“Fate’s last leaves are turning, let me home and die,” said Mohi. “So nigh the circuit’s done,” said Media, “our morrow’s sun must rise o’er Odo; Taji! renounce the hunt.” “I am the hunter, that never rests! the hunter without a home! She I seek, still flies before; and I will follow, though she lead me beyond the reef; through sunless seas; and into night and death. Her, will I seek, through all the isles and stars; and find her, whate’er betide!” Again they yielded; and again we glided on;—our storm-worn prows, now pointed here, now there;—beckoned, repulsed;—their half-rent sails, still courting every breeze. But that same night, once more, they wrestled with me. Now, at last, the hopeless search must be renounced: Yillah there was none: back must I hie to blue Serenia. Then sweet Yillah called me from the sea;—still must I on! but gazing whence that music seemed to come, I thought I saw the green corse drifting by: and striking ’gainst our prow, as if to hinder. Then, then! my heart grew hard, like flint; and black, like night; and sounded hollow to the hand I clenched. Hyenas filled me with their laughs; death-damps chilled my brow; I prayed not, but blasphemed. CHAPTER LXXXVI. They Meet The Phantoms That starless midnight, there stole from out the darkness, the Iris flag of Hautia. Again the sirens came. They bore a large and stately urn-like flower, white as alabaster, and glowing, as if lit up within. From its calyx, flame-like, trembled forked and crimson stamens, burning with intensest odors. The phantoms nearer came; their flower, as an urn of burning niter. Then it changed, and glowed like Persian dawns; or passive, was shot over by palest lightnings;—so variable its tints. “The night-blowing Cereus!” said Yoomy, shuddering, “that never blows in sun-light; that blows but once; and blows but for an hour.—For the last time I come; now, in your midnight of despair, and promise you this glory. Take heed! short time hast thou to pause; through me, perhaps, thy Yillah may be found.” “Away! away! tempt me not by that, enchantress! Hautia! I know thee not; I fear thee not; but instinct makes me hate thee. Away! my eyes are frozen shut; I will not be tempted more.” “How glorious it burns!” cried Media. I reel with incense:—can such sweets be evil?” “Look! look!” cried Yoomy, “its petals wane, and creep; one moment more, and the night-flower shuts up forever the last, last hope of Yillah!” “Yillah! Yillah! Yillah!” bayed three vengeful voices far behind. “Yillah! Yillah!—dash the urn! I follow, Hautia! though thy lure be death.” The Cereus closed; and in a mist the siren prow went on before; we, following. When day dawned, three radiant pilot-fish swam in advance: three ravenous sharks astern. And, full before us, rose the isle of Hautia. CHAPTER LXXXVII. They Draw Nigh To Flozella As if Mardi were a poem, and every island a canto, the shore now in sight was called Flozella-a-Nina, or The-Last-Verse-of-the-Song.