Then, bowing his head over the opening of his kyak in grief and desolation, the kyaker fell behind. He had failed! His manhood had failed; Sedna had hated and left as true a lover as ever a man could have been to her, and he would no more of it! With one wild sweep of his wings, he was a bird again, the kyak a mote upon the waters beneath, and a stroke or two of his great vans brought him above the boat of the fugitives. He hung there awhile, uttering the strange cry of the Loon; but at last dropped away into the darkness. Then there arose a storm—a black arctic storm—out at sea. And Sedna’s father was stricken with fear. Terror of the bird-man gripped his heart. Terror of the offended powers of sky and sea nerved him to a bitter sacrifice. The raging waves demanded Sedna, and he must give her up, and repulse her struggling, and see her drown. He bent forward, and with one fearful thrust, cast his daughter out of the boat—so to propitiate the offended sea! The wild, white face rose to the surface, and despairing hands caught at the gunwale. But the Terror was not to be defrauded, and the father, frenzied with grief and the desperate determination of his deed, snatched up an axe—a heavy thing of ivory and wood—and brought it down upon those pathetic, clinging fingers. The maiden fell back into the sea (and the first joints of her maimed and bleeding hands turned into seals). But, coming up again, with agony in her eyes she made another struggle to catch at the boat. Three times the drowning creature came back; but she was the doomed victim of the sea, and the father must consummate the sacrifice. Three times he smote and chopped at her mangled hands. (The second joints became the ojuk, the ground seals; the third joints made the walrus; and whales sprang of the rest.) Apropos of this reeking legend, it must be borne in mind that the Eskimo believe implicitly in Spirits and in their power to demand sacrifice. The father, believing the storm to be an expression of the anger of the Sea god (on behalf apparently of the sea-bird) and a demand for the daughter he had reclaimed, did not hesitate to give her up and to steel himself against her drowning agony. At last Sedna sank, to rise no more. And the storm sank, too. The boat presently came to land. The father entered his tent and lay down beneath it and slept a sleep of exhaustion and overspent grief. In the tent was fastened Sedna’s dog. But that night there was a high tide which washed up the beach, demolished the tupik, and drowned the two living creatures within. So that man and dog rejoined the maiden in the depths of the sea. There they have dwelt ever since, in some “house” or cave of Eskimo imagination. There they preside over one whole region—called Adlivun—where souls are imprisoned for punishment for a while or all time, after death.