"Anarchists, who shun you," moaned one whom Philip recognised as the baron. "We were drowned last night, yet we are here. I know not how, only we have no place else to go to. Can you tell us what to do?"
Philip stepped over and took the baron by the arm. He certainly, unless his imagination had played him false, had seen his dead body hover over the vaporous spout of the blow-hole, yet the baron felt solid and fleshlike as he was himself.
"Did you not escape with the others, last night?"
"No," replied the poor baron; "I was swept off the rope. I had no strength to cling on. I was drawn on to the rocks, battered about and sent upwards, for I felt it all for a time, and afterwards saw the rest. My body went to pieces while I watched it as I clung to the rocks, then I saw my wife, and lay down beside her, but I could not feel her and she had no knowledge of me. I suppose I am dead, yet I feel alive. I cannot fly. I can do nothing. I don't what to do. Can you not help me, for you have been longer here than I have?"
"I don't know myself," muttered Philip, confused. "Perhaps we have all made a mistake."
"But I saw your body pitched overboard ten days ago, therefore you must be a spirit, as I am now; and surely ten days is long enough to know one's way about even in a strange place?"
"I am on the earth, as I was all the years of my life. We have had to conceal ourselves during that time, and we came ashore through the surf by that rope which still hangs from the cliff top. My skin and clothes were drenched. I can feel you. I can also feel this wall, and if we had food of any kind
