Are they not pale?
And look at my face--is it not pale?
Is it not pale--is it not pale?
Oh, Haggart, my dear Haggart." They grieve silently.

The heavy ocean is splashing, tossing about, spitting and snorting and sniffing peacefully.

The sea is calm to-night and alone, as always.
"Tell Haggart--" says the sad voice.
"Very well.

I will tell Haggart." "Tell Haggart that I love him." Silence--and then a faint, plaintive reproach resounds softly: "If your voice were not so grave, sir, I would have thought that you were laughing at me.

Am I not Haggart that I should tell something to Haggart?
But no--I sense a different meaning in your words, and you frighten me again.