ity to prevail upon her not to visit Mrs. Liebling for the present.

LVI

The next day at about noon Doctor Wilhelm and Frederick helped Mrs.
Liebling on deck. Her appearance there made a gruesome impression upon
those who had not seen her since she had been dragged, a lifeless corpse,
from the boat to the _Hamburg_. The sailors, though most solicitous to
read Ingigerd Hahlstroem's wishes from her eyes, even before they were
conceived, kept at a distance from Mrs. Liebling and cast shy glances at
her, as if still in doubt whether she was a real human being. If the sea
gives up its dead, why should not little Siegfried emerge from his death
chamber?

Mrs. Liebling, wrapped in blankets and a coat belonging to the captain,
was placed in a comfortable position on the other side of the deck from
Ingigerd, because she wished to be alone. For a long while she looked
across the expanse of the quiet sea. Then she said to Frederick, whose
company she had requested:

"It's strange that I feel merely as if I had had a dreadful dream--just
a dream--that is the strange thing. No matter how hard I try, I cannot
fully convince myself, except when I think of Siegfried, that my dream
reflects an actuality which I experienced."

"We mustn't indulge in vain broodings," said Frederick.

"I know," she continued without looking at him, "I know I didn't always
do what is right, but if _I_ deserved to be punished, Siegfried did not.
Why did I escape?" After an interval of silence, she began to speak of
her past, of conflicts with her husband, who had deceived her. Hers had
been one of those loveless matches which are contracted in the customary
business fashion. She told Frederick that she was an artist by nature,
Rubinstein, for whom she had played when she was eleven years old, having
prophesied a great future for her. "I don't know anything about cooking
or children. I was always terribly nervous. Still, I love my children. If
I didn't, would I have been so obstinate in trying to win them from my
husband? I pledge you my word, Doctor, if I could change places with
Siegfried, you would find me ready at any moment."

Frederick made all sorts of consolatory remarks, some of which were not
wholly superficial; for instance, what he said of death and resurrection
and the great atonement that every form of death, even mere sleep,
involves.

"If you were a man, I should recommend Goethe. I should say to you, 'Read
over and over the