“But your hand is really in blood.  Oh, you are breaking my fingers!”

Haggart threatens: 

“If you don’t keep still, dog, I’ll break every bone of your body!  I’ll pull every vein out of your body, if you don’t keep still, you dog!”

Silence.  The distant breakers are softly groaning, as if complaining—­ the sea has gone far away from the black earth.  And the night is silent.  It came no one knows whence and spread over the earth; it spread over the earth and is silent; it is silent, waiting for something.  And ferocious mists have swung themselves to meet it—­the sea breathed phantoms, driving to the earth a herd of headless submissive giants.  A heavy fog is coming.

“Why doesn’t he light a lamp?” asks Khorre sternly but submissively.

“He needs no light.”

“Perhaps there is no one there any longer.”

“Yes, he’s there.”

“A fog is coming.  How quiet it is!  There’s something wrong in the air—­what do you think, Noni?”

“Tss!”

The first soft sounds of the organ resound.  Some one is sitting alone in the dark and is speaking to God in an incomprehensible language about the most important things.  And however faint the sounds—­suddenly the silence vanishes, the night trembles and stares into the dark church with all its myriads of phantom eyes.  An agitated voice whispers: 

“Listen!  He always begins that way.  He gets a hold of your soul at once!  Where does he get the power?  He gets a hold of your heart!”

“I don’t like it.”

“Listen!  Now he makes believe he is Haggart, Khorre!  Little Haggart in his mother’s lap.  Look, all hands are filled with golden rays; little Haggart is playing with golden rays.  Look!”

“I don’t see it, Noni.  Leave my hand alone, it hurts.”

“Now he makes believe he is Haggart!  Listen!”

The oppressive chords resound faintly.  Haggart moans softly.

“What is it, Noni?  Do you feel any pain?”

“Yes.  Do you understand of what he speaks?”

“No.”

“He speaks of the most important—­of the most vital, Khorre—­if we could only understand it—­I want to understand it.  Listen, Khorre, listen!  Why does he make believe that he is Haggart?  It is not my soul.  My soul does not know this.”

“What, Noni?”

“I don’t know.  What terrible dreams there are in this land!  Listen.  There!  Now he will cry and he will say:  ’It is Haggart crying.’  He will call God and will say:  ‘Haggart is calling.’  He lies—­Haggart did not call, Haggart does not know God.”

He moans again, trying to restrain himself.

“Do you feel any pain?”

“Yes—­Be silent.”

Haggart exclaims in a muffled voice: 

“Oh, Khorre!”

“What is it, Noni?”