Page:The Ball and the Cross.djvu/248

and MacIan, who was certainly the shrewder sailor of the two, realised that they were sailing west into the Atlantic and were probably by this time past the Scilly Isles. How much farther they stood out into the western sea it was impossible to conjecture. But they felt certain, at least, that they were far enough into that awful gulf between us and America to make it unlikely that they would soon see land again. It was therefore with legitimate excitement that one rainy morning after daybreak they saw the distinct shape of a solitary island standing up against that encircling strip of silver which ran round the skyline and separated the gray and green of the billows from the gray and mauve of the morning clouds.

“What can it be?” cried MacIan, in a dry-throated excitement. “I didn’t know there were any Atlantic islands so far beyond the Scillies—Good Lord, it can’t be Madeira, yet?”

“I thought you were fond of legends and lies and fables,” said Turnbull, grimly. “Perhaps it’s Atlantis.”

“Of course, it might be,” answered the other, quite innocently and gravely; “but I never thought the story about Atlantis was very solidly established.”