"Whatever you hear, fear not for me. I have escaped, and am safe. But don't expect to see me. I can never rejoin you, for I dare not be seen. And you are going back to your beautiful island, but dear old Iceland is the only place for me. Greeba, good-bye; I shall never lose heart. Sunlocks, she has loved you, you only, all the days of her life. Good-bye. I am well and happy. God bless you both."
Having written and sealed this letter, he marked it with a cross for superscription, touched it with his lips, laid it back on the table and put a key on top of it. Then he rested his head on his hands, and for some minutes afterwards he was lost to himself in thought. "They would tell him to lie down," he thought, "and now he must be asleep. When he awakes he will be out at sea, far out, and all sail set. Before long he will find that he has been betrayed, and demand to be brought back. But they will not heed his anger, for she will have talked with them. Next week or the week after they will put in at Shetlands, and there he will get my letter. Then his face will brighten with joy, and he will cry, 'To home! To Home!' And then—even then—why not?—his sight will come back to him, and he will open his eyes and find his dream come true, and her own dear face looking up at him. At that he will cry, 'Greeba, Greeba, my Greeba,' and she will fall into his arms and he will pluck her to his breast. Then the wind will come sweeping down from the North Sea, and belly out the sail until it sings and the ropes crack and the blocks creak. And the good ship will fly along the waters like a bird to the home of the sun. Home! Home! England! England, and the little green island of her sea!"
"God bless them both," he said aloud, in a voice like a sob, but he leapt to his feet, unable to bear the flow of his thoughts. He put back the paper and pens into the cupboard, and while he was doing so he came upon a bottle of brenni-vin. He took it out and laughed, and drew the cork to take a draught. But he put it down on the table untouched. "Not yet," he said to himself, and then he stepped to the door and opened it.
The snow had ceased to fall and the day was breaking. Great shivering waifs of vapor crept along the mountain sides, and the valley was veiled in mist. But the sea was clear and peaceful, and the sloop of war lay on its dark bosom as before.
"Now for the signal," thought Jason.
In less than a minute afterwards the flag was floating from the flag-staff, and Jason stood waiting for the ship's answer. It came in due course, a clear-toned bell that rang out over the quiet waters and echoed across the land.
"It's done," thought Jason, and he went back into the house. Lifting up the brenni-vin, he took a long draught of it, and laughed as he did so. Then a longer draught, and laughed yet louder. Still another draught, and another, and another, until the bottle was emptied, and he flung it on the floor.
After that he picked up the key and the letter, and shambled out into the passage, laughing as he went.
"Where are you now, old mole?" he shouted, and again he shouted, until the little house rang with his thick voice and his peals of wild laughter.
The old priest came out of his room in his nightshirt with a lighted candle in his hand.