existed at that propitious height of
spiritual vision  from  which he could  clearly note  every hint  and prompt
offered  by  reality.  Upon  hearing  the  sounds,  drowned out  by  passing
carriages, he entered  into the very heart of the most important impressions
and thoughts  brought forth, in keeping  with his nature, by this music, and
could foresee why and how that which he had thought  of would turn out well.
Passing the lane,  Gray entered the gate of the  house from  where the music
was coming. By this  time the musicians were getting ready  to move  on; the
tall flutist, with an air of dignity  brought low, waved his hat  gratefully
at  those windows from which coins  were tossed.  The cello was locked under
its owner's  arm again;  he  was mopping his  wet  brow  and waiting for the
flutist.
     "Why,  it's you, Zimmer!"  Gray  said to him, recognizing the violinist
who entertained the seamen  in  the evenings with his magnificent playing at
the Money on the Barrel Inn. "Why have you forsaken your violin?"
     "Dear  Captain,"  Zimmer objected smugly, "I play  anything  that makes
sounds and rattles. In my youth I was a musical  clown. I have now developed
a passion for art,  and  I realize with a  heavy heart that  I've squandered
away a real  talent. That is why, from a feeling of late-come greed, I  love
two  at  once: the cello and the violin. I play the cello in the daytime and
the violin in the evening, so that I seem to be weeping, to  be sobbing over
a lost talent.  Will you offer me some wine? Hm? The cello is my Carmen, but
the violin...."
     "Is Assol," Gray said.
     Zimmer misunderstood.
     "Yes," he nodded, "a solo played on cymbals or brass pipes is something
else again. However,  what  do I  care? Let  the clowns  of  art grimace and
twitch -- I know that fairies dwell within the violin and the cello."
     "And what dwells in my tur-i-loo?" the flutist asked  as he walked  up.
He was a tall fellow with a sheep's blue eyes and a curly blond beard. "Tell
me that now."
     "It  all  depends  on  how much  you've had  to  drink  since  morning.
Sometimes  it's a bird,  and  sometimes  it's liquor  fumes. Captain,  may I
present my  partner  Diiss? I  told him  about the way  you throw your money
around  when  you're  drinking, and he's  fallen  in love  with  you,  sight
unseen."
     "Yes," Diiss said, "I love a grand  gesture  and generosity. But I'm  a
sly fellow, so don't trust my vile flattery."
     "Well,  now,"  Gray said and smiled,  "I'm  pressed  for time, and  the
matter  is urgent.  I can offer  you a chance to earn some good  money.  Put
together an orchestra,  but not  one  that's  made up  of  fops with funeral
parlour  faces  who've  forgotten  in  their   musical  pedantry  or,--worse
still--in their gastronomical soundings, all about the soul of music and are
slowly spreading a pall  over the  stage with their intricate noises,--  no.
Get together  your  friends  who  can  make the simple hearts  of  cooks and
butlers weep, get
     together  your  wandering  tribe. The  sea  and love do  not stand  for
pedants. I'd love to  have a  drink  with you and  polish  off more than one
bottle, but I must go.  I've got a lot to attend to. Take this and  drink to
the letter A. If you accept my proposition, come to the Secret this evening.
It's moored near the first dam."
     "Right!" Zimmer cried, knowing that Gray paid like a king. "Bow, Diiss,
say 'yes'  and  twirl your  hat from  joy! Captain Gray  has decided  to get
married!"
     "Yes," Gray replied  simply.  "I'll  tell  you the details on board the
Secret. As for you...."
     "Here's to A!"  Diiss nudged  Zimmer and winked at  Gray. "But... there
are so many letters in the alphabet!  Won't  you give  us  something for  Z,
too?"
     Gray gave them some more money. The musicians departed. He then went to
a commission agent and placed a secret order for a rush job, to be completed
in six day's time, and costing an impressive amount. As Gray returned to his
ship the  agent was  boarding  a  steamboat. Towards  evening the  silk  was
delivered; Letika had  not yet returned, nor had the musicians arrived; Gray
went off to talk to Panten.
