had grazed her arm, drenching her sleeve with blood.

“It is time we were away,” I said, with a laugh. “If your reverence will keep your hand upon the tiller and your eye upon the gentleman whom you have made our traveling companion, I’ll put up the sail.”

I was on my way to the foremast, when the boom lying prone before me rose. Slowly and majestically the sail ascended, tapering upward, silvered by the moon, — the great white pinion which should bear us we knew not whither. I stopped short in my tracks, Mistress Percy drew a sobbing breath, and the minister gasped with admiration. We all three stared as though the white cloth had veritably been a monster wing endowed with life.

“Sails don’t rise of themselves!”