Ithuel was too shrewd to answer.  He fully understood the reason why he escaped punishment, and it increased his hopes of eventually escaping from the service itself.  Still he gagged a little at the idea of passing for one who peached—­or for a "State’s-evidence,” as he called it; that character involving more of sin.  In vulgar eyes, than the commission of a thousand legal crimes.  This gave Winchester no concern.  After dismissing his man he gossiped a minute or two with Yelverton, who had the watch, gaped once or twice somewhat provokingly, and, going below, was in a deep sleep in ten minutes.

CHAPTER XX.

     “White as a white sail on a dusky sea. 
     When half the horizon’s clouded and half free,
     Fluttering between the dim wave and the sky
     Is hope’s last gleam in man’s extremity.”

     The Island.

The dawning of day, on the morning which succeeded, was a moment of great interest on board the different English ships which then lay off the Gulf of Salerno.  Cuffe and Lyon were called, according to especial orders left by themselves, while even Sir Frederick Dashwood allowed himself to be awakened, to hear the report of the officer of the watch.  The first was up quite half an hour before the light appeared.  He even went into the maintop again, in order to get as early and as wide a survey of the horizon as he wished.  Griffin went aloft with him, and together they stood leaning against the topmast rigging, watching the slow approach of those rays which gradually diffused themselves over the whole of a panorama that was as bewitching as the hour and the lovely accessories of an Italian landscape could render it.

“I see nothing in-shore,” exclaimed Cuffe, in a tone of disappointment, when the light permitted a tolerable view of the coast.  “If she should be outside of us our work will be only half done!”

“There is a white speck close in with the land, sir,” returned Griffin; “here, In the direction of those ruins, of which our gentlemen that have been round in the boats to look at, tell such marvels; I believe, however, it is only a felucca or a sparanara.  There is a peak to the sail that does not look lugger-fashion.”

“What is this, off here at the northwest, Griffin?—­Is it too large for the le Few-Folly?”

“That must be the Terpsichore, sir.  It’s just where she ought to be, as I understand the orders; and I suppose Sir Frederick has carried her there.  But yonder’s a sail, in the northern board, which may turn out to be the lugger; she is fairly within Campanella, and is not far from the north shore of the bay.”

“By George!—­that must be she; Monsieur Yvard has kept her skulking round and about Amalfi, all this time!  Let us go down, and set everything that will draw, at once, sir.”