There was still
hope, therefore, for those who yet remained in the water. Maso felt the
eagerness of one who had already been successful beyond his hopes, and, in
his desire to catch some guiding signal, he leaned forward, till the
rolling lake washed into his face.
"Ha! gallant--gallant Nettuno!"
Men certainly spoke, and that near him. But the sounds resembled words
uttered beneath a cover. The wind whistled, too, though but for a moment,
and then it seemed to sail upward into the dark vault of the heavens.
Nettuno barked audibly, and his master answered with another shout, for
the sympathy of man in his kind is inextinguishable.
"My brave, my noble Nettuno!"
The stillness was now imposing, and Maso heard the dog growl. This
ill-omened signal was undeniably followed by smothered voices. The latter
became clearer, as if the mocking winds were willing that a sad exhibition
of human frailty should be known, or, what is more probable, violent
passion had awakened stronger powers of speech. This much the mariner
understood.
"Loosen thy grasp, accursed Baptiste!"
"Wretch, loosen thine own!"
"Is God naught with thee?"
"Why dost throttle so, infernal Nicklaus?"
"Thou wilt die damned!"
"Thou chokest--villain--pardon!--pardon!"
He heard no more.
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