intention of going below.

i accompanied her as far as the saloon, where she once more gave me her hand and wished me good-night. as soon as her door had closed behind her i went to my own cabin, scarcely able to realise that i had said what i had.

i do not know whether it was the heat, or whether it was the excitement under which i was labouring. at any rate, i soon discovered that i could not sleep. valerie’s beautiful, sad face haunted me continually. hour after hour i lay awake, thinking of her and wondering what the mystery could be that surrounded her. the night was oppressively still. save the throbbing of the screw, not a sound was to be heard. the yacht was upon an even keel, and scarcely a wavelet splashed against her side. at last i could bear the stifling cabin no longer, so, rising from my bunk, i dressed myself and sought the coolness of the deck. it was now close upon one o’clock, and when i emerged from the companion the moon was a hand’s-breadth above the sea line, rising like a ball of gold. i seemed to have the entire world to myself. around me was the glassy sea, black as ink, save where the moon shone upon it. treading softly, as if i feared my footsteps would wake the sleeping ship, i stepped out of the companion and was about to make my way aft when something i saw before me caused me to stop. standing on the grating which extended the whole width of the stern behind the after wheel, was a man whom i had no difficulty in recognising as pharos. his hands were lifted above his head as if he were invoking the assistance of the goddess of the night. his head was thrown back, and from the place where i stood i could distinctly see the expression upon it. anything more fiendish could scarcely be imagined. it was not the face of a human being, but that of a ghoul, so repulsive and yet so fascinating was it. try how i would, i could not withdraw my eyes; and while i watched he spread his arms apart and cried something aloud in a language i did not recognise. for upward of a minute he remained in this attitude, then, descending from the grating, he made his way slowly along the deck and came toward the place where i stood.

afraid of i know not what, i shrank back into the shadow of the hatch. had he discovered my presence i feel convinced, in the humour in which he then was, he would have done his best to kill me. fortunately, however, my presence was unsuspected, and he went below without seeing me. then, wiping great beads of sweat from my forehead, i stumbled to the nearest skylight, and, seating myself upon it, endeavoured to regain my composure. once more i asked myself the question, “who and what was this man into whose power i had fallen?”