He heard the
entering wave push through some narrow opening, search round the walls
for egress, lift itself in a vain effort to emerge, fall back baffled,
retreat, murmuring discontent, only to be succeeded by another eager
wave. And this startling living noise of water filled him with a
sensation of acute anxiety, almost of active fear.
"Hermione!" he said once more.
It seemed to him that the voice of the water drowned his voice, that
it was growing louder, was filling the palace with an uproar that was
angry.
"Hermione! Hermione!"
He strove to dominate that uproar.
Now, far off, through the seaward opening, he saw a streak of silver
lying like a thread upon the darkness of the sea. And as he saw it,
the voice of the waves within the palace seemed to sink suddenly away
almost to silence. He did not know why, but the vision of that very
distant radiance of the young and already setting moon seemed to
restore to him abruptly the accuracy of his sense of hearing.
He again went forward a few steps, descending in the chamber towards
the doorway by the worn remains of an almost effaced staircase.
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