darkness in the depths of the sea, they furiously invoked upon
Annadoah's offspring the curse of the long night . . . Their voices
shuddered over the ice as they demanded that most dreadful of all
dreaded evils--that Annadoah's child might be born as blind to light
and the joy of light as the dead in the sea.

Annadoah crouched in frantic terror upon the ice. From the Greenland
highlands a moaning echo answered the women. To Annadoah the hill
spirits had joined in cursing her--all nature seemed to upbraid her.
Tremblingly, with a last lingering hope, she crept on her knees to the
edge of the lane of lapping black water. She whispered a pathetic plea
to _Nerrvik_, the gentle queen of the sea, whose hand had been severed
by those she loved, and who felt great tenderness for men. Annadoah
listened.

"Thou art cold of heart to him who loves thee, Annadoah," a voice
seemed to whisper in the lapping waves. "Thou art beautiful as the
sun, but as _Sukh-eh-nukh_ shall thou be eternally sad. Thou shalt
lose because of thine own self the greatest of all treasures. That is
fate."

Far out on the open ocean spectral fire-flecks flashed like mast-lights
on swinging ships. These mysterious jack o' lanterns of the arctic are
caused by the crashing together of icebergs covered with phosphorescent
algae.

To Annadoah the dead were lighting their oil lamps for the long night.
As she watched the weird illuminations a paralyzing fear of the vague
unknown world beyond the gate of death filled her, and her blood ran
cold. She felt utterly crushed, utterly helpless, and utterly