The Isles of Sunset

About midway between the two horns of the bay, the Isles of Sunset

pierced the sea. There was deep blue water all around them, and the

sharp and fretted pinnacles of rock rose steeply up to heaven. The top

of the largest was blunt, and covered with a little carpet of grass and

sea-herbs. The rest were nought but cruel spires, on which no foot but

that of sea-birds could go. At one place there was a small creek, into

which a boat might be thrust, but only when the sea was calm; and near

the top of the rock, just over this, was the dark mouth of a little

cave.

The bay in which the Isles lay was quite deserted; the moorland came to

the edge of the cliffs, and through a steep and rocky ravine, the sides

of which were overgrown with ferns and low trees, all brushed landward

by the fierce winds, a stream fell hoarsely to the sea, through deep

rockpools. The only living things there were the wild birds, the

moorfowl in the heather, hawks that built in the rock face, and pigeons

that made their nest in hollow places. Sometimes a stag pacing slowly on

the cliff-top would look over, but that was seldom.

Yet on these desolate and fearful rocks there dwelt a man, a hermit

named David. He had grown up as a fisher-boy in the neighbouring

village--an awkward silent boy with large eyes which looked as though

they were full of inward dreams. The people of the place were Christians

after a sort, though it was but seldom that a priest came near them; and

then only by sea, for there was no road to the place. But David as a boy

had heard a little of the Lord Christ, and of the bitter sacrifice he

made for men; and there grew up in his heart a great desire to serve

Him, and he prayed much in his heart to the Lord, that he would show him

what he might do. He had no parents living. His mother was long dead,

and his father had been drowned at sea. He lived in the house of his

uncle, a poor fisherman with an angry temper, where he fared very

hardly; for there were many mouths to feed, and the worst fell to the

least akin. But he grew up handy and active, with strong limbs and a

sure head; and he was well worth his victual, for he was a good

fisherman, patient of wind and rain; and he could scale the cliff in

places where none other dared go, and bring down the eggs and feathers

of the sea-birds. So they had much use of him, and gave him but little

love in return. When he was free of work, the boy loved to wander alone,

and he would lie on the heather in the warm sun, with his face to the

ground, drinking in the fragrant breath of the earth, and praying

earnestly in his heart to the Lord, who had made the earth so fair and

the sea so terrible. When he came to man's estate, he had thoughts of

making a home of his own, but his uncle seemed to need him--so he

lingered on, doing as he was bid, very silent, but full of his own

thoughts, and sure that the Lord would call him when he had need of him;

one by one the children of the family grew up and went their ways; then

his uncle's wife died, and then at last one day, when he was out fishing

with his uncle, there came a squall and they beat for home. But the boat

was overset and his uncle was drowned; and David himself was cast ashore

in a wonderful manner, and found himself all alone.

Now while he doubted what he should do, he dreamed a dream that wrought

powerfully in his mind. He thought that he was walking in the dusk

beside the sea, which was running very high, when he saw a light drawing

near to him over the waves. It was not like the light of a lantern, but

a diffused and pale light, like the moon labouring in a cloud. The sea

began to abate its violence, and then David saw a figure coming to him,

walking, it seemed, upon the water as upon dry land, sometimes lower,

sometimes higher, as the waves ran high or low. He stopped in a great

wonder to watch the approach of the figure, and he saw that it was that

of a young man, going very slowly and tranquilly, and looking about him

with a gentle and smiling air of command. All about him was a light, the

source of which David could not see, but he seemed like a man walking in

the light of an open window, when all around is dark. As he came near,

David saw that he was clad in a rough tunic of some dark stuff, which

was girt up with a girdle at the waist. His head and his feet were bare.

Yet though he seemed but poorly clad, he had the carriage of a great

prince, whose power none would willingly question. But the strangest

thing was that the sea grew calm before his feet, and though the wind

was blowing fiercely, yet it did not stir the hair, which fell somewhat

long on his shoulders, or so much as ruffle his robe. And then there

came into David's head a verse of Scripture where it says, "_What manner

of man is this that even the winds and the sea obey him?_" And then the

answer came suddenly into David's mind, and he knelt down where he was

upon the beach, and waited in a great and silent awe; and presently that

One drew near, and in some way that David did not understand, for he

used no form of speech, his eyes made question of David's soul, and

seemed to read its depths. And then at last He spoke in words that He

had before used to a fisherman beside another sea, and said very softly,

"Follow Me." But He said not how He should be followed; and presently He

seemed to depart in a shining track across the sea, till the light that

went with Him sank like a star upon the verge. Then in his dream David

was troubled, and knew not how to follow; till he thought that it might

be given him, as it was given once to Peter, to walk dry-shod over the

depth; but when he set foot upon the water there broke so furious a wave

at him, that he knew not how to follow. So he went back and kneeled upon

the sand, and said aloud in his doubt, "What shall I do, Lord?" and as

the words sounded on his tongue he awoke.

Then all that day he pondered how he should find the Lord; for he knew

that though he had a hope in his heart, and though he leaned much upon

God, yet he had not wholly found him yet. God was sometimes with him and

near to him, but sometimes far withdrawn; and then, for he was a very

simple man, he said in himself, "I will give myself wholly to the search

for my Lord. I will live solitary, and I will fix my mind upon Him"; for

he thought within himself that his hard life, and the cares of the

household in which he had dwelt, had been what had perhaps kept him

outside; and therefore he thought that God had taken these cares away

from him. And so he made up his mind.

Then he cast about where he had best dwell; and he thought of the Isles

of Sunset as a lonely place, where he might live and not be disturbed.

There was the little cave high up in the rock-face, looking towards the

land, to which he had once scrambled up. This would give him shelter;

and there were moreover some small patches of earth, near the base of

the rock, where he could grow a few herbs and a little corn. He had some

money of his own, which would keep him until his garden was grown up;

and he could fish, he thought, from the rocks, and find shell-fish and

other creatures of the sea, which would give him meat.

So the next day he bought a few tools that he thought he would need, and

rowed all over when it was dusk. He put his small stores in a cave by

the water's edge. The day after, he went and made a few farewells; he

told no one where he was going; but it pleased him to find a little love

for him in the hearts of some. One parting was a strangely sore one:

there was an old and poor woman that lived very meanly in the place, who

had an only granddaughter, a little maid. These two he loved very much,

and had often done them small kindnesses. He kept this good-bye to the

last, and went to the house after sundown. The old woman bade him sit

down, and asked him what he meant to do, now that he was alone. "I am

going away, mother," he said gently. The child, hearing this, came over

the room from where she sate, and said to him, "No, David, do not go

away." "Yes, dear child," he said, "I must even go." Then she said, "But

where will you go? May I not come to see you sometimes?" and she put her

small arms round his neck, and laid her cheek to his. Then David's heart

was very full of love, and he said smiling, and with his arm round the

child, "Dear one, I must not say where I am going--and it is a rough

place, too, not fit for such tender little folk as you; but, if I can, I

will come again and see you." Then the old grandmother, looking upon him

very gravely, said, "Tell me what is in your mind." But he said, "Nay,

mother, do not ask me; I am going to a place that is near and yet far;

and I am going to seek for one whom I know not and yet know; and the way

is long and dark." Then she forbore to ask him more, and fell to

pondering sadly; so after they had sate awhile, he rose up and loosed

the child's arms from him, kissing her; and the tears stood in his eyes;

and he thought in himself that God was very wise; for if he had had a

home of his own, and children whom he loved, he could never have found

it in his heart to leave them. So he went out.

