ang, so potent was the magic, he lusted to live. Sentient
only to the desires she kindled, out of account lay the dead heart, and
the broken strength, and the body so shattered within and without, that
wonder was it yet could hold a man's life. Pain was excluded by a great
sensual joy of living.

Her song manned the mirage of her delight, and straightway he was
passionate for life. Never before had she acknowledged the sea-fellowship
to occasion the ravenous ache of jealousy. She sang of the mermen, and
they rose before him visionary at the spell, with vigorous hair and
frolic eyes, very men, lithe and sinewy for the chase and capture of
their feminine fairest in amorous play. Life was one fire burning for the
hot war of nature's males, as through the riot, whirling with the song,
he eyed challenge and promise of a splendid wrestle with strong, hard
limbs; and the liquid, exquisite voice was a call to him to speed in and
win, nor suffer the wanton sea-brood to prevail.

It was then that his body fell, face forward, never to rise again.

On sang Diadyomene, not knowing that a power stronger than her magic,
stronger than his will, kept him from her feet. On she sang, herself
possessed, uttering not with her own will more than magic. What alien
element underlay the spell she would deliver? what lurking revelation to
be dreaded, to be desired, hid beneath? Her voice was caught back again,
and yet again, to repeat the finish:

'As a singer the breath to be rendered song, As a child the life that
will last so long-- As a child----'

Then bell notes fell in a chime. She lifted her head; they rang, she
hearkened, motionless, wordless.

It was midnight, and joy for the birth of Christ thrilled the world. No
spell could hold. Christian must resume the throes of death.

The cold and the tide were merciful to shorten. His limbs were stone-cold
and dead already, past motion, past pain. Against his side the foremost
lap of the tide told. It licked and bit along his body, flanks, breast,
throat, touched his cheek. Astray against his face he felt the thread of
rowan. It kissed along cheek, along brow, and swung wide and away.

'Christ, Christ, ah! Christ.'

He turned his head and drank of the brine, and drank and drank to slake
the rage of thirst. The drawing of breath made hindrance: not for long.
The last draughts he took were somewhat sharp and painful, but they
quenched his thirst. He was entirely satisfied.

'We beseech