CHAPTER XIX.
Who Goes There?
Jarl's oar showed sixteen notches on the loom, when one evening, as the expanded sun touched the horizon's rim, a ship's uppermost spars were observed, traced like a spider's web against its crimson disk.
It looked like a far-off craft on fire.
In bright weather at sea, a sail, invisible in the full flood of noon, becomes perceptible toward sunset.

It is the reverse in the morning.

In sight at gray dawn, the distant vessel, though in reality approaching, recedes from view, as the sun rises higher and higher.
This holds true, till its vicinity makes it readily fall within the ordinary scope of vision.

And thus, too, here and there, with other distant things: the more light you throw on them, the more you obscure.

Some revelations show best in a twilight.
The sight of the stranger not a little surprised us.