alone was not the reason which kept him
chained to the deck. It was the urge, in case of danger, to be near
Ingigerd Hahlstroem. And when he seated himself near the smoke-stack,
with his back against the heated wall, his hat drawn low over his face,
his chin in his coat collar, he suddenly laughed to himself bitterly.
It was in the same position and on the selfsame spot that he had found
Achleitner the night before.

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 dr