     It should be noted that in  the course  of several years Gray had  been
sailing with the same crew. At first, the captain had puzzled the sailors by
the eccentric nature  of his voyages and  stops--which  sometimes lasted for
months--in the most trade-lacking, unpopulated places, but in time they were
inspired by Gray's "grayism". Often he would sail with ballast alone, having
refused to take on a  profitable cargo for  the sole reason  that he did not
like  the freight offered. No one could ever talk him into taking on  a load
of soap, nails,  machine parts or some such that  would lie  silently in the
hold, evoking lifeless images of dull necessity. But he was always  ready to
take on fruit, china, animals, spices,  tea, tobacco, coffee, silk and  rare
varieties of wood: ebony, sandalwood and teak. All this was in  keeping with
the aristocratism . of  his imagination, creating a  picturesque atmosphere;
small wonder then that the crew of the Secret, having been  nurtured thus in
the spirit of originality,  should look down somewhat upon all other  ships,
engulfed as they were in the smoke of plain, ordinary profit. Still and all,
this time Gray noted their questioning  looks:  even the dumbest sailor knew
that there was no need to put up for repairs in a forest river.
     Panten had naturally passed Gray's orders on to them. When Gray entered
his  mate  was finishing his sixth cigar  and pacing up and down  the cabin,
dizzy from so much smoke and stumbling over chairs. Evening was approaching;
a golden shaft of light  protruded through  the open porthole, and in it the
polished visor of the captain's cap flashed.
     "Everything's  shipshape," Panten said sullenly.  "We can weigh  anchor
now if you wish."
     "You  should  know  me by  now," Gray said kindly. "There's no  mystery
about what I'm doing. As soon as we drop anchor in the Liliana I'll tell you
all about it, and you won't  have to waste so  many matches on cheap cigars.
Go on and weigh anchor."
     Panten smiled uncomfortably and scratched an eyebrow.
     "Yes, I know. Not that I ... all right."
     After he was gone  Gray sat very still for a while, looking out of  the
door that was slightly ajar, and then went  to his own cabin. There he first
sat,  then  lay  down and then, listening  to the  clatter  of  the windlass
pulling up the loud chain, was about  to go up  to the forecastle  deck  but
fell to pondering and returned to the table where his  finger drew a  quick,
straight line across the  oilcloth. A fist struck against  the door  brought
him out of his maniacal trance;  he turned the key,  letting in Letika.  The
sailor, panting loudly, stood there looking like a messenger who has averted
an execution at the very last moment.
     "Let's go, Letika, I said to myself from where I stood on the pier," he
said,  speaking  rapidly,  "when  I  saw  the  boys here  dancing around the
windlass and spitting on their hands. I have an eagle-eye. And I flew. I was
breathing down the  boatman's back so hard he broke out  in a nervous sweat.
Did you want to leave me behind, Captain?"
     "Letika," Gray said,  peering  at his bloodshot  eyes,  "I expected you
back no later than this morning. Did you pour cold water on the back of vour
head?"
     "Yes.  Not as much  as  went  down  the hatch,  but  I did.  I've  done
everything."
     "Let's have it."
     "There's  no  sense  talking, Captain. It's all written down here. Read
it. I did my best. I'm leaving."
     "Where to?"
     "I can see by the  look on  your face  that I  didn't  pour enough cold
water on my head."
     He turned  and  exited  with the strange movements of a blind man. Gray
unfolded the  slip of paper;  the pencil  must  have  been  surprised  as it
produced the  scrawl that resembled a crooked fence. This is what Letika had
written:
     "Following orders. I went  down the street after 5 p.m.  A house with a
grey roof and two windows on either  side; it has  a  vegetable  garden. The
person in question came out twice:  once for water and once for kindling for
the stove. After  dark was able to look into the window, but saw  nothing on
account of the curtain."
     There followed several  notations of a domestic nature which Letika had
apparently gleaned in conversation over a bottle, since the memorandum ended
rather abruptly with the words: "Had to  add a bit of my  own to square  the
bill."
     However, the gist  of the report stated  but that which we know of from
the first  chapter. Gray  put the paper  in his desk, whistled for the watch
and sent the  man for  Panten, but the  boatswain Atwood  showed up instead,
hastily pulling down his rolled-up sleeves.
     "We've tied up  at the dam. Panten sent me down to  see what the orders
are.  He's busy  fighting off  some men with horns, drums and other violins.
Did you tell them to  come aboard? Panten asked you  to come up. He says his
head's spinning."
     "Yes, Atwood.  I  invited the  musicians aboard. Tell them to go to the
crew's quarters meanwhile. We'll see  to them later. Tell them and  the crew
I'll  be up  on  deck in  fifteen minutes, I want everyone in  attendance. I
presume you and Panten will also listen to what I have to say."
