It was far into the night when I awoke.
A wind was coming up and I think it was the rattle of the window
that aroused me. There was no moon, but under the open stars the
world was filled with a thin, ghostly light, and the scene below
the window was blurred a little like an impalpable picture.
A low-masted sailing ship lay in the open sea; there was a boat
at the edge of the loch, and human figures were coming out of the
boathouse with burdens which they were loading into the boat.
Almost immediately the boat, manned with rowers, turned about and
silently traversed the crook of the loch on its way to the ship.
But certain of the human figures remained. They continued
between the boathouse and the beach.
And I realized that I had opened my eyes on the loading of a
ship. The boat was taking off a cargo.
Something stored in the boathouse was being transferred to the
hold of the sailing ship. The scene was inconceivably unreal.
There was no sound but the intermittent puffs of the wind, and
the figures were like phantoms in a sort of lighted mist.
Directly as I looked two figures came out of the boathouse and
along the path to the drawing-room door under my window.
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