rward across the pylon brow so far that it seemed that she must fall,
and stretching out her arms as though to clasp those beneath, showed all
the glory of her loveliness.

The Wanderer looked, then dropped his eyes as one who has seen the
brightness of the noonday sun. In the darkness of his mind the world was
lost, and he could think of naught save the clamour of the people, which
fretted his ears. They were all crying, and none were listening.

"See! see!" shouted one. "Look at her hair; it is dark as the raven's
wing, and her eyes--they are dark as night. Oh, my love! my love!"

"See! see!" cried another, "were ever skies so blue as those eyes of
hers, was ever foam so white as those white arms?"

"Even so she looked whom once I wed many summers gone," murmured a
third, "even so when first I drew her veil. Hers was that gentle smile
breaking like ripples on the water, hers that curling hair, hers that
child-like grace."

"Was ever woman so queenly made?" said a fourth. "Look now on the brow
of pride, look on the deep, dark eyes of storm, the arched lips, and the
imperial air. Ah, here indeed is a Goddess meet for worship."

"Not so I see her," cried a fifth, that man who had come from the host
of the Apura. "Pale she is and fair, tall indeed, but delicately shaped,
brown is her hair, and brown are her great eyes like the eyes of a stag,
and ah, sadly she looks upon me, looking for my love."

"My eyes are opened," screamed the blind man at the Wanderer's side. "My
eyes are opened, and I see the pylon tower and the splendid sun. Love
hath touched me on the eyes and they are opened. But lo! not one shape
hath she but many shapes. Oh, she is Beauty's self, and no tongue may
tell her glory. Let me die! let me die, for my eyes are opened. I have
looked on Beauty's self! I know what all the world journeys on to seek,
and why we die and what we go to find in death."

VI

THE WARDENS OF THE GATE

The clamour swelled or sank, and the men called or cried the names
of many women, some dead, some lost. Others were mute, silent in the
presence of the World's Desire, silent as when we see lost faces in
a dream. The Wanderer had looked once and then cast down his eyes and
stood with his face hidden in his hands. He alone waited and strove to
think; the rest were abandoned to the bewilderment of their passions and
their amaze.

What was it that he had seen? That which he had sought his whole life
long; sought by sea