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He
interrupted
her
when
she
gave
the
lines
:
"
And
her
eyes
should
be
my
light
while
the
sun
went
out
behind
me
,
And
the
viols
in
her
voice
be
the
last
sound
in
my
ear
.
"
"
There
are
viols
in
your
voice
,
"
he
said
bluntly
,
and
his
eyes
flashed
their
golden
light
.
I
could
have
shouted
with
joy
at
her
control
.
She
finished
the
concluding
stanza
without
faltering
and
then
slowly
guided
the
conversation
into
less
perilous
channels
.
And
all
the
while
I
sat
in
a
half-daze
,
the
drunken
riot
of
the
steerage
breaking
through
the
bulkhead
,
the
man
I
feared
and
the
woman
I
loved
talking
on
and
on
.
The
table
was
not
cleared
.
The
man
who
had
taken
Mugridge
's
place
had
evidently
joined
his
comrades
in
the
forecastle
.
If
ever
Wolf
Larsen
attained
the
summit
of
living
,
he
attained
it
then
.
From
time
to
time
I
forsook
my
own
thoughts
to
follow
him
,
and
I
followed
in
amaze
,
mastered
for
the
moment
by
his
remarkable
intellect
,
under
the
spell
of
his
passion
,
for
he
was
preaching
the
passion
of
revolt
.
It
was
inevitable
that
Milton
's
Lucifer
should
be
instanced
,
and
the
keenness
with
which
Wolf
Larsen
analysed
and
depicted
the
character
was
a
revelation
of
his
stifled
genius
.
It
reminded
me
of
Taine
,
yet
I
knew
the
man
had
never
heard
of
that
brilliant
though
dangerous
thinker
.
"
He
led
a
lost
cause
,
and
he
was
not
afraid
of
God
's
thunderbolts
,
"
Wolf
Larsen
was
saying
.
"
Hurled
into
hell
,
he
was
unbeaten
.
A
third
of
God
's
angels
he
had
led
with
him
,
and
straightway
he
incited
man
to
rebel
against
God
,
and
gained
for
himself
and
hell
the
major
portion
of
all
the
generations
of
man
.
Why
was
he
beaten
out
of
heaven
?
Because
he
was
less
brave
than
God
?
less
proud
?
less
aspiring
?
No
!
A
thousand
times
no
!
God
was
more
powerful
,
as
he
said
,
Whom
thunder
hath
made
greater
.
But
Lucifer
was
a
free
spirit
.
To
serve
was
to
suffocate
.
He
preferred
suffering
in
freedom
to
all
the
happiness
of
a
comfortable
servility
.
He
did
not
care
to
serve
God
.
He
cared
to
serve
nothing
.
He
was
no
figure-head
.
He
stood
on
his
own
legs
.
He
was
an
individual
.
"
"
The
first
Anarchist
,
"
Maud
laughed
,
rising
and
preparing
to
withdraw
to
her
state-room
.
"
Then
it
is
good
to
be
an
anarchist
!
"
he
cried
.
He
,
too
,
had
risen
,
and
he
stood
facing
her
,
where
she
had
paused
at
the
door
of
her
room
,
as
he
went
on
:
