y yellow light shone through
the haze of morning, as behind a curtain, and told that the sun was on
his way. As their eyes became accustomed to the dim light (which was
darkness compared to that which had visited their dreams among the
ferns), the watchmen alternately swept the expanse with their glass, and
pronounced that there was not a sail in sight.

"I believe, however, that this will be our day; the wind is fair for the
fleet," said Toussaint to Henri. "Go and bathe while I watch."

"We have said for a week past that each would be the day," replied
Henri. "If it be to-day, however, they can hardly have a fairer for the
first sight of the paradise which poets and ladies praise at the French
court. It promises to be the loveliest day of the year. I shall be
here again before the sun has risen."

And Christophe retired to bathe in the waterfall which made itself heard
from behind the ferns, and was hidden by them; springing, as they did,
to a height of twenty feet and upwards. To the murmur and gush of this
waterfall the friends had slept. An inhabitant of the tropics is so
accustomed to sound, that he cannot sleep in the midst of silence: and
on these heights there would have been everlasting silence but for the
voice of waters, and the thunders and their echoes in the season of
storms.

When both had refreshed themselves, they took their seat on some broken
ground on the verge of the precipice, sometimes indulging their full
minds with silence, but continually looking abroad over the now
brightening sea. It was becoming of a deeper blue as the sky grew
lighter, except at that point of the east where earth and heaven seemed
to be kindling with a mighty fire. There the haze was glowing with
purple and crimson; and there was Henri intently watching for the first
golden spark of the sun, when Toussaint touched his shoulder, and
pointed to the northwards. Shading his eyes with his hand, Christophe
strove to penetrate the grey mists which had gathered there.

"What is it?" said he--"a sail? Yes: there is one--three--four!"

"There are seven," said Toussaint.

Long did he gaze through the glass at these seven sail; and then he
reported an eighth. At this moment his arm was grasped.

"See! see!" cried Christophe, who was looking southwards.

From behind the distant south-eastern promontory Del Euganno, now
appeared, sail after sail, to the number of twenty.

"All French," observed Christophe. "Lend