Robert ran down to the harbour to make inquiry, and
left Shargar to put them up.
The moon had risen, but the air was so full of vapour that she only
succeeded in melting the darkness a little. The sea rolled in
front, awful in its dreariness, under just light enough to show a
something unlike the land. But the rain had ceased, and the air was
clearer. Robert asked a solitary man, with a telescope in his hand,
whether he was looking out for the Amphitrite. The man asked him
gruffly in return what he knew of her. Possibly the nature of the
keg to be put on board had something to do with his Scotch reply.
Robert told him he was a friend of the captain, had missed the
boat, and would give any one five shillings to put him on board.
The man went away and returned with a companion. After some
further questioning and bargaining, they agreed to take him. Robert
loitered about the pier full of impatience. Shargar joined him.
Day began to break over the waves. They gleamed with a blue-gray
leaden sheen. The men appeared coming along the harbour, and
descended by a stair into a little skiff, where a barrel, or
something like one, lay under a tarpaulin. Robert bade Shargar
good-bye, and followed. They pushed off, rowed out into the bay,
and lay on their oars waiting for the vessel. The light grew apace,
and Robert fancied he could distinguish the two horses with one
rider against the sky on the top of the cliffs, moving northwards.
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