As she went once more down the hollow of the moonflowers--not so dense now as then, and many withered by the heat of the sun and the month-long drought--she stopped again and again, overcome by the heat even of the dusk. In her ears was the bewildered, plaintive cry of the lapwings: and, as an undertone, the low, soft chime--the long, sweet ululation of the myriad-swung bell of the sea. She was weary when she reached the shore. An unspeakable horror of the cavern came upon her, and she turned and went slowly toward the long sandy tract that stretched beyond the base of the hollow. There she laid the child gently down in the soft sand at her feet, and seated herself on a low rock. After all, was it worth while to seek Death, when Death had already whispered that the little one was to be his own so soon, and had stealthily removed all but the last barriers that guarded her own poor life? Would God not be even more wroth with her--punish her even more heavily; though this, indeed, seemed impossible? How lovely that vast ocean veiled in violet dusk, save where lit gloriously with moonlight: how full of alluring peace, she thought that wave-whisper all around her. Surely the music was woven into a song that was dear and familiar in her ears? She turned her head away from the sea, and looked idly along the sand: though, as she did so, the vague strain ceased. Then Lora stood, trembling in a great awe, and with a passionate hope in her eyes, in her heart, at the very springs of life. In the moonshine, she saw a tall figure moving slowly toward her, naked-white, and walking with a proud mien. The erect body, the flashing eyes, the grace and beauty, were those of a king--of a king among men: and as a king the naked figure was crowned, with moonflowers and yellow sea-poppies woven into his gold-sheen hair. Suddenly he saw her. He stood as though wrought in impassioned stone. The moonshine fell full upon his white skin, upon the beauty of his face, upon the flower-tangle wherewith he had crowned himself. Then, without a sound, he turned and fled like the wind, and vanished into the gloom that lay beyond the dusk. And Lora, lifting the child and staggering homeward, knew that she had seen Alastair. VI It was not till many weeks later that the way of Alastair's escape from death became known. On that dark night when he had lain down to die, the wave which fell across Lora and himself, and tore asunder the bonds she had woven, was followed by no other for a time: otherwise, the end of both would have been attained. But so great was the shock, that his apathy of mind and body was rudely broken. The tired blood stung in his veins; the instinct of life was as a flame of fire that consumed all the stupor due to the sea-fruit he had eaten--an instinct that wrought him to a passion of effort.