     Atwood cocked his left brow. He stood by the door for a few moments and
then sidled out.
     Gray spent  the next ten minutes with his face buried in his hands;  he
was not preparing himself for anything,  nor was he  calculating.  He simply
wished  to be  silent for a  while. In  the  meantime, everyone awaited  him
anxiously and with a curiosity full of surmise. He emerged and  saw in their
faces  an expectation  of  improbable things, but since  he  considered that
which  was  taking place to  be quite natural, the tenseness of  these other
people's souls was reflected in his own as a slight annoyance.
     "It's nothing out  of  the  ordinary," said Gray,  sitting  down on the
bridge ladder. "We'll lie to in the river till we change the rigging. You've
all seen the red silk that's been delivered.  The sailmaker Blent will be in
charge of making new sails  from it for the Secret. We'll then set sail, but
I can't say where to. At any rate, it won't be far from here. I am going for
my wife. She's not my wife yet, but she will be. I must have red sails on my
ship so that, according to the agreement, she can spot us from afar. That is
all. As you see, there's nothing mysterious  in all this.  And we'll say  no
more
     about it."
     "Indeed," said Atwood, sensing from the crew's  smiling faces that they
were  pleasantly surprised  but did  not  venture to  speak. "So  that's it,
Captain.... It's not for us to  judge. We can only obey. Everything'll be as
you wish. May I offer my congratulations." "Thank you!"
     Gray  gripped the boatswain's hand, but the  latter.through  superhuman
effort, returned the  handshake so firmly the captain yielded. Then the crew
came  up,  mumbling  words of  congratulations  with  one  man's warm  smile
replacing another's. No one  shouted,  no one cheered  -- for  the  men  had
sensed something very special in the captain's short speech. Panten heaved a
sigh of  relief and  brightened  visibly  -- the weight that  had lay on his
heart  melted  away.  The  ship's  carpenter was  the only  one  who  seemed
displeased. He shook Gray's hand listlessly and said
     morosely:
     "How'd you ever think of it, Captain?"
     "It was like a blow of your axe. Zimmer! Let's see your
     boys."
     The  violinist,  slapping  the  musicians  on  the  back,  pushed seven
sloppily dressed men out of the crowd.
     "Here," Zimmer said. "This is the trombone. He doesn't play, he blasts.
These two beardless  boys are trumpeters; when they start playing, everybody
feels like  going off to war. Then there's  the clarinet, the cornet and the
second fiddle. AH of them are past masters at accompanying the lively prima,
meaning  me.  And  here's the  headmaster of our  merry  band -- Fritz,  the
drummer. You know, drummers usually look  disappointed,  but  this one plays
with dignity and fervour.  There's something open-hearted and as straight as
his  drumsticks about  his playing.  Will  there be anything  else,  Captain
Gray?"
     "Magnificent.  A place has been set aside for you  in  the hold,  which
this  time,  apparently,  will be filled with all sorts of scherzos, adagios
and fortissimos. To your  places,  men. Cast off  and head out, Panten! I'll
relieve you in two hours."
     He did not notice the passing of these two hours, as they slipped by to
the  accompaniment  of  the  same  inner  music  that  never  abandoned  his
consciousness, as  the pulse does not abandon the arteries.  He  had but one
thought, one wish, one goal. Being  a  man  of action, in his mind's eye  he
anticipated the events, regretting  only that they could  not be manipulated
as  quickly  and  easily as  chequers  on a board.  Nothing about  his  calm
exterior bespoke the inner tension  whose booming, like  the  clanging  of a
great  bell overhead, reverberated through his body  as a deafening, nervous
moan. It  finally caused  him to begin  counting to  himself: "One... two...
thirty..."--and so on, until he said:  "One thousand."  This mental exercise
had its effect; he was finally able to take a detached view of  the project.
He was somewhat surprised at not being able  to imagine what Assol  was like
as a person, for he had never even spoken to her. He had once read  that one
could, though incompletely, understand a person if, imaging one's self to be
that  person,  one imitated  the expression of  his  face. Gray's  eyes  had
already begun to assume a strange expression that was alien to them, and his
lips  under his moustache were curling up into a faint, timid smile, when he
suddenly  came  to  his senses,  burst out laughing  and went  up to relieve
Panten.
     It was dark. Panten had raised the collar of  his jacket and was pacing
back and forth by the compass, saying to the helmsman:
     "Port, one quarter point. Port. Stop. A quarter point
     more."
