In that wondrous and magical after-glow which tenderly hovers over the
darkening face of the dying day, like the strange, spectral smile that
only sheds its cold, supernatural light on lips twelve hours dead,
Salome's fair face and graceful _pose_ was as softly defined against
the western sky as some nimbussed saint or madonna on the golden
background of old Byzantine pictures. Her small straw hat, wreathed
with scarlet poppies, lay at her feet; and around her shoulders she
had closely folded a bright plaid flannel cloak, which tinted her
complexion with its ruddy hues, as firelight flushes the olive
portraits that stare at it from surrounding walls, and the braided
black hair and large hazel eyes showed every brown tint and topaz
gleam.

Leaning her arms on the top of her music-book, she rested her chin
upon them, and sat looking seaward, singing a difficult passage, in
the midst of which her nimble voice tripped on an E flat, and, missing
the staccato step, rolled helplessly down in a legato flood of melody;
whereupon, with an impatient grimace she shut her eyes, weary of
watching the wave-shimmer that almost dazzled her. After a few
seconds, when she opened them, there stood just on the edge of the
cliff, as if poised in air, a woman whose face and form were as
sharply cut in profile on the azure sea and sky as white cameo
features on black agate grounds.

Around the tall figure shining folds of silver poplin hung heavy and
statuesque, and over the shoulders a blue crape shawl was held by a
beautiful blue-veined hand, where a sapphire asp kept guard; while a
cluster of double violets fastened behind one shell-like ear breathed
their perfume among glossy bands of gray hair.

"There was no color in the quiet mouth,
Nor fulness; yet it had a ghostly grace,
Pathetically pale,"

and wan, and woful--the still face turned seaward, fronting a round
white moon that was lifting its full disk out of the line where air
and water met--she stood motionless.

Lifting her head, Salome shivered involuntarily, and grew a shade
paler as she breathlessly watched the apparition, expecting that it
would fade into blue air or float down and mingle with the waters that
gave it birth. But there was no wavering mistiness about the shining
drapery; and, presently, when she turned and came forward, the orphan,
despite her sneers at superstition, felt the hair creep and rise on
her temples, and, springing to her feet, they faced eac