“Cut the cords, my dear,” said Lamme. “Seest thou not that my wound is cured, her soft hand hath healed it; she, aye, she. Dost thou see her standing up in the skiff? Dost thou hear? she is singing still. Come, my beloved, come; flee not from thy poor Lamme, who was so lonely in the world without thee.”
Nele took his hand, touched his face.
“He hath the fever still,” she said.
“Cut the cords,” said Lamme; “give me a skiff! I am alive, I am happy, I am healed!”
Ulenspiegel cut the cords: Lamme, leaping from his bed in breeches of white linen, without a doublet, set to work himself to lower away the skiff.
“See him,” said Nele to Ulenspiegel: “his hands tremble with impatience as they work.”
The skiff ready, Ulenspiegel, Nele, and Lamme went down into it with an oarsman, and set off towards the flyboat anchored far off in the harbour.
“See the goodly flyboat,” said Lamme, helping the oarsman.
On the fresh morning sky, coloured like crystal gilded by the rays of the young sun, the flyboat showed up her hull and her elegant masts.
While Lamme rowed: