"One of them, at any rate--I do not bargain for less--and she is to appear in some such fashion as this. I am to be walking by myself on deck, rather late of an August evening, watching and being watched by a full harvest moon. Something is to rise white on the surface of the sea, over which that moon mounts silent and hangs glorious. The object glitters and sinks. It rises again. I think I hear it cry with an articulate voice; I call you up from the cabin; I show you an image, fair as alabaster, emerging from the dim wave. We both see the long hair, the lifted and foam-white arm, the oval mirror brilliant as a star. It glides nearer; a human face is plainly visible--a face in the style of yours--whose straight, pure (excuse the word, it is appropriate)--whose straight, pure lineaments paleness does not disfigure. It looks at us, but not with your eyes. I see a preternatural lure in its wily glance. 
"One of them, at any rate - and she is to appear like this. I am to be walking by myself on deck, under a full harvest moon. Something will rise white on the surface of the sea, over which that moon hangs glorious. The object glitters and sinks. It rises again. I think I hear it cry out; I call you up from the cabin; we see an image emerging from the dim wave. We both see the long hair, the lifted foam-white arm. It glides nearer; a human face is plainly visible, with an alluring glance. 