above the horizon. A faint suggestion of haze surrounded its perfect outline, like the soft fumes of a copper furnace when the fires are low. And yet it was very beautiful and so clear that, as she gazed at it steadily, she could almost distinguish the relief of the great shadow continents upon its bright silver surface.
It was then that they came along the shore—the five figures, now clearly silhouetted against the sand, now more vaguely outlined against the indigo of the ocean which, as she sat there, seemed to swell to meet the lighter sky, speckless save for those stars—whether gold or silver she could not decide—and for that glorious moon over her shoulder. Then as she looked back at it—yes—she was sure of it now—there appeared, in the haze over the summit, with the moon, six others, like her shadows, if shadows are ever cast in palest white, floating ghostily near the main planet, like sundogs around the sun.
She closed her eyes to rub them clear, opened them—the apparitions—if such they were—were gone.
A little from fright, and more from caution, the girl knelt in the long grass as the five figures advanced by the rising tide.
Their gaits were eloquent of their characters, the tall man with the rolled-up canvas, moving with easy though calculated steps, the burly figure with the bulky shoulders and the suspicious crouch, stepping with feet wide apart. The slighter one at his right walked with the spring of youth, but swaggered a little, the hat tilted on one side. Bringing up the rear, the short bowlegged man trudged along, behind the others,
