He never returned. One night in August, far away in the waters of gloomy Iceland, amid a great fury of storm, he had consummated his Marriage to the Sea--to the Sea which had been his nurse: it was she who had cradled him, who had made him a big and strong youth, and afterward, in his superb manhood, had taken him back again for herself alone. A profound mystery had surrounded the unhallowed nuptials. All the while, dark veils trembled overhead, moving and twisting curtains were spread so as to conceal the ceremony; and the bride gave voice, ever seeking with louder and more awful roars to stifle his cries.... He, thinking of Gaud, his mortal wife, had battled with giant strength against this spouse of the tomb--until the moment when he at last surrendered, with a great cry, deep as the roar of a dying bull, his mouth already filled with water, his arms open, extended, and stiffened forever. And at his wedding were all those whom he had at one time invited. All except Sylvestre, who himself had gone to sleep in the enchanted gardens, far, far at the other side of the earth.