Then he climbed up the steep path that led to the downs, and so to the

bay where the Isles lay. And just as he reached the top, the moon ran

out from a long bank of cloud; and he saw the village lie beneath him,

very peaceful in the moonlight; there were lights in some of the

windows; the roofs were silvered in the clear radiance of the moon, and

the shadows lay dark between. He could see the little streets, every

inch of which he knew, and the port below. He could see the coast

stretch away to the east, headland after headland, growing fainter; and

the great spaces of the sea, with the moon glittering on the waves.

There was a holy and solemn peace about it all; and though his life had

not been a happy one there, he knew in a flash that the place was very

dear to his heart, and he said a prayer to God, that he would guard and

cherish the village and those that dwelt there. Then he turned, and went

on to the downs; and presently descended by a steep path to the sea,

through the thickets. He took off his clothes, and tied them in a pack

on his back; and then he stepped quietly into the bright water, which

lapped very softly against the shore, a little wave every now and then

falling gently, followed by a long rustling of the water on the sand,

and a silence till the next wave fell. He waded on till he could swim,

and then struck out to where the Isles stood, all sharp and bright in

the moon. He swam with long quiet strokes, hearing the water ripple

past; and soon the great crags loomed out above him, and he heard the

waves fall among their rocky coves. At last he felt the ground beneath

his feet; and coming out of the water he dressed himself, and then--for

he would not venture on the cliffs in the uncertain light--gathering up

some dried weeds of the sea, he made a pillow for his head and slept, in

a wonderful peace of mind, until the moon set; and not long after there

came a pale light over the sea in the east, brightening slowly, until at

last the sun, like a fiery ball, broke upwards from the sea; and it was

day.

Now when David awoke in the broad daylight, he found himself full of a

great joy and peace. He seemed, as it were, to have leaped over a wide

ditch, and to see the world across it. Now he was alone with God, and he

had put all the old, mean, hateful life away from him. It did not even

so much as peep into his mind that he would have to endure many

hardships of body, rain, and chilly winds, a bed of rock, and fare both

hard and scanty. This was not what had troubled him in the old days.

What had vexed his heart had been unclean words and deeds, greediness,

hardness, cruel taunts, the lack of love, and the meanness and baseness

of the petty life. All that was behind him now; he felt free and strong,

and while he moved about to spy out his new kingdom, he sang loudly to

himself a song of praise. The place pleased him mightily; over his head

ran up the cliff with its stony precipices and dizzy ledges. The lower

rocks all fringed with weeds, like sea-beasts with rough hair, stood out

black from the deep blue water that lay round the rocks. He loved to

hear the heavy plunge of the great waves around his bastions, the thin

cries of the sea-birds that sailed about the precipice, or that lit on

their airy perches. Everywhere was a brisk sharp scent of the sea, and

the fresh breeze, most unlike the close sour smell of the little houses.

He felt himself free and strong and clean, and he thought of all the

things he would say to God in the pleasant solitude, and how he would

hear the low and far-off voice of the Father speaking gently with his

soul.

His first care was to find the cave that was to shelter him. He spent

the day in climbing very carefully and lightly all over the face of the

rock. Never had he known his hand so strong, or his head so sure. He

sate for a time on a little ledge, to which he had climbed on the crag

face, and he feasted his eyes upon the sight of the great cliffs of the

mainland that ran opposite him, to left and right, in a wide

half-circle. His eyes dwelt with pleasure upon the high sloping

shoulders of rock, on which the sun now shone very peacefully, the strip

of moorland at the top, the brushwood growing in the sloping coves, the

clean shingle at the base of the rocks, and the blue sky over all. That

was the world as God had made it, and as He intended it to be; it was

only men who made it evil, huddling together in their small and filthy

dens, so intent on their little ugly lives, their food and drink and

wicked ways.

Presently he found the cave-mouth, and noted in his mind the best way

thither. The cave seemed to him a very sweet place; the mouth was all

fringed with little ferns; inside it was dry and clean; and in a few

hours he had disposed all his small goods within it. There was a low

slope, on one side of the rocks, where the fern grew plentifully. He

gathered great armfuls of the dry red stalks, and made himself a

rustling bed. So the day wore pleasantly away. One of his cares was to

find water; but here it seemed that God blessed him very instantly, for

he found a place near the sea, where a little spring soaked cool out of

the rock, with a pleasant carpet of moss and yellow flowers. He found,

too, some beds of shell-fish, which he saw would give him food and bait

for his fishing. So about sundown he cast a line from the end of the

rocks and presently caught a fish, a ling, which lives round rocky

shores. This he broiled at a small fire of driftwood, for he had brought

tinder with him; and it pleased him to think of the meal that the

Apostles took with the risen Christ, a meal which He had made for them,

and to which He Himself called them; for that, too, was a broiled fish,

and eaten by the edge of the sea. Also he ate a little of the bread he

had brought with him; and with it some of a brisk juicy herb, called

samphire, that sprouted richly in the cliff, which gave his meat an

aromatic savour; and with a drink of fresh spring water he dined well,

and was content; then he climbed within the cave, and fell asleep to the

sound of the wind buffeting in the cliff, and the fall of great waves on

the sea beaches.

