It was I that dreamed--I heard without comprehension the rest of the captain's tale:--how he had come, after a quick passage from Ceylon, to Falmouth with the barque _James and Elizabeth_, just in time to hear of this monstrous lie; how he was unmarried, and never had a day's illness in his life; how, suspecting foul play, he had hired a horse and gig with a determination to drive over to Polkimbra and learn the truth; how a horse and gig were the most cursedly obstinate of created things; with much besides in the way of oaths and ejaculations.

All this I must have heard, for memory brought them back later; but I did not listen.

My life and circumstances had got the upper hand of me, and were dancing a devil's riot.
At last, after much tacking and porting of helm, we navigated Polkimbra Hill and cast anchor before the "Lugger." There we alighted, thanked the captain, and left him piping all hands to the horse's head.

His cheery voice followed us down to the sands.
We had determined to cut across Polkimbra Beach and climb up to Lantrig by Ready-Money Cliffs, as in order to go along the path above the cliffs we should have to ascend Polkimbra Hill again.

The beach was so full of horror to me that without a companion I could not have crossed it; but Tom's presence lent me courage.