There was a rushing in Frederick’s ears.  He observed the huge arcs that the lights on the mast described.  He observed the regular onslaught of the waves, and above the seething and foaming of the water, he heard the miauing of the wind in the rigging, a wicked obstinate miauing, accompanied by the sudden spitting and leaping of a tiger.  Then the sounds seemed to Frederick to be more like the pitiful whimpering of strayed children, a troop of children whom he could now distinctly discern weeping over the bier of the dead stoker.  And there were the Toilers of the Light again.  He immediately snatched for one to carry it to Ingigerd Hahlstroem in her cabin; but Ingigerd was dressing for her famous dance.  The great spider was already hanging on the flower, weaving the cobweb in which Mara was later to entangle herself.  Frederick asked for a broom.  He wanted to prevent the dance by sweeping the spider away.  A broom came, but in the form of a serving man, who was carrying water and pouring it out.  Another man followed and a third and a fourth, until everything was flooded with rushing waters.  Frederick awoke from a dream in which he was learning sorcery.  The momentous word that chains the floods was still on his lips.  The waves rushed.  He fell asleep again.  Now it was the rushing of a stream at his feet.  The sun was shining.  It was a clear morning.  From the other shore came his wife, young, beautiful, in a dress of flowered goods, rowing her skiff.  Her full, gentle figure had the charm of the vestal virgin and the wife.  From woods nearby, Ingigerd appeared in the delicacy and the adornment of her light hair and naked body.  The sunny landscape, of which her pure nudity was a part, seemed to belong to the time before Adam and Eve were driven from Paradise.  Frederick took his wife’s hand—­she was smiling on him graciously—­took Ingigerd Hahlstroem’s hand—­she seemed to be gentle and pure and obedient—­and joined them.  He said to Ingigerd: 

  “And thou shalt walk in brightness;
   I’ll purge thee clean of all thy dross.”

But the heavens darkened, the woods blackened, and the light of a ghostly moon rose over the trees, rushing fearfully like great waters.  Frederick ran along the edge of gloomy fields, when suddenly the cry “Moira!  Moira!” resounded, and a piece of the darkness severed itself from the edge of the woods and soared heavily, as if borne by mighty black pinions.  It was a gigantic bird, crying, “Moira, Moira!” Frederick fled.  He was struck by hideous fear, as if the fearful roc were after him.  “Moira, Moira!” He drew his penknife to defend himself.

He awoke to find himself lying undressed in his berth.  Someone had discovered him, as he had discovered Achleitner the night before, and had led him down to his cabin.  But the cry “Moira!” which reminded him of the Moerae, the ancient goddesses of fate, still rang fearfully in his ears.

XLV