Now I might make a book of all the things that David saw and did on the

islands, but they were mostly simple and humble things. He fared very

hard, but though he often wondered how he would find food for the next

day, it always came to him; and he kept his health in a way which seemed

to him to be marvellous; indeed he seemed to himself to be both stronger

in body and lighter in spirit than he had even been before. He both saw

and heard things that he could not explain. There were sounds the nature

of which he could not divine; on certain days there was a far-off

booming, even when the waves seemed still; at times, too, there was a

low musical note in the air, like the throbbing of a tense string of

metal; once or twice he heard a sound like soft singing, and wondered in

his heart what creature of the sea it might be that uttered it. On

stormy nights there were sad moans and cries, and he often thought that

there were strange and unseen creatures about him, who hid themselves

from sight, but whose voices he certainly heard; but he was never

afraid. One night he saw a very beautiful thing; it had been a still

day, but there was an anxious sound in the wind which he knew portended

a storm; he was strangely restless on such days, and woke many times in

the night: at last he could bear the silence of the cave no more, and

went out, descending swiftly by the rocks, the path over which he could

have now followed blindfold, down to the edge of the sea. Then he saw

that the waves that beat against the rock were all luminous, as though

lit with an inner light; suddenly, far below, how deep he knew not, he

saw a great shoal of fish, some of them very large, coming softly round

the rocks; the water, as it touched their blunt snouts, burst as it were

into soft flame, and showed every twinkle of their fins and every beat

of their tails. The shoal came swiftly round the rocks, swimming

intently, and it seemed as though there was no end of them. But at last

the crowd grew thinner and then ceased; but he could still see the water

rippling all radiant in the great sea-pools, showing the motion of broad

ribbons of seaweed that swayed to and fro, and lighting up odd horned

beasts that stirred upon the ledges. From that day forth he was often

filled with a silent wonder at all the sleepless life that moved beneath

the vast waters, and that knew nothing of the little human lives that

fretted themselves out in the thin air above. That day was to him like

the opening of a door into the vast heart of God.

But for all his happiness, the thought weighed upon him, day after day,

of all the grief and unhappiness that there was about him. A dying bird

that he found in a pool, and that rolled its filmy eye upon him in fear,

as if to ask why he must disturb it in its last sad languid hour, the

terror in which so many of the small fish abode--he saw once, when the

sea was clear, a big fish dart like a dark shadow, with open mouth and

gleaming eye, on a little shoal of fishes that sported joyfully in the

sun; they scattered in haste, but they had lost their fellows--all this

made him ponder; but most of all there weighed on his heart the thought

of the world he had left, of how men spoke evil of each other, and did

each other hurt; of children whose lot was to be beaten and cursed for

no fault, but to please the cruel temper of a master; of patient women,

who had so much to bear--so that sometimes he had dark thoughts of why

God made the world so fair, and then left so much that was amiss, like a

foul stream that makes a clear pool turbid. And there came into his head

a horror of taking the lives of creatures for his own use--the

shell-worm that writhed as he pulled it from the shell; the bright fish

that came up struggling and gasping from the water, and that fought

under his hand--and at last he made up his mind that he would take no

more life, though how he would live he knew not; and as for the world of

men, he became very desirous to help a little as best he could; and

there being at this time a wreck in the bay, when a boat and all on

board were lost, he thought that he would wish, if he could, to keep a

fire lit on dark nights, so that ships that passed should see that there

was a dwelling there, and so keep farther away from the dangerous rocks.

By this time it had become known in the country where he was--his figure

had been seen several times from the cliffs; and one day there had come

a boat, with some of those that knew him, to the island. He had no wish

to mix again with men; but neither did he desire to avoid them, if it

was God's will that they should come. So he came down courteously, and

spoke with the master of the boat, who asked him very curiously of his

life and all that he did. David told him all; and when the master asked

him why he had thus fled away from the world, David said simply that he

had done so that he might pray to God in peace. Then the master said

that there were many waking hours in the day, and he knew not what there

might be to say prayers about, "for," he said, "you have no book to make

prayers out of, like the priests, and you have no store of good-sounding

words with which to catch the ear of God." Then David said that he

prayed to God to guard all things great and small, and to help himself

along the steep road to heaven. Then the master wondered very much, and

said that a man must please himself, and no doubt it was a holy work.

Then he asked a little shamefacedly for David to pray for him, that he

might be kept safe from shipwreck, and have good fortune for fishing, to

which David replied, "Oh, I do that already."

Before the master went away, and he stayed not long, he asked David how

he lived, and offered him food. And David being then in a strait--for he

had lately vowed to take no life, said gladly that he would have

anything they could give him. So the master gave him some victual. And

it happened, just at this time, that some of the boats from the village

had a wonderful escape from a storm, and through that season they caught

fish in abundance; so it was soon noised abroad that this was all

because of David's prayers; and after that he never had need of food,

for they brought him many little presents, such as eggs, fruit, and

bread--for he would take no meat--giving them into his hands when he was

on the lower rocks, or leaving them on a ledge in the cove when he was

aloft. And as, when the fish were plenteous, they gave him food in

gratitude, and when fish were scarce, they gave it him even more

abundantly that they might have his prayers, David was never in lack; in

all of which he saw the wonderful hand of God working for him.

Now David pondered very much how he might keep a light aloft on

dangerous nights.

His first thought was to find a sheltered place among the rocks to

seaward, where his fire could burn and not be extinguished by the wind;

but, though he climbed all about the rocks, he could find no place to

his mind. One day, however, he was in the furthest recess of his cave,

when he felt that among the rocks a little thin wind blew constantly

from one corner; and feeling about with his hands, he found that it came

out of a small crack in the rocks. The stone above it seemed to be

loose; and he perceived after a while that the end of the cave must be

very near to the seaward face of the crag, and that the cave ran right

through the rock, and was only kept from opening on the outer side by a

thin barrier of stone; so after several attempts, using all his

strength, he worked the stone loose; and then with a great effort, he

thrust the stone out; it fell with a great noise, leaping among the

crags, and at last plunging into the sea. The wind rushed in through the

gap; then he saw that he had, as it were, a small window looking out to

sea, so small that he could not pass through it, but large enough to let

a light shine forth, if there were a light set there; but though it

seemed again to him like the guiding hand of God, he could not devise

how he should shelter the light within from the wind. Indeed the hole

made the cave a far less habitable place for himself, for the wind

whistled very shrewdly through; he found it easy enough to stop the gap

with an old fisherman's coat--but then the light was hidden from view.

So he tried a further plan; he dug a hole in the earth at the top of the

cliff, and then made a bed of dry sand at the bottom of it; and he piled

up dry seaweed and wood within, thinking that if he lit his beacon

there, it might be sheltered from the wind, and would burn fiercely

enough to throw up the flame above the top of the pit. He saw that heavy

rain would extinguish his fire; but the nights were most dangerous when

it blew too strongly for rain to fall. So one night, when the wind blew

strongly from the sea, he laid wood in order, which he had gathered on

the land, and conveyed with many toilsome journeys over to the island.

Then he lighted the pile, but it was as he feared; the wind blew

fiercely over the top, and drove the flames downward, so that the pit

glowed with a fierce heat; and sometimes a lighted brand was caught up

and whirled over the cliffs; but he saw plainly enough that the light

would not show out at sea. He was very sad at this, and at last went

heavily down to his cave, not knowing what he should do; and pondering

long before he slept, he could see no way out.

