that the Swede was not here. He had gone.

I dashed out in a mad run, seized by a dreadful agitation, and the moment I
was out I plunged into a sort of torrent of humming that surrounded me
completely and came out of every quarter of the heavens at once. It was
that same familiar humming--gone mad! A swarm of great invisible bees might
have been about me in the air. The sound seemed to thicken the very
atmosphere, and I felt that my lungs worked with difficulty.

But my friend was in danger, and I could not hesitate.

The dawn was just about to break, and a faint whitish light spread upwards
over the clouds from a thin strip of clear horizon. No wind stirred. I
could just make out the bushes and river beyond, and the pale sandy
patches. In my excitement I ran frantically to and fro about the island,
calling him by name, shouting at the top of my voice the first words that
came into my head. But the willows smothered my voice, and the humming
muffled it, so that the sound only traveled a few feet round me. I plunged
among the bushes, tripping headlong, tumbling over roots, and scraping my
face as I tore this way and that among the preventing branches.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I came out upon the island's point and saw a dark
figure outlined between the water and the sky. It was the Swede. And
already he had one foot in the river! A moment more and he would have taken
the plunge.

I threw myself upon him, flinging my arms about his waist and dragging him
shorewards with all my strength. Of course he struggled furiously, making a
noise all the time just like that cursed humming, and using the most
outlandish phrases in his anger about "going inside to Them," and "taking