“Down, Pilot!” I again said. He checked the water on its way to his lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. “This is you, Mary, is it not?”

“Mary is in the kitchen,” I answered.

He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. “Who is this? Who is this?” he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to see with those sightless eyes⁠—unavailing and distressing attempt! “Answer me⁠—speak again!” he ordered, imperiously and aloud.

“Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in the glass,” I said.

“ Who is it? What is it? Who speaks?”