Frightened people are running about in the middle of the night--the
echo of the night doubles the sound of their footsteps, increasing their
terror tenfold, and it seems as if the entire village, terror-stricken,
is running away somewhere. Rocking, dancing silently, as upon waves,
a lantern floats by.

"They have found him, Khorre. They have found the man I killed,
sailor! I did not throw him into the sea; I brought him and set his
head up against the door of his house. They have found him."

Another lantern floats by, swinging from side to side. As if
hearing the alarm, the organ breaks off at a high chord. An instant
of silence, emptiness of dread waiting, and then a woman's sob of
despair fills it up to the brim.

The mist is growing thicker.



CHAPTER VI


The flame in the oil-lamp is dying out, having a smell of burning.
It is near sunrise. A large, clean, fisherman's hut. A skilfully
made little ship is fastened to the ceiling, and even the sails are
set. Involuntarily this little ship has somehow become the centre of
attraction and all those who speak, who are silent and who listen,
look at it, study each familiar sail. Behind the dark curtain lies
the body of Philipp--this hut belonged to him.