ing hands, dug up sand. What was it seeking, his rooting imagination? What was it seeking in the deep pit, why was it flinging the sand around him . . . just as Addie once told him that Ernst had dug and flung up sand . . . in the dunes . . . in the dunes at Nunspeet? . . . What! . . . What! . . . Was he going mad too! . . . Was he going mad . . . like Ernst? Was he going mad . . . like Ernst? . . . A cold sweat broke out over his chilly, shivering body. Was he going mad? . . .
"Gerrit! . . . Gerrit!"
A voice sounded very far away through the house, which had suddenly become very deep, very wide, very big.
"Gerrit! . . . Gerrit!"
He could hear the hurrying footsteps on the creaking stairs, but he was powerless to answer.
"Gerrit! . . . Gerrit! . . . Where are you?"
The door opened. It was Adeline, looking for him . . . in the dark:
"Gerrit! . . . Are you here? . . .
Even yet he did not answer.
"Where are you, Gerrit?"
"Here."
"Are you here?"
"Yes."
"Why are you sitting in the dark . . . in the cold? . . . What are you doing here, Gerrit? . . ."
"I . . . I was looking for something."
