Leagues away, on a barren sandy ridge above the sea, in long-past years, the sea-kings had built them a stronghold. Little of it now had fire and war and time’s long decay left whole, save one tempest-shaken tower. And under the tower a village, where dwelt rude fisher folk. A poor place withal for he who was once a rich lord! A possession that no man might take much pride in. But thither the ruined merchant now must wend, to make his abode there, and strive to win some daily bread, in rough toil with the fishing-boats. So the man with his children departed, and came to dwell in the tower on the grey hill, amidst of wretched huts. And what scanty gear they had, was carried on the backs of one or two hired mules. It was a dark and windy night, the night when they came there, in the season of the year that leaves first turn from green to gold, and barley sheaves stand in the fields, and the vintage is done. The sun had arisen in the morning when Beauty opened the old brown door and looked out from under its low-browed arch. Far down, beyond the curving yellow sands, lay a great sea-plain, silver bright, glittering in changeful lights and colour. Up to the roots of the far-off white mountains, olive woods clothed all the land with mists of shimmering grey. Corn-fields lay anear, between long stretches of purple-shadowed forest. And the girl laughed for gladness of heart, calling aloud to her sisters to come and behold with her this glorious new wonderland where Fate had led them. But they, so soon as they came and stood beside the open door, did but cast one glance down upon those poverty-stricken huts, below the steep hard by,--then muttering one to the other, “Better in our graves than here!” they turned away their faces from God’s earth and sea: and therewith, through sore repining and complaint, they both fell sick: and on their hard beds made what cheer they might with empty dreams, and lamentation for the goodly days that had been. [Illustration] [Illustration]