I felt, too, a coldness of water
spurting down my arm and clutched wildly at the sleeve of my
diving-suit to seal the little hole which I saw in it.
Holding it tightly with my left hand, I slashed with my right
at the creatures who were now moving upon me menacingly,
pressing me close. If they forced me back into the doorway,
all hope would be gone. I cut desperately at the fastenings
that secured the weights; felt myself rising; felt my legs
pull out from the clinging, slimy arms; looked down at
them--a sea of bobbing smooth heads, of round,
expressionless, black eyes; saw them waving their
tentacle-like arms in fury; saw at last the dim, golden crest
of the tallest tower below my feet; burst above the blessed
sea-level and saw good blue waves slapping the bow of the
brigantine drifting lazily down toward me.
I know nothing of the voyage home. I must have been poisoned
by the missile, whatever it was, that the sea-creature flung
at me. (I bear the scar to this day.) For I have no
recollection of much more, until I sat in the library
bow-window of my father's house, very tired and stiff and
thoroughly thankful that the voyage was over. It was dark,
and my mother sat sewing beside a shaded lamp and singing to
herself. I fingered the book that lay beside me, on the
window-seat, and said:
"Mother, did you keep the book just here all the time I was
gone because you were sorry I went and wanted to remember
me?"
She laughed, and said: "Yes, all the time while you were
sailing to the Port of Stars.
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