In the morning he went up to the cliff-top again, and turned his steps

to the pit. The fire had burned itself out, but the sides were still

warm to the touch; all the ashes had been blown by the force of the wind

out of the hole; but he saw some bright things lie in the sand, which he

could not wholly understand, till he pulled them out and examined them

carefully. They were like smooth tubes and lumps of a clear stuff, like

molten crystal or frozen honey, full of bubbles and stains, but still

strangely transparent; and then, though he saw that these must in some

way have proceeded from the burning of the fire, he felt as though they

must have been sent to him for some wise reason. He turned them over and

over, and held them up to the light. It came suddenly into his mind how

he would use these heavenly crystals; he would make, he thought, a frame

of wood, and set these jewels in the frame. Then he would set this in

the hole of his cave, and burn a light behind; and the light would thus

show over the sea, and not be extinguished.

So this after much labour he did; he fitted all the clear pieces into

the frame, and he fixed the frame very firm in the hole with wooden

wedges. Then he pushed clay into the cracks between the edges of the

frame and the stone. Then he told some of those who came to him that he

had need of oil for a purpose, and they brought it him in abundance, and

wicks for a lamp; and these he set in an earthen bowl filled with oil,

and on a dark night, when all was finished, he lit his lamp; and then

clambered out on the furthest rocks of the island, and saw his light

burn in the rocks, not clearly, indeed, but like an eye of glimmering

fire. Then he was very glad at heart, and he told the fishermen how he

had found means to set a light among the cliffs, and that he would burn

it on dark and stormy nights, so that they might see the light and avoid

the danger. The tidings soon spread, and they thought it a very magical

and holy device; but did not doubt that the knowledge of it was given to

David by God.

So David was in great happiness. For he knew that the Father had

answered his prayer, and allowed him, however little, to help the

seafaring folk.

He made other things after that; he put up a doorway with a door of wood

in the entering of the cave; he made, too, a little boat that he might

go to and fro to the land without swimming. And now, having no care to

provide food, for they brought it him in abundance, he turned his mind

to many small things. He made a holy carving in the cave, of Christ upon

the cross--and he carved around it a number of creatures, not men only

but birds and beasts, looking to the Cross, for he thought that the

beasts also should have their joy in the great offering. His fame spread

abroad; and there came a priest to see him, who abode with him for some

days, prayed with him, and taught him much of the faith. The priest gave

him a book, and showed him the letters; but David, though he longed to

read what was within, could not hold the letters in his head.

He tamed, too, the wild birds of the rock, so that they came to his

call; one was a gull, which became so fearless that it would come to his

cave, and sit silent on a rock, watching him while he worked. He kept a

fish, too, in a pool of the rocks, that would rise to the edge when he

approached.

But all this time he went not near to the village; for his solitude had

become very dear to him, and he prayed continually; and at evening and

morning and midday he would sing praises to God, simple words that he

had made.

One morning he awoke in the cave, and as he bestirred himself he thought

in his heart of all his happiness. It was a still morning, but the sky

was overcast. Suddenly he heard voices below him; and thinking that he

was needed, he descended the rocks quickly, and came down a little way

from a group of sailors who were standing on the shore; there was a boat

drawn up on the sand, and near at hand there lay at anchor a small ship,

that seemed to be of a foreign gear, and larger than he was wont to see.

He came somewhat suddenly upon the group, and they seemed, as it were,

to be amazed to see a man there. He went smilingly towards them, but as

he did so there came into his heart a feeling of danger, he knew not

what; and he thought that it would be better to retire up the rocks to

his cave, and wait till the men had withdrawn--for it was not likely

that they would visit him there, or that even if they saw the way

thither, they would adventure it, as it was steep and dangerous. But he

put the thought away and came up to them. They seemed to be conferring

together in low voices, and the nearer that he drew, the less he liked

their look. He spoke to them, but they seemed not to understand, and

answered him back very roughly in a tongue he did not understand. But

presently they put one forward, an old man, who had some words of

English, who asked him what he did there. He tried to explain that he

lived on the island, but the old man shook his head, evidently not

believing that there could be one living in so bare a place. Then the

men conferred again together, and presently the old man asked him, in

his broken speech, whether he would take service on the ship with them.

David said, smiling, that he would not, for he had other work to do; and

the old man seemed to try and persuade him, saying that it was a good

service; that they lived a free life, wandering where they would; but

that they had lost men lately, and were hardly enough to sail the ship.

Then it came into David's mind that he had fallen in with pirates. They

were not often seen in these parts, for there was little enough that

they could get, the folk being all poor, and small traffic passing that

way. And then, for he saw the group beginning to gather round him, he

made a prayer in his heart that he should be delivered from the evil,

and made proffer to the men of the little stores that he had. The old

man shook his head, and spoke with the others, who now seemed to be

growing angry and impatient; and then he said to David that they had

need of him to help to sail the ship, and that he must come whether he

would or no. David cast a glance round to see if he could escape up the

rocks; but the men were all about him, and seeing in his eye that he

thought of flight, they laid hands upon him. David resisted with all his

might, but they overpowered him in a moment, bound his hands and feet,

and cast him with much force into their boat. Then David was sorely

disheartened; but he waited, committing his soul to God. While he

waited, he saw a strange thing; on the beach there lay a box, tightly

corded; the men raised this up very gently, and with difficulty, as it

seemed to be heavy. Then they carried it up above the tide-mark; and,

making a hole among the loose stones, they buried it very carefully,

casting stones over it. Then one of them with a chisel made a mark on

the cliff behind, to show where the box lay--and then, first looking

carefully out to sea, they came into the boat, and rowed off to the

ship, which seemed almost deserted; paying no more heed to David than if

he had been a log of wood.

The old man who understood English steered the boat; and David tried to

say some words to him, to ask that he should be released; but the old

man only shook his head; and at last bade David be silent with great

anger. They rowed slowly out, and David could see the great rocks, that

had now been his home so long, rising, still and peaceful, in the

morning light. Every rock and cranny was known to him. There was the

place where, when he first came, he was used to fish. There was the

cliff-top where he had made his fire; he could even see his little

window in the front of the rocks, and he thought with grief that it

would be dark and silent henceforth. But he thought that he was somehow

in the hand of God; and that though to be dragged away from his home

seemed grievous, there must be some task to which the Father would

presently set him, even if it were to go down to death; and though the

cords that bound him were now very painful, and his heart was full of

sorrow, yet David felt a kind of peace in his spirit which showed him

that God was still with him.

When they got to the ship, there arose a dispute among the men as to

whether they should run out to sea before it was dark, or whether they

should lie where they were; there was but little wind, so they made up

their minds to stay. David himself thought from the look of the sky that

there was strong weather brewing. The old man who spoke English asked

him what he thought, and he told him that there would be wind. He seemed

to be disposed to believe David; but the men were tired, and it was

decided to stay.

