awful. But that distance seemed to run toward the light. The long waves
following one another rolled out from the darkness, and went bellowing
toward the base of the island; and then their foaming backs were
visible, shining rose-colored in the light of the lantern. The incoming
tide swelled more and more, and covered the sandy bars. The mysterious
speech of the ocean came with a fulness more powerful and louder, at one
time like the thunder of cannon, at another like the roar of great
forests, at another like the distant dull sound of the voices of people.
At moments it was quiet; then to the ears of the old man came some great
sigh, then a kind of sobbing, and again threatening outbursts. At last
the wind bore away the haze, but brought black, broken clouds, which hid
the moon. From the west it began to blow more and more; the waves sprang
with rage against the rock of the light-house, licking with foam the
foundation walls. In the distance a storm was beginning to bellow. On
the dark, disturbed expanse certain green lanterns gleamed from the
masts of ships. These green points rose high and then sank; now they
swayed to the right, and now to the left. Skavinski descended to his
room. The storm began to howl. Outside, people on those ships were
struggling with night, with darkness, with waves; but inside the tower
it was calm and still. Even the sounds of the storm hardly came through
the thick walls, and only the measured tick-tack of the clock lulled the
wearied old man to his slumber.




CHAPTER II.


Hours, days, and weeks began to pass. Sailors assert that sometimes when