     The Secret was sailing free at half tack.
     "You know," Panten said to Gray, "I'm pleased."
     "What by?"
     "The same  thing you are. Now I know. It came  to me right here on  the
bridge." He winked slyly as the fire of his pipe lighted his smile.
     "You  don't  say?"  Gray  replied,  suddenly  understanding what he was
getting at. "And what do you know?"
     "It's the best way  to smuggle it in. Anybody can have whatever kind of
sails he wants to. You're a genius, Gray!"
     "Poor old Panten!" the captain said, not knowing whether to be angry or
to laugh. "Your guess is a clever one, but it lacks any basis in fact. Go to
bed.  You have  my  word  for it that  you're wrong.  I'm doing exactly as I
said."
     He sent him down to sleep, checked  their course and sat down. We shall
leave him now, for he needs to be by himself.
        VI. ASSOL REMAINS ALONE
     Longren spent the night at sea; he neither slept nor fished, but sailed
along without any definite course, listening  to the lapping  of  the water,
gazing into the blackness, holding his  face up to the wind and thinking. At
the most difficult times  of his life nothing so  restored his soul as these
lonely wanderings. Stillness, stillness and solitude were  what he needed in
order to make  the  faintest,  most obscure voices of his  inner world sound
clearly. This  night  his thoughts  were of the future,  of  poverty  and of
Assol. It was unbearably difficult for him to leave her, if only for a short
while;  besides, he  was  afraid of resurrecting  the  abated pain. Perhaps,
after signing up on a ship, he
     would again imagine that waiting for him in Kaperna was his beloved who
had never died--and, returning, he would approach  the house with the  grief
of lifeless expectation. Mary  would never again come through the  door. But
he wanted to  provide  for  Assol  and,  therefore, decided to do  what  his
concern for her demanded he do.
     When Longren returned the girl was not yet at home. Her early walks did
not worry her father; this  time, however, there  was  a trace of anxiety in
his expectation. Pacing up and down, he turned to suddenly see Assol; having
entered  swiftly  and  soundlessly, she came up  to him  without a  word and
nearly frightened him by  the brightness  of  her expression, which mirrored
her excitement. It  seemed  that her second being  had come  to  light--true
being  to  which  a person's eyes alone usually attest.  She was  silent and
looked into Longren's face so strangely that he quickly inquired:
     "Are you ill?"
     She did not immediately reply.  When the  meaning  of his words finally
reached  her inner  ear  Assol started,  as a twig  touched by  a hand,  and
laughed a long, even  peal of  quietly  triumphant laughter. She  had to say
something but, as always, she did not have to think of what it would be. She
said:
     "No.  I'm  well.... Why  are you  looking at me like  that?  I'm happy.
Really, I am, but it's because it's such a lovely day. What have you thought
of? I can see by your look that you've thought of something."
     "Whatever I may have thought of," Longren said, taking her  on his lap,
"I know you'll  understand why I'm  doing it.  We've  nothing to live on.  I
won't  go on  a  long voyage again, but I'll sign on the mailboat that plies
between Kasset and Liss."
     "Yes," she said  from  afar,  making an effort to share his  cares  and
worries, but  aghast at  being unable to stop feeling so gay. "That's awful.
I'll be very lonely. Come back soon." Saying this,  she blossomed out  in an
irrepressible smile. "And hurry, dear. I'll be waiting for you."
     "Assol!" Longren said, cupping her face and turning it towards himself.
"Tell me what's happened."
     She felt she had to  dispel his fears and,  overcoming  her jubilation,
became gravely attentive, all save her eyes, which still sparkled with a new
life.
     "You're funny. Nothing at all. I was gathering nuts."
     Longren would not have really believed this had he not been so taken up
by  his  own  thoughts. Their  conversation then became  matter-of-fact  and
detailed. The sailor told his daughter  to pack his bag, enumerated  all  he
would need and had some instructions for her:
     "I'll be  back in about ten days. You  pawn my gun and stay at home. If
anyone annoys  you,  say: 'Longren will be back soon.' Don't think or  worry
about me: nothing will happen to me."