They had unbound David that he might go on board; and the pain in his

hands and feet was very great when the bonds were unloosed; and when he

was on board they bound him again, but not so tightly, and led him down

into a cabin, close and dirty, where a foul and smoky lamp burnt. They

bade him sit in a corner. The low ill-smelling place was very grievous

to David, and he thought with a sore heart of his clean cold cave, and

his bed of fern. The men seemed to take no further heed of him, and went

about preparing a meal. There seemed to be little friendliness among

them; they spoke shortly and scowled upon each other; and David divined

that there had been some dispute aboard, and that they were ill-content.

There was little discipline, the men going and coming when they would.

Before long a meal was prepared; some sort of a stew with a rich strong

smell, that seemed very gross and foul to David, who had been used so

long to his simple fare. The men came in and took from the dish what

they desired; and a large jar was opened, which from its fierce smell

seemed to contain a hot and fiery spirit; and that it was so David could

easily discern, from the flushed faces and louder talk of the men, which

soon became mingled with a gross merriment. The old man brought a mess

of the food to David, who shook his head smiling. Then the other, with

more kindness than David had expected, asked if he would have bread; and

fetched him a large piece, unbinding his hands for a little, that he

might eat. Then he offered him some of the spirit; but David asked for

water, which the old man gave him, binding his hands after he had drunk,

with a certain gentleness.

Presently the old man, after he too had eaten, came and sate down beside

David; and in his broken talk seemed to wish to win him, if he could, to

join them more willingly. He spoke of the pleasant life they lived, and

of the wealth that they made, though he said not how they came by it. He

told him that he had seen some of it hidden that day, which they had

done for greater security, so that, if the ship should be cast away, the

men might have some of their spoil waiting for them; and David

understood from him, though he had but few words to explain it, that it

had been that which had caused a strife among them. For they had come by

the treasure very hardly, and they had lost some of the crew in so doing

it--and some of the men had desired to share it, and have done with the

sea for ever; but that it had been decided to make another voyage first.

Then David said very gently that he did not desire to join them, for he

was a man of peace; and he told him of his lonely life, and how he made

a light to keep ships off the dangerous coast; and at that the old man

looked at him with a fixed air, and nodded his head as though he had

himself heard of the matter, or at least seen the light--all this David

told him, speaking slowly as to a child; but it seemed as though every

minute the remembrance of the language came more and more back to the

old man.

But at last the man shook his head, and said that he was sorry so

peaceful a life must come to an end. But, indeed, David must go with

them whether he would or no; and that they would be good comrades yet;

and he should have his share of whatever they got. And then he left

David and went on to the deck.

Then there fell a great despair upon David; and at the same time the

crew, excited by the drink they had taken, for they drained the jar,

began to dispute among themselves, and to struggle and fight; and one of

them espied David, and they gathered round and mocked him. They mocked

at his dress, his face, his hair, which had grown somewhat long. And one

of them in particular seemed most urgent, speaking long to the others,

and pointing at David from time to time, while the others fell into a

great laughter. Then they fell to plucking his hair, and even to beating

him--and they tried to force the spirit into his mouth, but he kept his

teeth clenched; and the very smell of the fiery stuff made his brain

sick. But he could nor stir hand or foot; and presently there came into

his mind a great blackness of anger, so that he seemed to be in the very

grip of the evil one; and he knew in his heart that if he had been

unbound, he would have slain one or more of them; for his heart beat

thick, and there came a strange redness into his sight, and he gnashed

his teeth for rage; at which they mocked him the more. But at last the

old man came down into the cabin, and when he saw what they were at, he

spoke very angrily to them, stamping his foot; and it seemed as though

he alone had any authority, for they left off ill-using David, and went

from him one by one.

Then, after a while they began to nod in their places; one or two of

them cast themselves into beds made in the wall; others fell on the

floor, and slept like beasts; and at last they all slept; and last of

all the old man came in again, bearing a lamp, and looked round the room

in a sort of angry disgust. Then he said a word to David, and opening a

door went on into a cabin beyond, closing the door behind him.

Then, in the low light of the smoking lamp, and in the hot and reeking

room, with the foul breathing of the sleepers round him, David spent a

very dreadful hour. He had never in the old days seen so ill a scene;

and it was to him, exhausted by pain and by rage, as if a dark thing

came behind him, and whispered in his secret ear that God regarded not

men at all, and that the evil was stronger than the good, and prevailed.

He tried to put the thought away; but it came all the more instantly,

that what he had seen could not be, if God had indeed power to rule. It

was not only the scene itself, but the thought of what these men were,

and the black things they had doubtless done, the deeds of murder,

cruelty, and lust that were written plainly on all their faces; all

these came like dark shadows and gathered about him.

David stirred a little to ease himself of his pain and stiffness; and

his foot struck against a thing. He looked down, and saw in the shadow

of the table a knife lying, which had fallen from some man's belt. A

thought of desperate joy came into his mind. He bent himself down with

his bound hands, and he contrived to gather up the knife. Then, very

swiftly and deftly, he thrust the haft between his knees; then he worked

the rope that bound his hands to and fro over the blade; the rope

parted, and the blood came back into his numbed fingers with a terrible

pain. But David heeded it not, and stooping down, he cut the cord that

bound his feet; then he rose softly, and sate down again; for the blood,

returning to his limbs, made him feel he could not stand yet awhile. All

was still in the cabin, except for the slow breathing of those that

slept; save that every now and then one of the sleepers broke into a

stifled cry, and muttered words, or stirred in his sleep.

Presently David felt that he could walk. He pondered for a moment

whether he should take the knife, if he were suddenly attacked; but he

resisted the thought, and left the knife lying on the ground.

Then stepping lightly among the sleepers, he moved like a shadow to the

door; very carefully he stepped; and at each movement or muttered word

he stopped and caught his breath. Suddenly one of the men rose up,

leaning on his arm, and looked at him with a stupid stare; but David

stood still, waiting, with his heart fit to break within his breast,

till the man lay down again. Then David was at the door. The cabin

occupied half the ship to the bows; the rest was undecked, with high

bulwarks; a rough ladder of steps led to the gangway. David stood for a

moment in the shadow of the door; but there seemed no one on the watch

without. The pure air and the fresh smell of the sea came to his senses

like a breath of heaven. He stepped swiftly over a coil of rope; then up

the ladder, and plunged noiselessly into the sea.

He swam a few strokes very strongly; and then he looked about him. The

night was as dark as pitch. He could see a dim light from the ship

behind him; the water rose and fell in a slow heavy swell; but which way

the land lay he could not tell. But he said to himself that it was

better to drown and be certainly with God, than in the den of robbers he

had left. So he turned himself round in the water, trying to remember

where the shore lay, but it was all dark, both the sky and sea, with a

pitchy blackness; only the lights of the ship glimmered towards him like

little bright paths across the heaving tide.

