He sprang from his seat, and fear gripped his heart once more. He rubbed his eyes, realizing that he had been asleep, and stared round him to see what had wakened him.
The noise was renewed, this time with a subdued whine. He grew calmer now, and opened the door.
A pair of brown eyes and the sharp nose of a dog appeared in the gloom of the passage. The animal looked up at him pleadingly, waiting for leave to enter. And once inside, it stopped still.
Ørlygur seated himself once more by the coffins, taking no heed of the dog. He had forgotten it. For the moment he was occupied wholly with a sense of dissatisfaction with himself; time after time that night he had allowed himself to be taken by surprise. First, he had let fancy run riot in his brain; then, on coming to himself, he had given way to a sense of fear; sleep had overcome him, and on waking he had allowed himself to give way to fear again. He knew there was nothing to fear; he was no coward—it was only when taken by surprise....
Involuntarily he glanced towards the door, where the dog had lain down. A pair of bright, watchful eyes met his, and the thought flashed through his mind that no human being could be more faithful than this dog. He beckoned it to him, and the animal promptly obeyed. It crept up close to him and laid its head upon his knees, licking his hand affectionately.
For a moment he enjoyed the kindly touch. Then his thoughts went wandering again.
“I can never be happy again,” he thought to himself. “I cannot understand how any one can be happy now. What pleasure is there in anything? Everything dies at last. Eternity—the everlasting—it is terrible to think of. And all one’s life but a drop in the ocean—what does it matter if we live or die? And our joys and sorrows—what are they, after all? All becomes insignificant. Some are glad when the sun shines; others are glad without knowing why. It is simple foolishness. Have they never seen a man die? Do they forget that one day they, too, must die?—die and rot ...”
The tears flowed down his cheeks, but he did not move; his features were set as though already stiffening in death.
“Die and rot in the grave....”
And he breathed softly, as if breathing in the air of death in the room, while the tears still flowed.