Viewed from the clammy deck on this bright morning, the island of
Nepenthe resembled a cloud. It was a silvery speck upon the limitless expanse of
blue sea and sky. A south wind breathed over the Mediterranean waters, drawing
up their moisture which lay couched in thick mists about its flanks and uplands.
The comely outlines were barely suggested through a veil of fog. An air of irreality
hung about the place. Could this be an island? A veritable island of rocks and
vineyards and house-this pallid apparition? It looked like some snowy sea-bird
resting upon the waves; a sea-bird or a cloud; one of those lonely clouds that