Suddenly there came a thing so wonderful that David could hardly believe

he saw truly; a bright eye of light, as it were, opened upon him in the

dark, far off, and hung high in the heavens, like a quiet star. The

radiance of it was like the moon, cold and clear. And though David could

not at first divine whence it came, he did not doubt in his heart that

it was there to guide him; so he struck out towards it, with long silent

strokes. He swam for a long time, the light shining softly over the

water, and seeming to rise higher over his head, while the glimmering of

the ship's lights grew fainter and more murky behind him. Then he became

aware that he was drawing near to the land; great dark shapes loomed up

over his head, and he heard the soft beating of waves before him. Then

he could see too, as he looked upon the light, that there was a glimmer

around it; and he saw that it came from the edges and faces of rocks

that were lit up by the radiance. So he swam more softly; and presently

his foot struck a rock covered with weed; so he put his feet down, waded

in cautiously, and pulling himself up by the hands found himself on a

rocky shore, and knew that it was his own island.

Then the light above him, as though it had but waited for his safety to

be secured, died softly away, like the moon gliding into a cloud. David

wondered very much at this, and cast about in his mind how it might be;

but his heart seemed to tell him that there was some holy and beautiful

thing on the island very near to him. He could hardly contain himself

for gladness; and he thought that God had doubtless given him this day

of misery and terror, partly that he might value his peace truly, and

partly that he might feel that he had it not of right, but by the

gracious disposition of the Father.

So he climbed very softly and swiftly to the cave; and entered it with a

great gladness; and then he became aware of a great awe in his mind.

There was somewhat there, that he could not see with his eyes, but which

was more real and present than anything he had ever known; the cave

seemed to shine with a faint and tender gleam that was dying away by

slow degrees; as though the roof and walls had been charged with a

peaceful light, which still rayed about them, though the radiance that

had fed it was withdrawn. He took off his dripping clothes, and wrapped

himself in his old sea-cloak. But he did not think of sleep, or even of

prayer; he only sate still on his bed of fern, with his eyes open in the

darkness, drinking in the strong and solemn peace which seemed to abide

there. David never had known such a feeling, and he was never to know it

again so fully; but for the time he seemed to sit at the foot of God,

satisfied. While he thus sate, a great wind sprang up outside and

thundered in the rocks; fiercer and fiercer it blew, and soon there

followed it the loud crying of the sea, as the great waters began to

heave and rage. Then David bestirred himself to light and trim his lamp,

and set it in the window as a warning to ships. And when he had done

this he felt a great and sudden weariness, and he laid himself down; and

sleep closed over him at once, as the sea closes over a stone that is

flung into it.

Once in the night he woke, with the roar of the storm in his ears, and

wondered that he had slept through it. He had been through many stormy

nights, but he had never heard the like of this. The wind blew with a

steady roar, like a flood of thunder outpoured; in the midst of if, the

great waves, hurled upon the rocks, uttered their voices; and between he

heard the hiss of the water, as it rushed downwards from the cliff face.

In the midst of all came a sharp and sudden wailing cry; and then he

began to wonder what the poor ship was doing, which he thought of as

riding furiously at her anchor, with the drunken crew, and the old man

with his sad and solemn face, who seemed so different from his unruly

followers, and yet was not ashamed to rule over them and draw profit

from their evil deeds. In spite of the ill they had tried to do him, he

felt a great pity for them in his heart; but this was but for a moment,

for sleep closed over him again, and drew him down into forgetfulness.

When David woke in the morning, the gale had died away, but the sky wept

from low and ragged clouds, as if ashamed and sullen at the wrath of the

day before. Water trickled in the cracks of the rock; and when David

peered abroad, he looked into the thin drifting clouds. He had a great

content in his heart, but the awe and the strange peace of the night had

somehow diminished.

He began to reflect upon the light that he had seen from the sea. It was

not his lamp that had given out such light, for it was clear and thin,

while the light his own lamp gave was angry and red. Moreover, when he

had lighted the lamp before the storm, it was standing idle, not in the

window-place, but on the rock-shelf where he had set it. Then he knew

that some great and holy mystery had been wrought for him that night,

and that he had been very tenderly used.

Presently he descended the cliff, and went out upon the seaward side.

The waves still rose angrily under the grey sky, but were fast abating.

He saw in a moment that the shore was full of wreckage: there were spars

and timbers everywhere, and all the litter of a ship. Some of the

timbers were flung so high upon the rocks that he saw how great the

violence of the storm had been. He walked along, and in a minute he came

upon the body of a man lying on his face, strangely battered.

Then he saw another body, and yet another. He lifted them up, but there

was no sign of life in them; and he recognised with a great sadness that

they were the pirates who had dragged him from his home. He had for a

moment one evil thought in his mind, a kind of triumph in his heart that

God had saved him from his enemies, and delivered them over to death;

but he knew that it was a wicked thought, and thrust it from him; at

last at the end of the rocks he found the old captain himself. There was

a kind of majesty about him, even in death, as he lay looking up at the

sky, with one arm flung across his breast, and the other arm

outstretched beside him. Then he saw the ribs of the ship itself stick

up among the rocks, and he wondered to find the hull so broken and

ruinous.

His next care was that the poor bodies should have burial. So about

midday he took his boat from its shelter, and rowed across to the land;

and then, with a strange fear of the heart, he climbed the cliff, and

walked down slowly to the village, which he had thought in his heart he

would never have seen again.

The wind had now driven the clouds out of the sky, and the sun came out

with a strong white light, the light that shines from the sky when the

earth has been washed clean by rain. It sparkled brightly in the little

drops that hung like jewels in the grass and bushes. It was with a great

throb of the heart that David came out upon the end of the down, and saw

the village beneath him. It looked as though no change had passed over

it, but as though its life must have stood still, since he left it; then

there came tears into David's eyes at the thought of the old hard life

he had lived there, and how God had since filled his cup so full of

peace; so with many thoughts in his heart he came slowly down the path

to the town. He first met two children whom he did not know; he spoke to

them, but they looked for a moment in terror at his face; his hair and

beard were long, and he was all tanned by the sun; but he spoke softly

to them, and presently they came to him and were persuaded to tell their

names. They were the children, David thought, of a young lad whom he had

known as a boy; and presently, as the manner of children is when they

have laid aside fear, they told him many small things, their ages and

their doings, and other little affairs which seem so big to a child; and

then they would take his hands and lead him to the village, while David

smiled to be so lovingly attended. He was surprised, when he entered the

street, to see how curiously he was regarded. Even men and women, that

he had known, would hardly speak with him, but did him reverence. The

children would lead him to their house first; and so he went thither,

not unwilling. When they were at the place, he found with a gentle

wonder that it was even the house where he had himself dwelt. He went

in, and found the mother of the children within, one whom he had known

as a girl. She greeted him with the same reverence as the rest; so that

he at last took courage, and asked her why it should not be as it had

been before. And then he learned from her talk, with a strange surprise,

that it was thought that he was a very holy man, much visited by God,

who not only had been shown how, by a kind of magical secret, to save

ships from falling on that deadly coast, but as one whose prayers

availed to guard and keep the whole place safe. He tried to show her

that this was not so, and that he was a simple person in great need of

holiness; but he saw that she only thought him the holier for his

humility, so he was ashamed to say more.

