“Just look at him, Mariet, what a face he has,” Haggart is almost choking with laughter.  “Are you happy?  Speak—­are you happy?  Look, Mariet, what a happy face he has!  The rope broke—­that’s very strong —­it is stronger even than what I said:  ‘String him up with a rope.’  Who said it?  Don’t you know, Khorre?  You are out of your wits, and you don’t know anything—­well, never mind, you needn’t know.  Eh, give him gin!  I am glad, very glad that you are not altogether through with your gin.  Drink, Khorre!”

Voices shout: 

“Gin!”

“Eh, the boatswain wants a drink!  Gin!”

Khorre drinks it with dignity, amid laughter and shouts of approval.  Suddenly all the noise dies down and a sombre silence reigns—­a woman’s strange voice drowns the noise—­so strange and unfamiliar, as if it were not Mariet’s voice at all, but another voice speaking with her lips: 

“Haggart!  You have pardoned him, Haggart?”

Some of the people look at the body; those standing near it step aside.  Haggart asks, surprised: 

“Whose voice is that?  Is that yours, Mariet?  How strange!  I did not recognise your voice.”

“You have pardoned him, Haggart?”

“You have heard—­the rope broke—­”

“Tell me, did you pardon the murderer?  I want to hear your voice, Haggart.”

A threatening voice is heard from among the crowd: 

“The rope broke.  Who is talking there?  The rope broke.”

“Silence!” exclaims Haggart, but there is no longer the same commanding tone in his voice.  “Take them all away!  Boatswain!  Whistle for everybody to go aboard.  The time is up!  Flerio!  Get the boats ready.”

“Yes, yes.”

Khorre whistles.  The sailors disperse unwillingly, and the same threatening voice sounds somewhere from the darkness: 

“I thought at first it was the dead man who started to speak.  But I would have answered him too:  ‘Lie there!  The rope broke.’”

Another voice replies: 

“Don’t grumble.  Khorre has stronger defenders than you are.”

“What are you prating about, devils?” says Khorre.  “Silence!  Is that you, Tommy?  I know you, you are always the mischief-maker—­”

“Come on, Mariet!” says Haggart.  “Give me little Noni, I want to carry him to the boat myself.  Come on, Mariet.”

“Where, Haggart?”

“Eh, Mariet!  The dreams are ended.  I don’t like your voice, woman—­ when did you find time to change it?  What a land of jugglers!  I have never seen such a land before!”

“Eh, Haggart!  The dreams are ended.  I don’t like your voice, either—­little Haggart!  But it may be that I am still sleeping—­then wake me.  Haggart, swear that it was you who said it:  ’The rope broke.’  Swear that my eyes have not grown blind and that they see Khorre alive.  Swear that this is your hand, Haggart!”