line, the lapping waves already assuming a grey tint. These masses
formed the framework of a picture which embraced a boundless wealth of
colour, an infinite depth of softness. Straight from the sun shot out
across Cobo Bay a joyous river of gold, so bright that eye could ill
bear to face its glow; here and there in its course stood out
quaintly-shaped rocks, some drenched with the fulness of the glorious
bath, others catching now and again a sprinkling shower. On each side of
the river the sea, clear to its depths where alternate sand and rock
made a tangle of capriciously mingled light and shade; its surface, here
blue as the still waters of the Grotta Azzurra, there green as the
olive, here again red-brown as Carthaginian marble, lay waveless, as
with a sense that the beauty was too perfect to be disturbed. Suddenly
the scene was changed; the lustrous outflow was swiftly drawn in and
absorbed; a grey hue swept over the darkening surface; in the distance
the round, blood-coloured, orb hung above the expectant ocean.

Then all assembled fell on their knees. The music gave out sharp
plaintive notes which were answered by the voices of men and women in
short, wailing, as it were inquiring, rhythm; this continued till the
sun was on the point of disappearance, when music and voices together
burst into a sad chant, seemingly of farewell; the kneeling people
extending their hands seaward with an appealing gesture. One figure only
was erect; on the projecting boulder, which is still so conspicuous a
feature of the Rocque du Guet, stood the sorceress, her arms also
outstretched, her figure, firm, erect, sharply outlined, such as
Turner's mind conceived when he sketched the Last Man.

Father Austin contemplated the scene from a distance. By his side was
his favourite convert, Jean Letocq.

"Strange!" he said, placing his hand on his companion's shoulder. "Your
race are not sun-worshippers. Never, except on this day of the year, do
they show this feeling; but who that saw them to-day would doubt that
they are so! Is it that from old times their intense love of nature has
led them to show in this way their sadness at its decay? or do they by
mourning over the close of the sun's longest day symbolize their
recognition of the inevitable end of the longest life of man? I cannot
tell. But, blind as this worship is, it is better than that of the work
of man's hands. By God's will your countrymen may be led from kneeling
to the crea