wondered, the stable clock struck eight.

The rest I leave to you; nor shall try to explain. I only know that,
vision or no vision, my soul from that hour has gained a calm it never
knew before. The sufferings of my fellows still afflict me; but always,
if I stand still and listen, in my own room, or in a crowded street, or
in a waste spot among the moors, I can hear those waters moving round
the world--moving on their "priest-like task "--those lustral divine
tears which are Oceanus.



THE SEVENTH MAN.


In a one-roomed hut, high within the Arctic Circle, and only a little
south of the eightieth parallel, six men were sitting--much as they had
sat, evening after evening, for months. They had a clock, and by it
they divided the hours into day and night. As a matter of fact, it was
always night. But the clock said half-past eight, and they called the
time evening.

The hut was built of logs, with an inner skin of rough match-boarding,
daubed with pitch. It measured seventeen feet by fourteen; but opposite
the door four bunks--two above and two below--took a yard off the
length, and this made the interior exactly square. Each of these bunks
had two doors, with brass latches on the inner side; so that the owner,
if he chose, could shut himself up and go to sleep in a sort of
cupboard. But as a rule, he closed one of them only--that by his feet.
The other swung back, with its brass latch showing. The men kept these