Yes, the storm was coming. There was a livid look upon the waters, and
the atmosphere was heavy with heat; the sky to windward black as a
funeral pall. Lesbia was almost fearless, yet she felt a thrill of awe
as she looked into that dense blackness. To leeward the stars were still
visible; but that gigantic mass of cloud came creeping slowly, solemnly
over the sky, while the shadow flitted fast across the water, swallowing
up that ghastly electric glare.
Lesbia wrapped herself in a white cashmere _sortie de bal_ and stole up
the companion. Montesma was working at the ropes with his own hands,
calling directions to the sailors to shorten and take in the canvas,
urging them to increased efforts by working at the ropes with his own
hands, springing up the rigging and on deck, flashing backwards and
forwards amidst the rigging like a being of supernatural power. He had
taken off his jacket, and was clad from top to toe in white, save for
that streak of scarlet which tightly girdled his waist. His tall
flexible form, perfect in line as a Greek statue of Hermes, stood out
against the background of black night.
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