ore made Antony late for
dinner. One hour, and two hours, went by, and then Beatrice, in alarm,
took the lantern and courageously braved the blackness of the wood.

The chalet was in darkness, and the door was locked, but through the
uncurtained glass of the window, she was able to irradiate the emptiness
of its interior. Antony was not there.

But she noticed, with a shudder, that the space usually filled by the
Image was vacant. Then she understood, and with a hopeless sigh went
down the wood again.

Already Antony and Silencieux had found the place where the loneliest
land meets the loneliest sea. Side by side they were sitting on a
moonlit margin of the world, and Antony was singing low to the murmur of
the waves:--

Hopeless of hope, past desire even of thee,
There is one place I long for,
A desolate place
That I sing all my songs for,
A desolate place for a desolate face,
Where the loneliest land meets the loneliest sea.

Green waves and green grasses--and nought else is nigh,
But a shadow that beckons;
A desolate face,
And a shadow that beckons
The desolate face to the desolate place
Where the loneliest sea meets the loneliest sky.

Wide sea and wide heaven, and all else afar,
But a spirit is singing,
A desolate soul
That is joyfully winging--
A desolate soul--to that desolate goal
Where the loneliest wave meets the loneliest star.

"It is not good," said Silencieux.

"I know," answered Antony.

"Throw it into the sea."

"It is not worthy of the sea."

"Burn it."

"Fire is too august."

"Throw it to the winds."

"They are too busy."

"Bury it."

"It would make barren a whole meadow."

"Forget it."

"I will--And you?"

"I will."

And Antony and Silencieux laughed softly together by the sea.

Many days Antony and Silencieux stayed together by the sea. They loved
it together in all its changes, in sun and rain, in wild wind and dreamy
calm; at morning when it shone like a spirit, at evening when it
flickered like a ghost, at noon when it lay asleep curled up like a
woman in the arms of the land. Sometimes at evening they sat in the
little fishing harbour, watching the incoming boats, till the sky grew
sad with rigging and old men's faces.

Then at last Silencieux said: "I am weary of the sea. Let us go to the
town--to the lights and the sad cries of the human waves."

So they went to the town and found a room hi