Aye, let him die in darkness! But for thee,--
Breathe thou the breath of morning and be free!" 

Rückert.  Translated by F.  W.  B. 

BEATRICE 

CHAPTER I 

A MIST WRAITH 

The autumn afternoon was fading into evening.  It had been cloudy
weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up.  Now they were lost
in slowly darkening blue.  The sea was perfectly and utterly still.  It
seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide.
The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon
the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown
weeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took
their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay