on our mental submission; we are conscious of a
premeditation beyond our human scope, and at no time are they more
startling than when we suddenly become aware of the beauty that is
mingled with their terror.

This hidden grotto was, if we may use the expression, siderealised.
There was everything in it to surprise and overwhelm. An apocalyptic
light illuminated this crypt. One could not tell if that which the eyes
looked upon was a reality, for reality bore the impress of the
impossible. One could see, and touch, and know that one was standing
there, and yet it was difficult to believe in it all.

Was it daylight which entered by this casement beneath the sea? Was it
indeed water which trembled in this dusky pool? Were not these arched
roofs and porches fashioned out of sunset clouds to imitate a cavern to
men's eyes? What stone was that beneath the feet? Was not this solid
shaft about to melt and pass into thin air? What was that cunning
jewellery of glittering shells, half seen beneath the wave? How far away
were life, and the green earth, and human faces? What strange
enchantment haunted that mystic twilight? What blind emotion, mingling
its sympathies with the uneasy restlessness of plants beneath the wave?

At the extremity of the cavern, which was oblong, rose a Cyclopean
archivolte, singularly exact in form. It was a species of cave within a
cave, of tabernacle within a sanctuary. Here, behind a sheet of bright
verdure, interposed like the veil of a temple, arose a stone out of the
waves, having square sides, and bearing some resemblance to an altar.
The water surrounded it in all parts. It seemed as if a goddess had
just descended from it. One might have dreamed there that some
celestial form beneath that crypt or upon that altar dwelt for ever
pensive in naked beauty, but grew invisible at the approach of mortals.
It was hard to conceive that majestic chamber without a vision within.
The day-dream of the intruder might evoke again the marvellous
apparition. A flood of chaste light falling upon white shoulders
scarcely seen; a forehead bathed with the light of dawn; an Olympian
visage oval-shaped; a bust full of mysterious grace; arms modestly
drooping; tresses unloosened in the aurora; a body delicately modelled
of pure whiteness, half-wrapped in a sacred cloud, with the glance of a
virgin; a Venus rising from the sea, or Eve issuing from chaos; such was
the dream which filled the mind.

It seemed improbab