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The goal was far distant.
Viewed from the clammy deck on this bright morning, the island of
Nepenthe resembled a cloud. It was a silvery speck upon that limitless
expanse of blue sea and sky. A south wind breathed over the
Mediterranean waters, drawing up their moisture which lay couched in
thick mists abut its flanks and uplands. The comely outlines were
barely suggested through a veil of fog. An air of irreality hung about
the place. Could this be an island? A veritable island of rocks and
vineyards and houses--this pallid apparition? It looked like some snowy
sea-bird resting upon the waves; a sea-bird or a cloud; one of those
lonely clouds that stray from their fellows and drift about in wayward
fashion at the bidding of every breeze.
All the better-class natives had disappeared below save an unusually
fat young priest with a face like a full moon, who pretended to be
immersed in his breviary but was looking out of the corner of his eye
all the time at a pretty peasant girl reclining uncomfortably in a
corner.


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