hole earth rejoiced in the living light; the
hills were wrapped about with a diaphanous silvery veil and seemed to
quiver with life, the sea appeared to be traversed by rivulets of milk,
by rivers of crystal and of emerald, by a thousand currents forming the
rippling intricacies of a watery labyrinth. A sense of nuptial joy and
religious grace emanated from the concord between earth and sky.

And he breathed and gazed and listened, not a little surprised During
his sleep the fever had left him. He had slumbered, lulled by the voice
of the waters as if by the voice of a faithful friend--and he who sleeps
to the sound of that lullaby enjoys a repose that is full of healing
peace.

He gazed and listened mutely, fondly, letting the flood of immortal life
penetrate to his heart's core. Never had the sacred music of a great
master--an Offertory of Haydn, a Te Deum of Mozart--produced in him the
emotion caused now by the simple chimes of the distant village churches,
as they greeted the rising of the sun into the heavens. His soul swelled
and overflowed with unspeakable emotion. Some vision, vague but sublime,
hovered over him like a rippling veil through which gleamed the
splendour of the mysterious treasure of ultimate felicity. Up till now,
he had always known exactly what he wished for, and had never found any
pleasure in desiring vainly. Now, he could not have named his desire,
but he had no doubts that the thing wished for was infinitely sweet,
since the very act of wishing was bliss. The words of the Chimera in
'The King of Cyprus'--old world, half-forgotten verses, recurred to him
with all the force of a caressing appeal--

'Would'st thou fight?
Would'st kill? would'st thou behold rivers of blood?
Great heaps of gold? white herds of captive women?
Slaves? other, and far other spoils? Would'st thou
Bid marble breathe? Would'st thou set up a temple?
Would'st fashion an immortal hymn? Would'st (hearken,
Hearken, O youth, hearken!)--would'st thou divinely
Love?'

He smiled faintly to himself. 'Whom should I love?--Art?--a woman?--what
woman?' Elena seemed far removed from him, lost to him, a
stranger--dead. The others--still further off, dead for evermore.
Therefore he was free. But why renew a pursuit so useless and so
perilous? Why stretch out his hand again towards the tree of knowledge?
'The tree of knowledge has been plucked--all's known!' as Byron sa