'Who are you ?' she asked.
The figure made a gesture that seemed like a signal of peace, but no answer was given.
The lights upon her own part of the shore were now not far distant.

She looked above and saw breaks in the darkness that had hidden the stars; the clouds were passing over.
The squall that was taking them upon their journey was still whistling and blowing, but she feared its force less as she realised that she was nearing home.
She desired greatly to work herself along the boat and touch the sailor curiously with her hand, but she was afraid to do it, and that for two reasons: if he was a spirit she had reason for shrinking from such contact, and if he was a man--well, in that case she also saw objections.
The man at the helm dropped the sail; for a minute or two he stood not far from Helen as he busied himself with it.
'Who are you ?' she asked again, but she still had not courage to put out her hand and touch him.
There was a little wooden wharf upon the shore, and to this the sailor held the boat while Helen sprung out.

Her feet were no sooner safe upon it than the boat was allowed to move away.

She saw the black mast and the white figure recede together and disappear in the darkness.
Johns had to walk home by the shore, and in no small anxiety.

When he saw that his niece was safe he chuckled over her in burly fashion.
'Then I suppose,' he said, 'that some fellow got aboard her between the puffs of wind.