A white mast, fitted up with spars and other nautical tackle, could be seen rising against the dark clouds whenever the flames played brightly enough to reach it.
It commanded the causeway where we had hauled up our boat, and, as my eyes adapted themselves to the light of the clouded moon, I saw two men looking into her.
It had been a time of cloudy mental weather to Swithin and Viviette, but the only noteworthy fact about it was that what had been planned to happen therein had actually taken place.
Our route now lay westward; we had turned the great bay of Faxa, and the twin peaks of Snaefell rose white into the cloudy sky at the distance of at least five miles.
Therefore nothing can be stable for long: a serene beautiful day will, almost inevitably, be followed by an overcast one, a still morning by a blustery afternoon, a vicious storm by a serene sunset.