ondrous eyes, and her ruddy hair curling about her neck, and by
all the Gods! I thought more of her at that last moment than of the
poor land she had conquered, and misgoverned, and brought to this horrid
destruction. There is no denying the fascination which Phorenice carried
with her.

But the end did not dally long with its coming. There was a little surge
that lifted the Ark a hand's breadth or so in its cradle, and set it
back again with a jar and a quiver. The blows from axes and weapons
ceased on its lower part, but redoubled into frenzied batterings on its
rounded roof. There were some screams and cries also which came to
us but dully through the thickness of its ponderous sheathing, though
likely enough they were sent forth at the full pitch of human lungs
outside. And when another surge came, roaring and thundering, which
picked up the great vessel as though it had been a feather, and spun it
giddily; and after that we touched earth or rock no more.

We tossed about on the crest and troughs of delirious seas, a sport for
the greedy Gods of the ocean. The lamp had fallen, and we crouched there
in darkness, dully weighed with the burden of knowledge that we alone
were saved out of what was yesterday a mighty nation.

20. ON THE BOSOM OF THE DEEP

The Ark was rudderless, oarless, and machineless, and could travel only
where the High Gods chose. The inside was dark, and full of an ancient
smell, and crowded with groanings and noise. I could not find the
fire-box to relight the fallen lamp, and so we had to endure blindly
what was dealt out to us. The waves tossed us in merciless sport, and I
clung on by the side of Nais, holding her to the bed. We did not speak
much, but there was full companionship in our bereavement and our
silence.

When Atlantis sank to form new ocean bed, she left great whirlpools and
spoutings from her drowned fires as a fleeting legacy to the Gods of the
Sea. And then, I think (though in the black belly of the Ark we could
not see these things), a vast hurricane of wind must have come on next
so as to leave no piece of the desolation incomplete. For seven nights
and seven days did this dreadful turmoil continue, as counted for us
afterwards by the reckoner of hours which hung within the Ark, and then
the howling of the wind departed, and only the roll of a long still
swell remained. It was regular and it was oily, as I could tell by the
difference of the motion, and then for th