He walked a little in front of us, and kept before us for some minutes. During this interval, I glanced at Ham again, and observing the same expression on his face, and his eyes still directed to the distant light, I touched his arm.

Twice I called him by his name, in the tone in which I might have tried to rouse a sleeper, before he heeded me. When I at last inquired on what his thoughts were so bent, he replied:

“On what’s afore me, Mas’r Davy; and over yon.”

“On the life before you, do you mean?” He had pointed confusedly out to sea.

“Ay, Mas’r Davy. I doen’t rightly know how ’tis, but from over yon there seemed to me to come⁠—the end of it like,” looking at me as if he were waking, but with the same determined face.

“What end?” I asked, possessed by my former fear.