     He then had his dinner,  kissed her  soundly and, slinging the bag over
his shoulder, went out to the  road that led to town. Assol looked after him
until he turned the bend and then  went back  into the  house. She  had many
chores to do, but forgot all about them. She looked around with the interest
of slight surprise, as if she were already astrangerto this house, so much a
part  of her  for as  far back as  she  could recall that it seemed  she had
always  carried its image  within  her, and which  now appeared  like  one's
native parts do when revisited after a  lapse of  time and from  a different
kind of  life. But she felt there was something unbecoming in this rebuff of
hers, something wrong. She  sat  down at the table at which Longren made his
toys and tried  to glue a rudder to a stern; as she looked at these  objects
she unwittingly imagined them in their true sizes, and  real.  All that  had
happened that morning once again rose up within her in trembling excitement,
and a golden ring as large as the sun fell to her feet from across the sea.
     She could not remain indoors, left the house  and set out for Liss, She
had no errand there at all, and did not know  why she was  going,  yet could
not but go. She met a man on the way who asked for directions; she explained
all in detail to him, and the incident was immediately forgotten.
     The long  road slipped by as  if she had been carrying a bird  that had
completely  absorbed her  tender attention. Approaching  the town,  she  was
distracted somewhat by the
     noise given off by its great circle, but  it had  no power  over her as
before, when, frightening and cowing  her,  it had made her a silent coward.
She stood  up to it. She passed along the circle of the boulevard leisurely,
crossing  the blue  shadows  of the  trees, glancing  up  at  the  faces  of
passers-by trustingly and unselfconsciously, walking slowly and confidently.
The observant had occassion during  the  day to note the  stranger  here, an
unusual-looking  girl  who  had passed  through  the  motley  crowd, lost in
thought. In the square she held her  hand out  to the stream of water in the
fountain, fingering the sparkling  spray; then she sat down, rested a  while
and returned to the forest road. She traversed it in refreshed spirits, in a
mood as peaceful and clear as a stream in evening that had finally exchanged
the flashing  mirrors  of  the  day  for  the  calm  glow  of  the  shadows.
Approaching the village, she  saw the  selfsame coalman who had imagined his
basket sprouting blossoms; he was standing beside his cart with two strange,
sullen men who were covered with soot and dirt. Assol was very pleased.
     "Hello, Phillip. What are you doing here?"
     "Nothing, Midge. A wheel got  loose.  I fixed it, and now I'm  having a
smoke and talking to my friends. Where were you?"
     Assol did not reply.
     "You know, Phillip,  I like  you very  much, and that's why  you're the
only one I'm telling this to. I'll be leaving soon.  I'll probably  be going
away for good. Don't tell anyone, though."
     "You mean you want to go away? Where to?" The coalman was  so surprised
he gaped, which made his beard still longer than it was.
     "I don't know." Slowly, she took  in the clearing, the elm under  which
the  cart stood,  the  grass  that was  so green in the  pink twilight,  the
silent, grimy coalmen and added after a pause:  "I don't  know. I don't know
the day  or the hour, or  even where it'll  be. I can't tell  you  any more.
That's why  I  want to say goodbye, just in  case. You've often  given me  a
lift."
     She took his huge, soot-blackened hand and more or less managed to give
it a shake. The  worker's face cracked in  a  stiff  smile. The girl nodded,
turned and  walked off. She  disappeared even before Phillip and his friends
had a chance to turn their heads.
     "Ain't  it a wonder?" the  coalman  said.  "How's a body  to understand
that? There's something about her today ... funny, like, I mean."
     "You're right," the second  man agreed. "You can't tell whether she was
just  saying that  or  trying  to  make  us  believe her.  It's none of  our
business."
     "It's none of our business," said the third and sighed.
     Then  the three of them got into the cart and, as the  wheels clattered
over the rocky road, disappeared in a cloud of dust.
        VII. THE CRIMSON SECRET
     It was  a  white  hour of  morning; a faint  mist crowded with  strange
phantoms filled  the  great forest. An  unnamed hunter, having just left his
campfire, was making his way parallel  to the  river; the light  of its airy
emptiness  glimmered through the trees,  but  the  cautious hunter  did  not
approach  the  river  as he  examined the fresh tracks of a  bear  that  was
heading for the mountains.
     A  sudden sound rushed through the trees with the  unexpectedness of an
alarming chase; it was the clarinet bursting into song. The musician, having
come up on deck, played a passage full of  sad and mournful  repetition. The
sound trembled like a voice concealing grief; it rose, smiled in a sad trill
and ended abruptly. A distant echo hummed the same melody faintly.