Then he went to the chief man in the village, and told him wherefore he

had come--that there was a wreck on the shore of the islands, and that

there were bodies that must be buried. One more visit he paid, and that

was to the little maiden whom he had seen the last when he went away.

She was now nearly grown to a woman, and her grandmother was very old

and weak, and near her end. David went there alone, and said that he had

returned as he had promised; but he found that the child had much lost

her remembrance of him, and could hardly see the friend she had known in

the strong and wild-looking figure that he had become. He talked a

little quietly; the old grandmother, who could not move from her chair,

was easier with him, and asked him, looking curiously upon him, whether

he had found that of which he went in search. "Nay, mother," he said,

"not found; but I am like a man whose feet are set in the way, and who

sees the city gate across the fields." Then she smiled at him and said,

"But I am near the gate." Then he told her that he often thought of her,

and made mention of her in his prayers; and so rose to go; but she asked

him to bless her, which David did very tenderly, and kissed her and

departed; but he went heavily; because he feared to be regarded as he

was now regarded; and he thought in his heart that he would never return

again, but dwell alone in his cave with God. For the world troubled him;

and the voices of the children, and the looks of those that he had known

before seemed to lay soft hands about his heart, and draw him back into

the world.

The same day he returned to the cave; and the boats came out and took

the bodies away, and they were laid in the burying-ground.

Then the next day many returned to clear away the wreck; and David came

not out of his cave while they did this; for it went to his heart to see

the joy with which they gathered what had meant the death of so many

men. They asked him what they should leave for him, and he answered,

"Nothing--only a piece of plain wood, for a purpose." So when evening

came they had removed all; and the island, that had rung all day with

shouts and talk and the feet of men, was silent again; but before they

went, David said that he had a great desire to see a priest, if a

message could be sent; and this they undertook to do. But David was very

heavy-hearted for many days, for it seemed to him that the sight of the

world had put all the peace out of his heart; and his prayers came

hollow and dry.

A few days after there came a boat to the rock; the sea was running

somewhat high, and they had much ado to make a landing. David went down

to the water's edge, and saw that besides the fishermen, whom he knew,

there was a little wizened man in a priest's dress, that seemed

bewildered by the moving of the boat and the tossing of the big waves

with their heaving crests, that broke upon the rocks with a heavy sound.

At last they got the boat into the creek, and the little priest came

nimbly ashore, but not without a wetting. The fishermen said that they

would return in the evening, and fetch the priest away.

He looked a frail man, and David could not discern whether he were young

or old; and he felt a pity for a man who was so unhandy, and who seemed

to be so scared of the sea. But the priest came up to him and took his

hand. "I have heard much of you, my brother," he said, "and I have

desired to see you--but this sea of yours is a strange and wild monster,

and I trust it not,--though indeed it is God's handiwork. Yet King

David, your patron, was of the same mind, I think, and wrote in one of

his wise psalms how it made the heart to melt within him." David looked

at him with much attention as he spoke, and there was something in the

priest's eye, a kind of hidden fire, joined with a wise mirth, that made

him, all of a sudden, feel like a child before him. So he said, "Where

will your holiness sit? It is cold here in the wind; I have a dwelling

in the rocks, but it is hard to come by except for winged fowl, and for

men like myself who have been used to the precipices."

"Well, show the way, brother," said the priest cheerfully, "and I will

adventure my best." So David showed him the way up the crags, and went

slowly in front of him, that he might help him up; but the priest

climbed like a cat, looking blithely about him, and had no need of help,

though he was encumbered with his robe.

When they were got there, the priest looked curiously about him, and

presently knelt down before the carving, and said a little prayer to

himself.

Then he questioned David about his life, asking questions briskly, as

though he were accustomed to command; and David felt more and more every

moment that he was as a child before this masterful and wary man. He

told him of his early life, and of his visions, and of his desire to

know God, and of the light that he set in the rocks; and then he told

him of his adventure with the pirates, not forgetting the treasure. The

priest heard him with great attention, and said presently that he had

done well, and that God was with him. Then he asked him how he would

have the treasure bestowed, and David said that he had no design in his

mind. "Then that shall be my care," said the priest, "and I doubt not

that the Lord hath sent it us, that there may be a church in this lonely

place."

And then, turning to David with a wonderful and piercing look, he said,

"And this peace of spirit that you speak of, that you came here to seek,

tell me truly, brother, have you found it?"

Then David looked upon the ground a little and said, "Dear sir, I know

not; I am indeed strangely happy in this lonely place; but to speak all

the truth, I feel like a man who lingers at a gate, and who hears the

sound of joy and melody within, which rejoices his heart, but he is not

yet admitted. No," he went on, "I have not found the way. The Father is

indeed very near me, and I am certain of His love--but there is still a

barrier between me and His Heart."

Then the priest bowed his head awhile in thought, but said nothing for a

long space; and then David said, "Dear sir, advise me." Then the priest

looked at him with a clear gaze, and said, "Shall I advise you, O my

brother?" And David said "Yes, dear sir." Then the priest said, "Indeed,

my brother, I see in your life the gracious hand of God. He did redeem

you, and he planted in your heart a true seed of peace. You have lived

here a holy and an innocent life; but he withholds from you his best

gift, because you are not willing to be utterly led by him. There have

been in ancient days many such souls, who have fled from the wickedness

of the world, and have spent themselves in prayer and penance, and have

done a holy work--for indeed there are many victories that may be won by

prayer. But indeed, dear brother, I think that God's will for you is

that this lonely life of yours should have an end. I think that you have

herein followed your own pleasure overmuch; and I believe that God would

now have you go back to the world, and work for him therein. You have a

great power with this simple folk; but they are as sheep without a

shepherd, and must be fed, and none but you can now feed them. You will

bethink you of the visit that the Lord Christ paid to the Sisters of

Bethany; Martha laboured much to please Him, but she laboured for her

own pleasing too; and Mary it was that had the good part, because she

thought not of herself but of the Lord. And now, dear brother, I would

have you do what will be very grievous to you. I would have you go back

to your native place, and there abide to labour for God; you may come

hither at seasons, and be alone with God, and that will refresh you; but

you are now, methinks, like a man who has found a great treasure, and

who speaks no word of it to others, and neither uses it himself, but

only looks upon it and is glad."

