of the sky shone with mother of pearl—here a pool of blue, there the fleet of golden clouds.
It stretched on every side of them, blazing with colour. Behind them the common, sinking now into the dull light of evening.
They stood, little pigmies, on that vast painted floor. Before them the breeze, blowing back the waves into the sun again turned the spray to gold.
Tiny figures, in all this glory, they embraced. In all the world they seemed the only living thing . . . .
III
They had their witness. The old woman who lived in the heart of those black trees, was deaf and dumb indeed, but her eyes were alive in her fading and wrinkled body.
When the door had closed she rose slowly from her chair, and her face was wrinkled with the passion of the hatred that her old soul was feeling.
What did they mean, those two, coming there and haunting her with their youth and strength and love. Kissing there before her as the ugh she were already dead—she to whom kisses were only bitter memories.
Her face worked with fury—she hobbled, painfully, to the door and opened it.
Below her, on a floor of gold, two black figures stood together.
Gazing at them she raised her thin and trembling hand; she flung with a passionate, furious gesture, something from her.
A small silver coin glittered in the air, whistled for a moment and fell.
