Below them, in the emerald mirror of the Fjord, it was so clear that they could see the fine white sand lying at the bottom, sprinkled thick with shells and lithe moving creatures of all shapes, while every now and then, there streamed past them, brilliantly tinted specimens of the Medusae, with their long feelers or tendrils, looking like torn skins of crimson and azure floss silk.
The place was very silent; only the sea-gulls circled round and round the summit of the great rock, some of them occasionally swooping down on the unwary fishes, their keen eyes perceived in the waters beneath, then up again they soared, swaying their graceful wings and uttering at intervals that peculiar wild cry that in solitary haunts sounds so intensely mournful.

Errington gazed about him in doubt for some minutes, then suddenly his face brightened.

He sat down again in the boat and resumed his oar.
"Row quietly, George," he said in a subdued tone "Quietly--round to the left." The oars dipped noiselessly, and the boat shot forward,--then swerved sharply round in the direction,--and there before them lay a small sandy creek, white and shining as though sprinkled with powdered silver.

From this, a small but strongly-built wooden pier ran out into the sea.

It was carved all over with fantastic figures, and in it at equal distances, were fastened iron rings, such as are used for the safe mooring of boats.