s the use of cutting down a withered tree?'--I
would have said. But now--farewell, Mariet! Well, bind me and take me to
the city."

He waits haughtily, but no one approaches him. Mariet has lowered her
head upon her hands, her shoulders are twitching. The abbot is also
absorbed in thought, his large head lowered. Desfoso is carrying on a
heated conversation in whispers with the fishermen. Khorre steps forward
and speaks, glancing at Haggart askance:

"I had a little talk with them, Noni--they are all right, they are good
fellows, Noni. Only the priest--but he is a good man, too--am I right,
Noni? Don't look so crossly at me, or I'll mix up the whole thing! You
see, kind people, it's this way: this man, Haggart, and I have saved up
a little sum of money, a little barrel of gold. We don't need it, Noni,
do we? Perhaps you will take it for yourselves? What do you think?
Shall we give them the gold, Noni? You see, here I've entangled myself
already."

He winks slyly at Mariet, who has now lifted her head.

"What are you prating there, you scarecrow?" asks the abbot.

Khorre continues:

"Here it goes, Noni; I am straightening it out little by little! But
where have we buried it, the barrel? Do you remember, Noni? I have
forgotten. They say it's from the gin, kind people; they say that one's
memory fails from too much gin. I am a drunkard, that's true."

"If you are not inventing--then you had better choke yourself with your
gold, you dog!" says the abbot.

HAGGART--Khorre!

KHORRE--Yes.

HAGGART--To-morrow you will get a hundred lashes. Abbot, order a hundred
lashes for him!

ABBOT--With pleasure, my son. With pleasure.

The movements of the fishermen are just as slow and languid, but there
is something new in their increased puffing and pulling at their pipes,
in the light quiver of their tanned hands. Some of them arise and look
out of the window with feigned indifference.

"The fog is rising!" says one, looking out of the window. "Do you hear
what I said about the fog?"

"It's time to go to sleep. I say, it's time to go to sleep!"

Desfoso comes forward and speaks cautiously:

"That isn't quite so, abbot. It seems you didn't say exactly what
you ought to say, abbot. They seem to think differently. I don't say
anything for myself--I am simply talking about them. What do you say,
Thomas?"

THOMAS--We ought to go to sleep, I say. Isn't it true that it is time to
go to sleep?

MARIET (softly)--Sit dow