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Updated: May 17, 2025
From every dream-ship that sailed in, looked out the face of Stuart Farquaharson. This, she told herself, was a pure perversity. All memories should fade as distance widens, yet of late the banishment of Stuart had been less complete than heretofore. Slowly she prosecuted Stuart Farquaharson in the court of her own judgment and condemned him to mental exile.
The moon, by this time high enough to have mustered its forces, frosted the yacht into the semblance of a dream-ship, and we might, indeed, have been sailing upon some phantom lake in fairyland. My eyes were pleading for hers until she raised them and then they could not turn away. Held and blended by a mesmeric force, they began to give and answer question for question, secret for secret.
A change came over her face, and she drew in her breath suddenly, glanced at him for a second, and then looked away, her eyes resting at last on the distance where a ship lay, her sails hanging idly in the dim haze. It might have been a dream-ship. At Keith's words a picture came to her out of the past. A young man was seated on the ground, with a fresh-budding bush behind him.
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