smoother water of the river, and then rowed back. In his excitement and
preoccupation he had quite forgotten his long exposure to the sun
during his active exercise, and that he was poorly equipped for the cold
sea-fog which the heat had brought in earlier, and which now was quietly
obliterating sea and shore. This made his progress slower and more
difficult, and by the time he had reached the lighthouse he was chilled
to the bone.

The next morning he woke with a dull headache and great weariness, and
it was with considerable difficulty that he could attend to his duties.
At nightfall, feeling worse, he determined to transfer the care of the
light to Jim, but was amazed to find that he had disappeared, and what
was more ominous, a bottle of spirits which Pomfrey had taken from his
locker the night before had disappeared too. Like all Indians, Jim's
rudimentary knowledge of civilization included "fire-water;" he
evidently had been tempted, had fallen, and was too ashamed or too drunk
to face his master. Pomfrey, however, managed to get the light in order
and working, and then, he scarcely knew how, betook himself to bed in
a state of high fever. He turned from side to side racked by pain, with
burning lips and pulses. Strange fancies beset him; he had noticed when
he lit his light that a strange sail was looming off the estuary--a
place where no sail had ever been seen or should be--and was relieved
that the lighting of the tower might show the reckless or ignorant
mariner his real bearings for the "Gate." At times he had heard voices
above the familiar song of the surf, and tried to rise from his bed, but
could not. Sometimes these voices were strange, outlandish, dissonant,
in his own language, yet only partly intelligible; but through them
always rang a single voice, musical, familiar, yet of a tongue not his
own--hers! And then, out of his delirium--for such it proved afterwards
to be--came a strange vision. He thought that he had just lit the light