Twice Dolf came to the surface and twice he disappeared again.  They could see his arms move and his face seemed paler in the darkness.  Once more he clove the icy gulf and plunged still deeper.  Suddenly his legs became motionless, as if entangled in the treacherous sea-weed by the spiteful water-spirits.  The drowning man had seized him, and Dolf realized that if he could not get free, both would be lost.  His limbs were more tightly pressed than in a vice.  Then there was a terrible struggle, and the men both sank to the mud of the river-bed.  In the drowning darkness they fought, bit, tore one another, like mortal enemies.  Dolf at last gained the upper hand; the paralyzing arms ceased to strangle him, and he felt an inert mass floating upon him.  A terrible lassitude as of a sleep overcame him, his head fell forward, the water entered his mouth.  But the light of the torches penetrated the dark water; he gathered up his strength and dragged after him the prey which he had robbed from the hungry eels.  Then at last he breathed pure air again.

With that there was a great outburst from the bank.

“Courage, Dolf,” cried the breathless crowd, stretching out over the river.  One or two boat-men had piled some wood and set light to it.  The flames rose spirally and lit up the sky for some distance.

“This way, Dolf!  Courage, Dolf!  A brave heart, courage!” yelled the crowd.

Dolf was just about to reach the bank:  he parted the water with all his remaining strength and pushed the limp body before him.  The red light from the wood-fire spread over his hands and face like burning oil, and suddenly it caught the face of the drowning man, by his side.

No sooner did he see that pale face than, uttering a cry of rage, he pushed it to the bottom of the water.  He had recognized the man who had dishonored Riekje.  Dolf, a right loyal fellow, had had pity on the poor lonely fisher lass and had made her his wife before God and man.  He pushed him from him, but the drowning man, who felt the water close once more about him, clung to his saviour with an iron grasp.  Then both disappeared in the darkness of death.

Dolf heard a voice say within himself: 

“Die, Jacques Karnavash; there is not room in the world for you and Riekje’s child.”

To this another voice replied: 

“Live, Jacques Karnavash, for it would be better to strike your mother dead.”

IV.

“There’s Dolf bringing Madame Puzzel back with him,” said Nelle, after about an hour.

The gangway swung under the weight of two people and sabots sounded on the bridge, while a voice cried: 

“Tobias!  Tobias! get the lantern and light Madame Puzzel.”

Tobias took one of the candles and carefully sheltered it with his hand as he opened the door.

“This way,” he cried, holding it ajar.  “This way!”