The sun stood already big as a great golden shield held from heaven above the Pontian islands, and gilded their blue,--the white, rocky crown of thorns, Capri, lay in glowing light, and from Sorrento's coasts to Gaeta's glimmering gold had shot up along the walls of the world,--the earth rolled with her axis, as with a music-barrel, near the sun, and struck from the great luminary rays and tones,--sideward lay in ambush the giant messenger of night, camped on the sea, the immense shadow of Epomeo. At this moment the sun touched the sea, and a golden lightning darted trembling round through the humid ether,--and he cradled himself on a thousand fiery wave-wings, and he quivered and hung, burning and glowing with love, on the sea, and the sea, burning, drank all his glow. Then it threw, as if he was about to pass away forever, the veil of an infinite splendor over the pale-growing god. Then it became still on the earth; a floating evening redness overflowed with rose-oil all the waves; the holy islands of sundown stood transfigured; the remotest coasts drew near and showed their redness of delight; on all heights hung rose-garlands; Epomeo glowed upward even to the ether, and on the eternal cloud-tree, which grows up out of the hollow Vesuvius, went out on the summit the last thin glimmering of splendor. Speechless, the companions turned from the west toward the shore. The sailors began again to talk. "Make thy brother," Linda softly begged her friend, "keep himself always turned toward the west." She fulfilled the request without immediately guessing its motive. Linda looked continually into his beautifully irradiated face: "Ask him again," said she a second time, "the twilight is too deep, and my weak eyes see so poorly without light." It was not done, for they immediately went on shore. The earth trembled beneath and after them as they trod upon it, as a sounding-board of the blissful hour. Albano was fastened in speechless emotion upon the beloved face, which he must soon leave again. "I'll write to you," said she, unasked, with so touching a recall of her former threat, that, had he not been among strange eyes, he must have fallen, intoxicated with gratitude upon her hand, upon her noble heart. Hard was the parting, and the end of an harmonious day in which the tone of every single minute had been again a tri-clang. By this time Dian had already departed. "Not even the roses of evening," said Julienne, "are without thorns." "An abrupt leave-taking is always the best; we will go home," said Linda. Albano begged that he might be allowed to attend her. "Whither?" said Linda. Softly she added, for the sake of her eyes, "I can hardly see you any longer; however, only come, I can hear, nevertheless." "Beautiful inconstant one!" said Julienne. "I change myself," said she, "but no other does it; only as far as the chapel, Albano; you sail early in the morning." "Even earlier; perhaps this very night," said he.