ck can prevent her going mad. Dead or mad! what a
situation. O God! what can I do? My child, lie down again."

Meanwhile, Dea spoke. Her voice was almost indistinct, as if a cloud
already interposed between her and earth.

"Father, you are wrong. I am not in the least delirious. I hear all you
say to me, distinctly. You tell me that there is a great crowd of
people, that they are waiting, and that I must play to-night. I am quite
willing. You see that I have my reason; but I do not know what to do,
since I am dead, and Gwynplaine is dead. I am coming all the same. I am
ready to play. Here I am; but Gwynplaine is no longer here."

"Come, my child," said Ursus, "do as I bid you. Lie down again."

"He is no longer here, no longer here. Oh! how dark it is!"

"Dark!" muttered Ursus. "This is the first time she has ever uttered
that word!"

Gwynplaine, with as little noise as he could help making as he crept,
mounted the step of the caravan, entered it, took from the nail the cape
and the esclavine, put the esclavine round his neck, and redescended
from the van, still concealed by the projection of the cabin, the
rigging, and the mast.

Dea continued murmuring. She moved her lips, and by degrees the murmur
became a melody. In broken pauses, and with the interrupted cadences of
delirium, her voice broke into the mysterious appeal she had so often
addressed to Gwynplaine in _Chaos Vanquished_. She sang, and her voice
was low and uncertain as the murmur of the bee,--

"Noche, quita te de alli.
El alba canta...."[23]

She stopped. "No, it is not true. I am not dead. What was I saying?
Alas! I am alive. I am alive. He is dead. I am below. He is above. He is
gone. I remain. I shall hear his voice no more, nor his footstep. God,
who had given us a little Paradise on earth, has taken it away.
Gwynplaine, it is over. I shall never feel you near me again. Never! And
his voice! I shall never hear his voice again. And she sang:--

"Es menester a cielos ir--
Deja, quiero,
A tu negro
Caparazon."

"We must go to heaven.
Take off, I entreat thee,
Thy black cloak."

She stretched out her hand, as if she sought something in space on which
she might rest.

Gwynplaine, rising by the side of Ursus, who had suddenly become as
though petrified, knelt down before her.

"Never," said Dea, "never shall I hear him again."

She began, wandering, to sing again:--

"Deja, quiero,
A tu negro
Caparazon."