Haggart looks at her attentively.
“If you are only telling me the truth. What sort of people are there in your land—false or not? In the lands I know, all the people are false. Has any one else seen that ship?”
“I don’t know. I was alone on the shore. Now I see that it was not your ship. You are not glad to hear of it.”
Haggart is silent, as though he has forgotten her presence.
“You have a pretty uniform. You are silent? I shall come up to you.”
Haggart is silent. His dark profile is stern and wildly gloomy; every motion of his powerful body, every fold of his clothes, is full of the dull silence of the taciturnity of long hours, or days, or perhaps of a lifetime.
“Your sailor will not kill me? You are silent. I have a betrothed. His name is Philipp, but I don’t love him. You are now like that rock which lies on the road leading to the castle.”
Haggart turns around silently and starts.
“I also remember your name. Your name is Haggart.”
He goes away.