     The hunter, marking the  tracks with a broken twig, made his way to the
water. The  fog had not  yet lifted; it  obscured the  silhouette of a large
ship turning slowly out of the river. Its furled sails came to life, hanging
down in festoons, coming unfurled  and covering the masts with the  helpless
shields of their huge folds; he could hear voices and the
     sound  of steps. The off-shore wind, attempting to blow,  picked at the
sails lazily; finally, the sun's warmth had the desired effect; the pressure
of the wind increased, lifted the fog and streamed  along the yards into the
light crimson shapes so full of roses. Rosy  shadows slipped along the white
of  the masts  and rigging, and everything  was  white except  the unfurled,
full-blown sails which were the colour of true
     joy-The  hunter, staring  from the bank, rubbed his eyes hard  until he
was  finally  convinced  that  what  he was  seeing was  indeed  so  and not
otherwise. The  ship  disappeared around a  bend,  but he still stood there,
staring; then, shrugging, he went after his bear.
     While the Secret sailed  along the  river,  Gray stood at the helm, not
trusting it to the helmsman, for  he was afraid of shoals. Panten sat beside
him, freshly-shaven and sulking resignedly, and wearing a  new worsted  suit
and a shiny  new cap.  As before, he saw no connection  between  the crimson
magnificence and Gray's intentions.
     "Now," said  Gray, "when my sails are glowing, the wind is fair and  my
heart is  overflowing  with  joy  that  is greater  than  what  an  elephant
experiences at the  sight of  a small bun, I shall try  to attune  you to my
thoughts  as  I promised  back in Liss.  Please bear  in  mind that  I don't
consider you  dull-witted or stubborn, no;  you are an exemplary seaman  and
this means a lot. But you, as  the great majority of others, hear the voices
of all the simple  truths through the thick  glass of  life; they shout, but
you will not hear them. What I'm doing exists  as an old-fashioned belief in
the beautiful and  unattainable,  and what, actually, is  as attainable  and
possible  as a  picnic.  You  will soon see a girl who  cannot, who must not
marry otherwise  than  in  the manner  I  am  following and  which  you  are
witnessing."
     He related in short that which we know so well, concluding thus:
     "You see how closely entwined here are fate, will and human nature; I'm
going to the one  who is waiting and  can wait for me alone,  while I do not
want any other but her, perhaps just because, thanks  to her, I've  come  to
understand a  simple truth, namely:  you must  make  so-called miracles come
true yourself. When  a  person  places  the  most  importance on  getting  a
treasured copper  it's not hard to  give him that copper, but  when the soul
cherishes  the seed of  an ardent plant--a  miracle, make  this miracle come
true for it if you can.
     "This person's soul will  change and yours will,  too.  When the  chief
warden releases a  prisoner of his own free will,  when a  billionaire gives
his scribe a villa, a chorus girl and  a safe, and when a jockey holds  back
his horse just once to let  an unlucky  horse pass him,-- then everyone will
understand how pleasant this is, how inexpressibly wonderful. But there  are
miracles of no  less magnitude: a smile,  merriment, forgiveness and ... the
right word spoken opportunely. If one  possesses this--one possesses all. As
for me,  our  beginning--Assol's and  mine--will  forever remain to  us in a
crimson glow of sails, created by the depths of a heart that knows what love
is. Have you understood me?"
     "Yes,  Captain." Panten cleared his throat and wiped his moustache with
a  neatly-folded,  clean  handkerchief.  "I  understand  everything.  You've
touched my heart. I'll go below and  tell Nicks  I'm sorry I cursed him  for
sinking  a pail yesterday. And  I'll  give  him some tobacco--he lost his at
cards yesterday."
     Before Gray, who was somewhat  surprised at the quick practical  effect
his words had had, was able  to reply, Panten had  clattered down the ladder
and heaved a  sigh in  the distance.  Gray looked  up over his shoulder; the
crimson sails billowed silently above him; the sun in their seams shone as a
purple mist. The Secret was heading out  to sea, moving away from the shore.
There was no doubt in Gray's ringing soul -- no dull pounding of anxiety, no
bustle of  small worries; as calmly  as  a sail  was he straining towards  a
heavenly goal, his mind full of those thoughts which forestall words.
     The  puffs of  smoke  of a naval cruiser  appeared  on the horizon. The
cruiser changed its course and, from a distance  of half a mile, raised  the
signal that stood for "lie to".
     "They won't shell us, boys," Gray said. "Don't worry! They simply can't
believe their eyes."
