At her feet, rigid and unblinking, as if cast out of steel or carved in granite, his eyes gazing into space, was an eagle of unusual size; there he sat in quiet majesty at the feet of this vision of beauty, like a ghost of the mountains that had been turned to stone. A faint haze lay over all, something mysterious and grave-like; nor was it to be discovered whence the light came. There were no windows, no opening anywhere, and yet everything was distinctly visible. The face of the woman was more perfect than it had ever been. Eric was now bending over it with a feeling of awe and wonder. Was ever sleeper so still, was ever living face so pale, lips so blanched? Gradually a cold sensation of fear began to creep over the startled youth; he bent lower, his face close to that silent one. He sprang back with a cry of horror ... beneath the long lashes he saw that the woman was looking at him, and yet.... Oh! What was it? What horrible nightmare was this?... She was looking, she was staring ... yes, she was staring with sightless eyes--eyes out of which the light of life had gone for ever! for ever!... Eric sank to his knees and hid his face against the still form, and as he did so he felt something wet upon his cheek, something that was trickling slowly down upon the floor where he knelt, something that was gradually spreading in a dark patch, which widened over the grey folds of the robe. And then Eric saw that within the woman's heart a dagger had been thrust.... A dagger within the very centre of her heart. XI Over thy creations of beauty there is a mist of tears. TAGORE. High and austere in their forsaken silence stood the walls of the great church--God's own sun looked in through the crumbling windows, and God's own sky was its only roof. Many of the columns had fallen, but others stood, erect and rigid, frowning down from their immense height, grey and lonely, like giant trees in winter. Large heaps of stones lay about the mosaic floor that still showed signs of a beautiful design; statues had fallen from their pedestals and lay in helpless attitudes, their arms broken, their vacant eyes gazing with stony indifference into the sunshine. Sometimes their heads were missing, having rolled away as they fell. Nature was rapidly doing her work; she was spreading her consoling mantle of verdure and flowers over this crumbling work of art, which human hands had once, long ago, built with pious vows and prayers.