there from morning until night."

Haggart goes over to Khorre, near whom Dan is sitting.

"Khorre! Let us go to eat--the priest called you."

"I don't want to go, Noni."

"So? What are you going to do here on shore?"

"I will think, Noni, think. I have so much to think to be able to
understand at least something."

Haggart turns around silently. The abbot calls from the distance:

"He is not coming? Well, then, let him stay there. And Dan--never
call Dan, my son"--says the priest in his deep whisper, "he eats at
night like a rat. Mariet purposely puts something away for him in
the closet for the night; when she looks for it in the morning, it
is gone. Just think of it, no one ever hears when he takes it.
Does he fly?"

Both go off. Only the two old men, seated in a friendly manner on
two neighbouring rocks, remain on the deserted shore. And the old
men resemble each other so closely, and whatever they may say to each
other, the whiteness of their hair, the deep lines of their wrinkles,
make them kin.

The tide is coming.