"The spectacle is painful." I performed such a bow as I could, sitting there, and took up my oars again.

I had made my advance; if such were the welcome, no more should come from me.

I rowed slowly on, then lay on my oars awhile, waiting for darkness to fall.

The night came, misty again and chill.

I grew cold as I waited (my clothes were but half-dry), and would gladly have thumped myself with my hands.