“All!” said the marine; “I should say it was quite enough, and nothing could be more wonderful than what really happened.  A Water-devil is one of two things:  he is real, or he’s not real.  If he’s not real, he’s no more than an ordinary spook or ghost, and is not to be practically considered.  If he’s real, then he’s an alive animal, and can be put in a class with other animals, and described in books, because even if nobody sees him, the scientific men know how he must be constructed, and then he’s no more than a great many other wonderful things, which we can see alive, stuffed, or in plaster casts.

“But if you want to put your mind upon something really wonderful, just think of a snake-like rope of wire, five or six hundred miles long, lying down at the very bottom of the great Bay of Bengal, with no more life in it than there is in a ten-penny nail.

“Then imagine that long, dead wire snake to be suddenly filled with life, and to know that there was something far up above it, on the surface of the water, that it wants to reach up to and touch.  Think of it lifting and flapping its broken end, and then imagine it raising yard after yard of itself up and up, through the solemn water, more and more of it lifting itself from the bottom, curling itself backward and forward as it rises higher and higher, until at last, with a sudden jump that must have ripped a mile or more of it from the bottom, it claps its end against the thing it wants to touch, and which it can neither see, nor hear, nor smell, but which it knows is there.  Could there be anything in this world more wonderful than that?

“And then, if that isn’t enough of a wonder, think of the Rangoon end of that cable squirming and wriggling and stretching itself out toward our ship, but not being able to reach us on account of a want of slack; just as alive as the Madras part of the cable, and just as savage and frantic to get up to us and lay hold of us; and then, after our vessel had been gradually pulled away from it, think of this other part getting weaker and weaker, minute by minute, until it falls flat on the bay, as dead as any other iron thing!”

The marine ceased to speak, and Mrs. Fryker heaved a sigh.

“It makes me shiver to think of all that down so deep,” she said; “but I must say I am disappointed.”

“In what way?” asked the marine.

“A Water-devil,” said she, “as big as six whales, and with a funnelly mouth to suck in people, is different; but, of course, after all, it was better as it was.”

“Look here,” said the blacksmith, “what became of the girl?  I wanted her finished up long ago, and you haven’t done it yet.”

“Miss Minturn, you mean,” said the marine.  “Well, there is not much to say about her.  Things happened in the usual way.  When the danger was all over, when she had other people to depend upon besides me, and we were on board a fine steamer, with a lot of handsomely dressed naval officers, and going comfortably to Madras, of course she thought no more of the humble sea-soldier who once stood between her and—­nobody knew what.  In fact, the only time she spoke to me after we got on board the English steamer, she made me feel, although she didn’t say it in words, that she was not at all obliged to me for supposing that she would have been scared to death if I had told her about the Water-devil.”