     He gave the order  to lie to. Panten, shouting as if there were a fire,
brought the Secret out of the wind; the ship stopped,  while a steam  launch
manned by a crew and lieutenant  in white gloves  sped towards them from the
cruiser;  the  lieutenant,  stepping  aboard  the  ship,  looked  around  in
amazement  and followed Gray to his  cabin, from  which  he emerged an  hour
later,  smiling as if he had just been promoted and, with an awkward wave of
his hand,  headed  back to  his blue cruiser. This time  Gray had apparently
been more successful than he had with  the unsophisticated Panten, since the
cruiser,  pausing shortly,  blasted the  horizon  with a  mighty salvo whose
swift  bursts  of smoke, ripping through the  air  in great, flashing balls,
furled  away  over  the still  waters.  All day  long  there  was  an air of
half-festive bewilderment on board the  cruiser; the mood was definitely not
official, it was one of awe -- under the  sign of love, of which  there  was
talk everywhere,-- from the officers' mess to the engine  room; the watch on
duty in the torpedo section asked a passing sailor:
     "How'd you get married, Tom?"
     "I caught  her  by the  skirt  when  she tried to  escape  through  the
window," Tom said and twirled his moustache proudly.
     For some time after the Secret plied the empty sea, out of sight of the
shore;  towards noon  they  sighted  the  distant  shore.  Gray  lifted  his
telescope and  trained it on Kaperna.  If not  for a row of roofs,  he would
have spotted Assol  sitting over a book by  the window in one of the houses.
She was  reading; a  small  greenish beetle  was  crawling  along  the page,
stopping and rising up on its front legs, looking very independent and tame.
It had already been blown  peevishly onto the window-sill twice, from whence
it  had reappeared as trustingly and unafraid  as if it had had something to
say. This time it managed to get nearly as  far as the girl's hand which was
holding  the corner  of  the page; here it got  stuck  on  the word  "look",
hesitated  as if awaiting a new squall and, indeed, barely  escaped trouble,
since Assol had already exclaimed: "Oh!  That...  silly bug!"--and was about
to blow the visitor right into  the grass when a chance shifting of her eyes
from one rooftop to another revealed to her in  the blue strip of sea at the
end of the street a white ship with crimson sails.
     She  started  visibly,  leaned back and froze; then she  jumped up, her
heart sinking  dizzily,  and  burst into  uncontrollable  tears of  inspired
shock. Meanwhile, the Secret  was rounding  a  small  cape,  its  port  side
towards the shore; soft music wafted over the light-blue hollow, coming from
the  white deck  beneath  the crimson  silk;  the music of a  lilting melody
expressed not too successfully by the well-known words: "Fill,  fill up your
glasses  --  and let  us drink to  love...."  In its  simplicity,  exulting,
excitement unfurled and rumbled.
     Unmindful of how  she had left the  house,  Assol ran towards  the sea,
caught up  by the irresistible wind of events; she stopped at the very first
corner, nearly  bereft  of strength; her knees buckled,  her breath came  in
gasps and consciousness hung by a thread. Beside herself from fear of losing
her determination, she stamped her foot and ran on.  Every now  and  then  a
roof or a fence would  hide the crimson sails from view; then, fearful  lest
they had disappeared like some ordinary  mirage, she would hurry to pass the
tormenting obstacle and, sighting the ship once again, would stop to heave a
sigh of relief.
     Meanwhile, there was such commotion, such an uproar and such excitement
in Kaperna as was comparable to the effect of the  famous earthquakes. Never
before had a  large ship  approached this shore; the ship had the  very same
sails whose colour sounded like a taunt; now  they were blazing brightly and
incontestably with the  innocence  of a fact that  refutes  all  the laws of
being and common sense. Men, women and children  were racing  helter-skelter
towards the shore; the inhabitants shouted to each other over their  fences,
bumped into each other, howled and tumbled; soon a crowd had gathered at the
water's edge, and into the crowd Assol rushed.
     As long as she  was not there her name was tossed around with a nervous
and  sullen tenseness, with hateful fear. The  men did  most of the talking;
the thunderstruck women sobbed  in a choked, snake-like hissing, but  if one
did begin to rattle -- the poison rose to her head. The moment Assol
     appeared everyone became silent, everyone moved away from  her in fear,
and she  remained alone on the empty stretch of hot sand, at a  loss, shamed
and  happy,  with  a face  no  less crimson  than  her  miracle,  helplessly
stretching her hands towards the tall ship.
