Right ahead of us, across the tumbling seas, showed the
dim, green tops of mountains, half lost in the drifting rain. We
thought they might be the hills of the western islands of Scotland,
but could not tell, so utterly had we lost all reckoning.
Whatever the land might be we had to find out presently, for in no
way could we escape from a lee shore. Nor was it long before we
found that here was no island before us, such an we expected, but a
long range of coast, which stretched from east to west, as far as
we could see, in a chain of hills. All I could say for certain was
that these hills were none which I knew, and so could not be those
of the northern Scottish coasts, which I had sailed past many a
time.
There was more sun this morning, for the clouds were breaking. Once
or twice the light fell on the far hilltops, bringing them close to
us, as it were, and then passing. Out to seaward astern of us it
gleamed on the white wavetops, hurried after us, and cheered us for
a time, and so swept on to the land that waited our coming, with
what welcome we could not say. Presently a gleam lit on a small
steady patch of white far astern of us, which did not toss with the
nearer waves, and did not shift along the skyline. It was the first
sail we had seen since we had lost sight of Heidrek, and it, too,
cheered us in a way, for the restless, gray and white sea was no
longer so lonely.
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