deeply submerged fields. He traced their lines as they grew clearer, emerging from long hidden recesses. Apparently the quest of much-hindered Aeneas for ever-fleeing Italy was now definitely over and he himself was at the mercy of the three Grim Sisters. Most of his storm-tossed fleet was nowhere visible, having been surely engulfed by the raging tempests from which he and the few battered, dripping followers had rescued themselves—with what difficulty! They alone seemed to survive universal wreckage on a wild and uninhabited coast.
The watcher, beneath his quiet trees, as if under some spell, absorbedly regarded Aeneas as he went forth later with his Faithful Achates to explore the hostile region, by which his supposed destiny—to found the Roman Race—seemed to be now definitely blocked. There was no way out. His long trail had come to a hopeless end . . . At the words the climber glanced up smiling
