(He gets down upon his knees.) Well, God bless us!
Sacked the sea-king's coffers. See the pearls!
Crescents and ear-bobs. Here's a brooch fine as
Sparkles on Memnon's sister. What's this clammy thing?
Cold, bloody hand! Hand with a locket in it!
Unlock it. Ho! picture, eh? Say mamma, baby!
Mamma's in the sea-weed. That's a foul deed.
Throw your cloak over it. Don't let God see this.
(Calling up.)
Who's there? (Rising.) Who calls Andrew? Stand down on the ground.
The lid is off. (Stooping.) Parchment deeds, eh? I. X.
If Andrew's Andrew, then I. X. is eleven.
What shines? Silver. (A pause.)
Monk's cross. (A pause.)
Wet. (Flash of lightning.)
Red! (With horror.)
Lads! lads!
We'll sink for this, God bless us! Pretty muss!
Who daubed it? (Thunder.) Hear that. Horror in the dark
Doffs his big plume at this. And up there—Here!
Wash it! wash it in the sea! In with the chest, lads!
Murder like a foam-bird dashed upon the prow
Shakes her red wings. And there—Look! (Shouting.)
Wash it clean!
Heaven's golden scales are rising from the deep!
Off! lay her—lay her off, lads! They'll weigh us!
(A sharp flash of lightning. Andrew is seen with his left hand up beside his head, which is drawn down, backing fearfully through the door into the dormitory. The thunder rumbling in the darkness sounds like the growl of an enormous wild beast.)
[ACT FIVE.]
SCENE ONE—A street in the village. Low thatched cottages, with deep, wide eaves overhanging the street, stand in a dark mass. To the left, a little way from the others and back a few paces from the street, is a small house, the home of Jardin. Through a window in the room on the right side comes a faint light as from a low-burning lamp. To the left of the window, one feels that there is a door, though, either on account of intervening bushes or perhaps because of a porch that makes it darker there, one does not see it. Out in the yard where the light from the window falls upon the bushes near the casement, the glistening of the leaves shows that it has been raining. The windows of the other houses, like vacant eyes under deep brows, are dark, and there are no signs of life anywhere. Over the roofs and through the great trees that rise up behind them flows a greyness that emphasizes the quiet of the hour. About the street lie several limbs that were broken off by the storm during the night.