Borne by the ebb, bits of weed and flotsam bobbed past Double Eagle. The cormorants, their feathers dried, departed the ledge, on whose face a foot of wet rock was now exposed and divided from the dry top by a line as definite as a bootstripe. When the birds left, their wings made a hard wet slapping noise; but once airborne, they flew silently, flew fast and low, with their long necks extended. Double Eagle swung on her mooring lines and put her nose into the current. Still, the boys did not make a move, except to go to the bow and watch the house from there. They watched with mute expectancy but without knowing what they expected. A fluky breeze sprang up, scaled the bay here and there, and then died. The sun was halfway toward its zenith, but did not burn off the fog. Islands and ships were as shrouded as before in a mist that emitted the same sounds as before, as if some freakish storm cloud, filled with hoots and whistles instead of thunderclaps, had fallen to earth.

Drawn by a pair of black geldings, the family carriage rolled up the drive from the carnage house, and the boys saw Dailey rein up and hop off the driver’s seat and go inside the main house. He emerged a few minutes later, his long frame canted sideways by the weight of the trunk he carried in one hand. Their father followed him out. He had changed clothes, his white linen suit and summer boater plainly visible in the sunlight. Nathaniel went below and fetched the binoculars, a heavy brass pair, seven-by-fifties, and observed a distant pantomime: the old man gesturing to Moira and she bobbing her head in time to his wagging finger (Nathaniel almost could hear her brogue: “Yes, sorr, very well, sorr, Ai’ll see that it’s done, sorr”). Gideon Carter appeared, was also given some last-minute instructions, and then walked away toward the tool-shed at the edge of the woods. Dailey returned to his perch, took up the reins—Dailey in top hat, white scarf, and gloves, as if he were on a Sunday drive in Boston Common. Cyrus climbed in and settled into the back seat. The geldings started off at a walk, but hadn’t gone five yards before they were halted. Nathaniel watched his father stand up in the carriage, look toward the boat, and then swat the air several times with his hat.

“The old man’s seen that we haven’t weighed anchor,” he reported. “And he’s signaling us to get a move on.”

“Reckon we’d better, then?” said Eliot.