     A  rowboat manned by  bronzed oarsmen detached  itself  from  the ship;
among  them stood he whom  she  now felt she had known,  had  dimly recalled
since  childhood.  He  was looking at  her with  a  smile which  warmed  and
beckoned.  But thousands  of last-stand, silly fears  gripped Assol; deathly
afraid of  everything--an error, misunderstanding, some  mysterious  or evil
hindrance -- she plunged waist-deep into the warm undulation of  the  waves,
shouting: "I'm here, I'm here! It's me!"
     Then  Zimmer  raised  his  bow -- and the  very same melody struck  the
nerves of the crowd,  but this time it was  a full-voiced, triumphant choir.
From excitement, the  motion  of the clouds and  waves, the  glitter of  the
water and the distance the girl was  hardly able to discern what was moving:
she  herself, the ship or  the rowboat,--everything was moving, spinning and
falling.
     But an oar slashed  the water next  to  her;  she raised her head. Gray
bent down, and her hands gripped his belt.
     Assol shut her eyes tight; then she opened them quickly,  smiled boldly
into his beaming face and said breathlessly:
     "Just as I imagined you."
     "And  you, too, my dear!"  Gray said, lifting his wet treasure from the
water. "I've come at last. Do you recognize me?"
     She nodded, holding  onto  his  belt, trembling with a  reborn soul and
eyes shut quiveringly tight. Happiness was as a soft kitten curled up inside
of her. When Assol  decided to open her eyes the rocking of the rowboat, the
sparkle of the waves, the huge, approaching, moving side of  the Secret--all
was  a dream,  where the light and the water bobbed and spun like sun-sports
cavorting  on a  sunshine-streaked wall. She did not  remember  how she  was
carried up the gangplank in Gray's strong arms. The deck, covered and draped
with rugs,  engulfed by  the  crimson splashing  of the sails,  was  like  a
heavenly garden. And soon Assol saw that she was  in a cabin--in a room than
which nothing could be better.
     Then from above, rending and absorbing the heart in its triumphant cry,
once again the  thunderous music crashed.  Once  again  Assol shut her eyes,
fearful lest  all this disappear if she were to  look. Gray  took her  hands
and, knowing now where safety lay, she buried her tear-stained  face  on the
breast of her beloved, who had appeared  so miraculously. Gently, but with a
smile,  for  he,  too,  was  overwhelmed  and amazed by  the  coming  of the
inexpressible, precious minute,  inaccessible to anyone else, Gray tilted up
this face that had haunted him for so long, and the eyes of the girl finally
opened wide. All that was best in a person was in them.
     "Will you take my Longren with us?" she said.
     "Yes."  And he kissed  her so passionately after saying this firm "yes"
that she laughed delightedly.
     We shall leave them  now, knowing that  they should be alone. There are
many words in the many languages and dialects of the world, but none of them
can even faintly convey that which they said to each other that day.
     Meanwhile,  up on deck, by the mainmast  the  entire crew waited at the
worm-eaten cask with the top knocked off to reveal the hundred-year old dark
magnificence.  Atwood stood by; Panten sat as  primly blissful  as a newborn
babe. Gray  came up on  deck, signalled  to the orchestra and,  removing his
cap, was the first to dip a glass, to the accompaniment of the golden horns,
into the sacred wine.
     "There..." he said, when he  had  drunk and then tossed down his glass.
"Now drink. Everybody, drink! Anyone who doesn't drink is my enemy."
     He did not have  to repeat  his words. As the  Secret proceeded at full
speed,  under  full  sail,  away  from  Kaperna,  which had been struck dumb
forever,  the jostling  around the cask  was greater  than  anything in this
manner that occurs at great fetes.
     "How did you like it?" Gray asked Letika.
     "Captain," the sailor said,  searching  for the  right  words, "I don't
know  whether it  liked  me,  but I'll  have to think  over  my impressions.
Beehive and orchard!"
     "What?"
     "I mean it's like having a beehive and an orchard put into my mouth. Be
happy, Captain.  And  may she whom I will call 'the best cargo', the Secrefs
best prize, be happy, too!"
     When dawn broke the following  morning the  ship  was far from Kaperna.
Part of the crew were asleep where they had stretched out on  deck, overcome
by Gray's  wine; only the  helmsman, the  watch  and a thoughtful and  tipsy
Zimmer who sat  near the prow with his  chin resting on the  finger-board of
his cello were up. He sat there, drawing  his bow across the strings softly,
making them speak in a magic, heavenly voice, and was thinking of happiness.

              1920