When the victim's head has vanished beneath the surface, only a funnel-shaped depression marks the spot where a living creature has met death, and this sign will be obliterated by the first wind that blows across the sands.
As I have mentioned before, a dike, with a road along its summit, divides the treacherous quicksands and the grazing cattle.
It was along this dike-road that my wife and I walked arm in arm the morning I started for Antwerp.
"You see, my love," I said to her, "how happy we are together when there is no one to disturb us. I should want for nothing else on earth if you would but promise not to wear that red cap again."
"And I," she returned, "need only to wear this red cap in order to make me perfectly contented and happy."
"Very well, then wear it—wear three red caps, one over the other, only don't wear this one while I am away from you."
"Well—I won't wear it while you are away."
"Swear that you won't?"
"No, I will not swear not to wear it, for if I should forget my oath, and put the cap on, then I should perjure myself—and no cap is worth that!"
"Then the cap is dearer to you than I am?" I asked.