At the very edge of the sky, beyond the low line of the fields, a golden
cross was blazing like a spark of fire on the white belfry of a
Christian church.... The goddess had caught sight of that cross.
I heard behind me a long, uneven sigh, like the throbbing of a broken
harp-string,--and when I turned round again, no trace of the nymphs
remained.... The broad forest gleamed green as before, and only in
spots, athwart the close network of the branches, could tufts of
something white be seen melting away. Whether these were the tunics of
the nymphs, or a vapour was rising up from the bottom of the valley, I
know not.
But how I regretted the vanished goddesses!
December, 1878.