ats. The village is already alive, and awake. The rising of the sun is
looked for, and the clouds are like a golden fleece. Slowly above the
tree-tops the swans are waving their great pinions, to seek the stream
of Cayster. All creatures recognize the day, and only one weeps to see
the light.

Evadne knew that on yonder shore waited the dreaded messengers who would
gather the homeless into the Christian fold. She stayed to utter one
farewell to the cold, the cruel marble, with its unvaried smile.

"Be my god!" she cried, aloud. "In whatever strange land, to whatever
unknown religion I may be led, the god of this forgotten temple shall
have the worship of my heart!"

She crossed the marble pavement. She clasped with her white cold arms
the knees of Apollo--Hold! the form totters!--it is too late!--it must
fall! She rises to flee away, but the very floor is receding from her
tread. And slowly, with a majesty even in destruction, the god bows
himself, and drops from his pedestal.

The crashing fall is over. The foundations of the shrine, parted long
ago by earthquakes, and undermined by torrents, have slipped from their
place. Stones slide gradually to the brink of the rock, and some have
fallen near the sculptured rose; and yet some portions of the graceful
temple stand, and will support the dome yet, until some boisterous storm
shakes roughly the remaining columns.

But the god is dethroned, shivered, ruined. Evadne should arise and go.
The daylight overflows the sky, and she is quite, quite still, where the
hand of Apollo has laid her. Her forehead was but touched by fingers
that once held the lyre; and a crimson stream flows through the locks
upon her brow. A smile like that which the god wore is fixed and
changeless now upon her lip. Why does she smile? Because, in the dawn of
life, of grief, of love, she found peace.

The sun was up, and there was no more silence or repose along the coast.
Vigor and toil gave signs of their awakening. Sails were unfurled upon
the wavering masts, and showed white gleams, as the sunlight struck each
as it broadened out and swayed above its bright reflection below. Oars
were dipped in the smooth sea, and an eager crowd stood waiting to visit
the exiles on the once dreaded island. Evadne was already missed. Again
and again voices called upon her, the echoes repeated the sound, and the
groves had but one voice,--"Evadne!" She stirred not at the sound, but
her smile grew sweeter, and