The misty churning at her stern was the only sound in the world. The shore lay plunged in the silence of the deeper slumber. I watched the town recede still and soundless in the hot night, till the abrupt hail, “Steam-launch, ahoy!” made me spin round face forward. We were close to a white ghostly steamer. Lights shone on her decks, in her portholes. And the same voice shouted from her:

“Is that our passenger?”

“It is,” I yelled.

Her crew had been obviously on the jump. I could hear them running about. The modern spirit of haste was loudly vocal in the orders to “Heave away on the cable”⁠—to “Lower the sideladder,” and in urgent requests to me to “Come along, sir! We have been delayed three hours for you.⁠ ⁠… Our time is seven o’clock, you know!”