“Because you have never been in a position to see them; they have not been brought home to you. Or your mind may have wanted an interpreter. Perhaps I am that interpreter—for the moment.” Then she added: “Were you afraid just now? Don’t tell me if you had rather not, only I should like to compare sensations. I was—more than on the ship. I admit it.” “No,” he answered; “I suppose that I was too excited.” “What were you thinking of when we bumped against the rocks?” she asked again. “Well, now that you mention it,” he replied, rubbing his forehead with his left hand like a man newly awakened, “I could think of nothing but that song of yours, which you sang upon the vessel. Everything grew dark for an instant, and through the darkness I remembered the song.” “Are you married?” she asked, as though speaking to herself. “No; I am engaged.” “Then, why——” and she stopped, confused. Morris guessed what had been in her mind, and of a sudden felt terribly ashamed. “Because of that witch-song of yours,” he answered, with a flash of anger, “which made me forget everything.” She smiled and answered. “It wasn’t the song; it was the excitement and struggle which blotted out the rest. One does not really think at all at such moments, or so I believe. I know that I didn’t, not just when we bumped against the rock. But it is odd that you should believe that you remembered my song, for, according to tradition, that is just what the chant should do, and what it always did. Its ancient name means ‘The Over-Lord,’ because those who sang it and those who heard it were said to remember nothing else, and to fear nothing, not even Death our lord. It is the welcome that they give to death.” “What egregious nonsense!” he blurted out. “I daresay; but then, why do you understand my nonsense so well? Tell me, if you will, of what blood are you?” “Danish, I believe, in the beginning.” “Oh,” she said, laughing, “no doubt that accounts for it. Some forefather of yours may have heard the song of the Over-Lord, perhaps from the lips of some foremother of mine. So, of course, you remembered and understood.” “Such a thing will scarcely bear argument, will it?” “Of course it won’t. I have only been joking all the time, though I do half believe in this old song, as my ancestors did before me. I mean, that as I thought I had to die, I liked to keep up the ancient custom and sing it first. It encouraged my spirits. But where are we going?” “To where our spirits will need no more encouragement,” he answered grimly; “or, at least, I fear it may be so. Miss Fregelius, to drop jests, it is blowing very hard off land; the sea is getting up, and this is but a small boat. We are doing pretty well now, but sooner or later, I fear, and I think it right to tell you, that a wave may poop us and then——” “There will be an end,” said Stella. “Is there anything to be done? Have you any plan?”