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Updated: June 3, 2025
And I knew the girl for Edith, his wife, who in vain effort to save him had cast herself into the Dweller's embrace! "Throckmartin!" I cried. "Throckmartin! I'm here!" Did he hear? I know now, of course, he could not. But then I waited hope striving to break through the nightmare hands that gripped my heart. Their wide eyes never left me.
"But they have souls, mavourneen," Larry said to her. "And they're alive still in a way. Anyhow, their souls have not gone from them." I caught a hope from his words sceptic though I am holding that the existence of soul has never been proved by dependable laboratory methods for they recalled to me that when I had seen Throckmartin, Edith had been close beside him.
Seems to 'ave given you quite a start." I made some reply and went slowly up to my chair. There I sat, composed my mind and tried to define what it was that had shaken me so. Now it came to me. The old Throckmartin was on the eve of his venture just turned forty, lithe, erect, muscular; his controlling expression one of enthusiasm, of intellectual keenness, of what shall I say expectant search.
Fitfully before the ship and at her sides arose those stranger little swirls of mist that swirl up from the Southern Ocean like breath of sea monsters, whirl for an instant and disappear. Suddenly the deck door opened and through it came Throckmartin. He paused uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager, intent gaze, hesitated, then closed the door behind him. "Throck," I called.
Had that overpowering sleep and now I confess that my struggle against it had been largely inspired by fear that it was the abnormal slumber which Throckmartin had described as having heralded the approach of the Dweller before it had carried away Thora and Stanton had that sleep been after all nothing but natural reaction of tired nerves and brains?
When dawn broke I went to my room to get a little sleep myself. But my slumber was haunted. The next day the storm was unabated. Throckmartin came to me at lunch. He had regained much of his old alertness. "Come to my cabin," he said. There, he stripped his shirt from him. "Something is happening," he said. "The mark is smaller." It was as he said.
Come with me to my cabin, old friend. For now that you too have seen I can tell you" he hesitated "what it was you saw," he ended. As we passed through the door we met the ship's first officer. Throckmartin composed his face into at least a semblance of normality. "Going to have much of a storm?" he asked. "Yes," said the mate. "Probably all the way to Melbourne."
A solid sheet of rain swept the ports, and the Southern Queen began to roll on the rising swells. Throckmartin drew another deep breath of relief, and drawing aside a curtain peered out into the night. Its blackness seemed to reassure him. At any rate, when he sat again he was entirely calm. "There are no more wonderful ruins in the world," he began almost casually.
My first task had been to search for Throckmartin and his wife among the fallen multitudes strewn thick as autumn leaves along the flying arch of stone, over the cavern ledge, and back, back as far as the eye could reach. At last, Lakla and Larry helping, we found them.
But the Throckmartin I had seen below was one who had borne some scaring shock of mingled rapture and horror; some soul cataclysm that in its climax had remoulded, deep from within, his face, setting on it seal of wedded ecstasy and despair; as though indeed these two had come to him hand in hand, taken possession of him and departing left behind, ineradicably, their linked shadows!
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