It was half-past eleven
o'clock before they parted for the night, and even then they had not
decided where to go next day.
CHAPTER IX.
It was the evening of the second day of the _Spindrift's_ cruise. The
wind, which had come fresh from the east in the morning, followed the
sun round in its course, blowing gently from the south at mid-day, and
breathing very faintly from the west in the evening. After sunset it
died away completely. The whole surface of the bay lay calm, save here
and there where some chance movement of the air ruffled a tiny patch of
water; or where, at the corners of the islands and in very narrow
channels, the inward drawing of the tide marked long, curved lines and
illusive circles on the oily sea. The _Spindrift_ was poised
motionless on the surface of the water, borne slowly, almost
imperceptibly, forward by the sweep of the tide. Her mainsail, boomed
out, hung in loose folds. The sheet, freed from all strain, was borne
down by its own weight, until the slack of it dipped in the water.
Terns and gulls, at lazy rest, floated close to the yacht's side. Long
rows of dark cormorants, perched on rocky points, strained their necks
and peered at her.
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