Then David was very sad at the priest's words, knowing that he spoke the

truth. But the priest said, "Now we will speak no more of this awhile;

and I would not have you do it, unless your heart consents thereto; only

be strong." And then he asked if he might have somewhat to eat; and

David brought him his simple fare; so they ate together, and while they

ate, it came into David's mind that this was certainly the way. All that

afternoon they sate, while the wind rustled without, and the sea made a

noise; and then the priest said they would go and look at the treasure,

because it was near evening, and he must return. So they went down

together, and drew the rocks off from the box. It was a box of wood,

tightly corded, and they undid it, and found within a great store of

gold and silver pieces, which the priest reckoned up, and said that it

would be abundant for a church.

Then they saw the boat approach; and the priest blessed David, and David

thanked him with tears, for showing him the truth; and the priest said,

"Not so, my brother; I did but show you what is in your own heart, for

God puts such truth in the heart of all of us as we can bear; but

sometimes we keep it like a sword in its scabbard, until the bright and

sharp thing, that might have wrought great deeds, be all rusted and

blunted."

And then the priest departed, taking with him the box of gold, and David

was left alone.

David was very heavy-hearted when he was left alone on the island. He

knew that the priest had spoken the truth, but he loved his solitary

life, and the silence of the cave, the free air and the sun, and the

lonely current of his own thoughts. The sun went slowly down over the

waters in a great splendour of light and colour, so that the clouds in

the sky seemed like purple islands floating in a golden sea; David

sitting in his cave thought with a kind of terror of the small and close

houses of the village, the sound of feet, and talk of men and women. At

last he fell asleep; and in his sleep he dreamed that he was in a great

garden. He looked about him with pleasure, and he presently saw a

gardener moving about at his work. He went in that direction, and he saw

that the man, who was old and had a very wise and tender face, was

setting out some young trees in a piece of ground. He planted them

carefully with deft hands, and he smiled to himself as he worked, as

though he was full of joyful thoughts. David wished in his heart to go

and speak with him, but something held him back. Presently the gardener

went away, and while he was absent, another man, of a secret aspect,

came swiftly into the place, peering about him. His glance passed David

by, and David knew that he was in some way unseen. The man looked all

about him in a furtive haste, and then plucked up one of the trees,

which seemed to David to be already growing and shooting out small

leaves and buds. The man smoothed down the ground where he drew it out,

and then went very quickly away. David would have wished to stop him,

but he could not. Then the old gardener came back, and looked long at

the place whence the tree had been drawn. Then he sighed to himself, and

cast a swift look in the direction in which the man had fled. He had

brought other trees with him, but he did not plant one in the empty

space, but left it bare. Then David felt that he must follow the other,

and so he did. He found him very speedily, but it was outside the

garden, in a rough place, where thorny bushes and wild plants grew

thickly. The other had cleared a little space among them, and here he

set the tree; but he planted it ill and hastily, as though he was afraid

of being disturbed; and then he departed secretly. David stood and

watched the tree a little. It seemed at first to begin to grow again as

it had done before, but presently something ailed it and it drooped.

Then David saw the thorny bushes near it begin to stretch out their arms

about it, and the wild herbs round about sprang up swiftly, and soon the

tree was choked by them, and hardly appeared above the brake. David

began to be sorry for the tree, which still kept some life in it, and

struggled as it were feebly to put out its boughs above the thicket.

While he stood he saw the old gardener approaching, and as he approached

he carefully considered the ground. When he saw the tree, he smiled, and

drew it out carefully, and went back to the garden, and David followed

him; he planted it again tenderly in the ground; and the tree which had

looked so drooping and feeble began at once to put forth leaves and

flowers. The gardener smiled again, and then for the first time looked

upon David. His eyes were deep and grave like a still water; and he

smiled as one might who shares a secret with another. And then of a

sudden David awoke, and found the light of dawn creeping into the cave;

and he fell to considering the dream, and in a moment knew that it was

sent for his learning. So he hesitated no longer, but gave up his will

to God.

It was a sad hour for David nevertheless; he walked softly about the

cave, and he put aside what he would take with him, and it seemed to him

that he was, as it were, uprooting a tree that had grown deep; he tied

up what he would take with him, but he left some things behind, for he

thought that he might return. And then he kneeled down and prayed, the

tears running over his face; and lastly he rose and kissed the cold wall

of the cave; at the door he saw the gull that had been with him so oft,

and he scattered some crumbs for it, and while the bird fell to picking

the crumbs, David descended the rock swiftly, not having the heart to

look about him; and then he put his things in the boat, and rowed

swiftly and silently to the shore, looking back at the great rocks,

which stood up all bright and clear in the fresh light of the dawn, with

the waves breaking softly at their feet.

David had no fixed plan in his mind, as he rowed across to the land. He

only thought that it was right for him to return, and to take up his

part in the old life again. He did not dare to look before him, but

simply put, as it were, his hand in the hand of God, and hoped to be led

forward. He was soon at the shore, and he pulled his boat up on the

land, and left it lying in a little cave that opened upon the beach;

then he shouldered his pack, and went slowly, with even strides, across

the hill and down to the village. He met no one on the way, and the

street seemed deserted. He made his way to the house of the old woman

who was his friend; he put his small pack at the door and entered. The

little house was quite silent. But he heard a sound of weeping; when he

came into the outer room, he saw the maiden sitting in a chair with her

face bowed on the table. He called to her by name; she lifted her head

and looked at him for a moment and then rose up and came to him, as a

child comes to be comforted. He saw at once that some grievous thing had

happened; and presently with sobs and tears she told him that her

grandmother had died a few days before, that she had been that day

buried, and that she knew not what she was to do; there seemed more

behind; and David at last made out that she was asked in marriage by a

young fisherman whom she did not love, and she knew not how else to

live. And then he said that he was come back and would not depart from

her, and that she should be a daughter to him.

Now of the rest of the life of David I must not here speak; he lived in

the village, and he did his part; a little chapel was built in the place

with the money of the pirates; and David went in and out among the folk

of the place, and drew many to the love of God; he went once back to the

cave, but he abode not long there; but of one thing I will tell, and

that is of a piece of carving that David did, working little by little

in the long winter nights at the piece of wood that came from the pirate

ship. The carving is of a man standing on the shore of the sea, and

holding up a lantern in his hand, and on the sea is carved a ship. And

David calls his carving "The Light of the World." At the top of it is a

scroll, with the words thereon, "He shall send down from on high to

fetch me, and shall take me out of many waters." And beneath is another

scroll on which is graven, "Thou also shalt light my candle; the Lord my

God shall make my darkness to be light."

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