aret,
knowing not what to say, but feeling that he had seen somewhat high
and heavenly, sate in silence; and presently Paul, breaking out of a
muse, began to talk of the sweet days of their youth, and of the
tender mercies of God. But while he spoke, he suddenly broke off, and
held up his hand; and there came a waft of music upon the air. And
Paul smiled like a tired child, and lay back in his chair; and as he
did so a string of the lute that lay beside him broke with a sweet
sharp sound. And the Lady Margaret fell upon her knees beside him, and
took his hand; and then she seemed to see a cloudy gate, and two that
stood together--a fair woman and a child; and up to the gate, out of a
cloud, came swiftly a man, like one that reaches his home at last; and
the three went in at the gate together, hand in hand;--and then the
music came once again, and died upon the air.

THE ISLES OF SUNSET

About midway between the two horns of the bay, the Isles of Sunset
pierced the sea. There was deep blue water all around them, and the
sharp and fretted pinnacles of rock rose steeply up to heaven. The top
of the largest was blunt, and covered with a little carpet of grass
and sea-herbs. The rest were nought but cruel spires, on which no foot
but that of sea-birds could go. At one place there was a small creek,
into which a boat might be thrust, but only when the sea was calm; and
near the top of the rock, just over this, was the dark mouth of a
little cave.

The bay in which the Isles lay was quite deserted; the moorland came
to the edge of the cliffs, and through a steep and rocky ravine, the
sides of which were overgrown with ferns and low trees, all brushed
landward by the fierce winds, a stream fell hoarsely to the sea,
through deep rock-pools. The only living things there were the wild
birds, the moorfowl in the heather, hawks that built in the rock face,
and pigeons that made their nest in hollow places. Sometimes a stag
pacing slowly on the cliff-top would look over, but that was seldom.

Yet on these desolate and fearful rocks there dwelt a man, a hermit
named David. He had grown up as a fisher-boy in the neighbouring
village--an awkward silent boy with large eyes which looked as though
they were full of inward dreams. The people of the place were
Christians after a sort, though it was but seldom that a priest came
near them; and then only by sea, for there was no road to the place.
But David