washed cliff, and that he who looks forth
from its shattered mullions to-day sees only the marshland and the
wrinkled waters, hears only the plaint of the circling gulls and the
weary crying of the sea.

And that God's anger is not everlasting, and that the evil that there is
in men shall be blotted out, he who doubts may also learn from the wisdom
of the simple fisher-folk, who dwell about the borders of the marsh-land;
for they will tell him that on stormy nights there speaks a deep voice
from the sea, calling the dead monks to rise from their forgotten graves,
and chant a mass for the souls of the men of the town of seven towers.
Clothed in long glittering white, they move with slowly pacing feet
around the Abbey's grass-grown aisles, and the music of their prayers is
heard above the screaming of the storm. And to this I also can bear
witness, for I have seen the passing of their shrouded forms behind the
blackness of the shattered shafts; I have heard their sweet, sad singing
above the wailing of the wind.

Thus for many ages have the dead monks prayed that the men of the town of
seven towers may be forgiven. Thus, for many ages yet shall they so
pray, till the day come when of their once fair Abbey not a single stone
shall stand upon its fellow; and in that day it shall be known that the
anger of God against the men of the town of seven towers has passed away;
and in that day the feet of the waters shall move back, and the town of
seven towers shall stand again upon the dry land.

There be some, I know, who say that this is but a legend; who will tell
you that the shadowy shapes that you may see with your own eyes on stormy
nights, waving their gleaming arms behind the ruined buttresses are but
of phosphorescent foam, tossed by the raging waves above the cliffs; and
that the sweet, sad harmony cleaving the trouble of the night is but the
aeolian music of the wind.

But such are of the blind, who see only with their eyes. For myself I
see the white-robed monks, and hear the chanting of their mass for the
souls of the sinful men of the town of seven towers. For it has been
said that when an evil deed is done, a prayer is born to follow it
through time into eternity, and plead for it. Thus is the whole world
clasped around with folded hands both of the dead and of the living, as
with a shield, lest the shafts of God's anger should consume it.

Therefore, I know that the good monks of this nameless Abbey are s