d quadrangular court of grey
stone, open to the sky, but shielded to windward with glass.
Red-lipped flowers drip over its pillars, adding vastly to the charm of
the scene. The pool is flanked on the hotel side by retiring-rooms
which are as luxurious and sleep inviting as those of ancient Rome or
Pompeii. Overhead, the guests may look down into the green waters and
watch the bathers spring from the diving-boards or cavort about like
young dolphins, tritons, or lightsome naiads. No matter how phlegmatic
you may be, you will wish to tarry here indefinitely and to rest from
your labours, for a voluptuous languor slides into your veins till even
the mountains round about seem illusory and unreal. Here it is
"Paradise enow." With this alchemy of water and sun and these electric
currents of earth and sky, you could hardly expect aught but healing
and enchantment.

But the attendants will not let you stay too long in the water, for it
is not wise to accumulate any more sulphur on your person than is
necessary to strike a light, for, owing to our proximity to the
magnetic pole, most of us are already dynamos.

At the fall of day, a storm rises in the hills. These seem to come
close together and whisper, and the sound is like the whirr of swords.

Many people who are wise talk about storm spirits, so there must be
such ... poor distracted beings who wring their hands and moan in black
discord. It may be they are the souls of murdered folk, and those who
have been executed, and they cry curses on all who live and love and
laugh. You must be afraid of them if you are like me. My windows look
down on the Valley of the Bow and out upon a riot of hills. There is
nothing more beautiful in the girth of the Seven Seas, but, to-night,
this scene is awesome and full of strangeness. The black clouds are
laced with streaks of lightning, or it may be that the spirits thrust
out red tongues in derision.

Lord, how it blows! and I am afraid of this thunder and the shouting of
the storm. The wind grapples with the trees as though they were living
creatures and it makes no difference that they crouch and cry for
mercy. It is Bendan, the Pine Wrestler, who is out there, and when
angry he can pluck up a young tree with his little finger or break it
with a push of his shoulder. But he does not do this often; he only
wrestles to make them strong.

It is better for a woman to go down to the great stone dining-hall with
its yellow