"Good night, Mariet. 'Have you not seen Mariet! Mariet!'"

The girl is left alone. She looks at the light in the castle. She
hears soft, irresolute footsteps.

Old Dan, of small stature, slim, a coughing old man with a clean-shaven
face, comes out from behind the church. Because of his irresoluteness,
or because of the weakness of his eyes, he steps uncertainly, touching
the ground cautiously and with a certain degree of fear.

"Oho! Oho!"

"Is that you, Dan?"

"The sea is calm, Dan. Are you going to play to-night?"

"Oho! I shall ring the bell seven times. Seven times I shall ring
it and send to God seven of His holy hours."

He takes the rope of the bell and strikes the hour--seven ringing
and slow strokes. The wind plays with them, it drops them to the
ground, but before they touch it, it catches them tenderly, sways
them softly and with a light accompaniment of whistling carries them
off to the dark coast.

"Oh, no!" mutters Dan. "Bad hours, they fall to the ground. They
are not His holy hours and He will send them back. Oh, a storm is
coming! O Lord, have mercy on those who are perishing at sea!"