Weird Tales/Volume 30/Issue 6/Child of Atlantis

Child of Atlantis
By EDMOND HAMILTON
What brooding shape of horror dwelt in the black castle that topped the sinister island on which a young American and his wife were shipwrecked on their honeymoon?
The little yawl clove the blue waters of the sunlit sea, its white sails taut with a strong wind. Steadily it crept eastward across the vast wastes of the Atlantic, toward the Azores, still hundreds of miles away, In the cockpit at the stern, David Russell stood over the wheel, his lean, brown, bareheaded figure bent forward, his smiling gray eyes watching his wife.
Christa Russell was earnestly coiling ropes on the deck forward. Now she finished and came back toward him, a slim, boyish little figure in white slacks and blue jersey. Her soft, dark eyes, always oddly serious beneath her childish forehead and smoothly brushed black hair, met her husband's and returned his smile.
"Happy, kid?" he asked, his arm going around her slender waist as she jumped down into the cockpit to his side.
She nodded, her uplifted eyes adoring. "It's the best honeymoon anyone ever had, David. Just you and me and the sea."
He grinned. "I felt a little guilty about dragging you on a risky cruise like t

Đọc bản gốc tại Wikisource tiếng Anh