He laughs.  The sailor looks at him, his hands folded as in prayer, and he weeps.

CHAPTER VII

“These are your comrades, Haggart?  I am so glad to see them.  You said, Gart, yes—­you said that their faces were entirely different from the faces of our people, and that is true.  Oh, how true it is!  Our people have handsome faces, too—­don’t think our fishermen are ugly, but they haven’t these deep, terrible sears.  I like them very much, I assure you, Gart.  I suppose you are a friend of Haggart’s—­ you have such stern, fine eyes?  But you are silent?  Why are they silent, Haggart; did you forbid them to speak?  And why are you silent yourself, Haggart?  Haggart!”

Illuminated by the light of torches, Haggart stands and listens to the rapid, agitated speech.  The metal of the guns and the uniforms vibrates and flashes; the light is also playing on the faces of those who have surrounded Haggart in a close circle—­these are his nearest, his friends.  And in the distance there is a different game—­there a large ship is dancing silently, casting its light upon the black waves, and the black water plays with them, pleating them like a braid, extinguishing them and kindling them again.

A noisy conversation and the splashing of the waters—­and the dreadful silence of kindred human lips that are sealed.

“I am listening to you, Mariet,” says Haggart at last.  “What do you want, Mariet?  It is impossible that some one should have offended you.  I ordered them not to touch your house.”

“Oh, no, Haggart, no!  No one has offended me!” exclaimed Mariet cheerfully.  “But don’t you like me to hold little Noni in my arms?  Then I will put him down here among the rocks.  Here he will be warm and comfortable as in his cradle.  That’s the way!  Don’t be afraid of waking him, Gart; he sleeps soundly and will not hear anything.  You may shout, sing, fire a pistol—­the boy sleeps soundly.”

“What do you want, Mariet?  I did not call you here, and I am not pleased that you have come.”

“Of course, you did not call me here, Haggart; of course, you didn’t.  But when the fire was started, I thought:  ’Now it will light the way for me to walk.  Now I will not stumble.’  And I went.  Your friends will not be offended, Haggart, if I will ask them to step aside for awhile?  I have something to tell you, Gart.  Of course, I should have done that before, I understand, Gart; but I only just recalled it now.  It was so light to walk!”

Haggart says sternly: 

“Step aside, Flerio, and you all—­step aside with him.”

They all step aside.

“What is it that you have recalled, Mariet?  Speak!  I am going away forever from your mournful land, where one dreams such painful dreams, where even the rocks dream of sorrow.  And I have forgotten everything.”

Gently and submissively, seeking protection and kindness, the woman presses close to his hand.